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This Poem was Submitted By: Medard Louis Lefevre Jr. On Date: 2005-11-20 02:13:19 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Repose

The last of summer The leaves turn beautiful Before their death So I wish it was with me Autumn's advance Heralds winter's arrival The cooler air comforts me As I await nature's repose I wonder if she dreams While anticipating spring My dreams release me From my world that is dying Her hibernation Gives way to rebirth My sleep is doubtful I'm not sure I'll awake The seasons cycle New life will return But time sometimes stops For us left behind

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2005-12-04 11:47:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.43860
Dear Medard This is a subtly dark piece. "The leaves turn beautiful/Before their death/So I wish it was with me". There is here a sense of "giving up the ghost" while the speaker sounds very much alive, a kind of death-wish. "But time sometimes stops/For us left behind" ... hard to know whether this is a hopeful eye towards a redemptive future, or an acknowlegdement that "tomorrow we die". It's very gentle and reflective. Mark.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-12-02 00:26:41
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.69231
Beautiful read poet.....may be taken in different ways as with nature and the cycle of the earth as with life and the cycle of birth and death. The images presented are well done......you can see oneself standing at the closing of the fall season with the leaves in full beauty and one by one they fall, covering the ground, you can watch the birds fly south for winter warmth and the seasonal animals gathering their food supply......as with life you can feel within what changes might be taking place, a little voice may say, come rest with me now........and thus life goes on. The earth once more renews itself in new life come the springtime of the year as with life, the birth of a child or the return to health allows one to go on. See, I ran in two manners and both were beautiful. Fear not sleep, the other side is a place of peace. love and joy in the light of our God..........been there.......thanks for posting, good luck with the contest it deserves high praise. God Bless, Claire

This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-12-01 11:18:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80000
Hi Medard, This is a stunning poem which I enjoyed very much. However, it has a forlorn theme...not just the end of Autumn and the coming of winter...but the author seems to believe that he will also relapse into his final Winter. You have used beautiful word choices throughout...I especially like 'her hibernation gives way to rebirth'...this line is so full of hope even as summers wanes....'my sleep is doubtful..I'm not sure I'll awake'...this is the forlorn part...but don't we all think of that on occasion? I know I do...but then I have cheated death twice so maybe that is why. This is certainly a lovely poem and should do well in the contest this month. Best...Marilyn

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-11-27 09:59:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.96552
Medard, this is an interesting treatise on the comparisons of living and seasons. I like the thought of “repose”, that the winter is a resting time for the excitement of spring to gain its impetus. Also, of living, except as it applies to you. This I understand on a personal basis as well. I wonder after yours. In the beginning, “summer” is “leaves beautiful” then “before thier death” and you wish it could be so with you. I wonder if that is a wish for balance, that at some time you were beautiful, or a disdain for death, that you long for the final consummation. You take us through to the next stage, of autumn, “heralds” the forerunner, the “John the Baptist” for winter- alike to the final stage, the “crucifixion” that will occur before redemption. The cool air comforts you, and I wonder (what do you see in it), and you say nature will “repose”, but obviously not you. Nature becomes a “she”- and she anticipates the rebirth, the awakening of spring. Then there are your, much darker dreams- and they do not include awakening. I wonder (why your world has no awakening). You refer to winter as “hibernation” another colloquialism for sleep and rest- and the rebirth to come, yet you cannot sleep, and are unsure as to whether you will awake- no sleep, but not awake- a study in contradiction. You leave us with cycles- and new life- but time forgetting to include you, and you watch from outside the cycles. I wonder (at the redemption promised all), and how you have missed it. This piece is knitted with truth and mystery, with rebirth and regret, and I wonder (is the respite promised impotent, or is the impotency a chosen agency). Excellent piece.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2005-11-25 13:59:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Medard, What a delight for me to find this on my list today. I apologize for not having been available to read it sooner. Repose {excellant draw} The last of summer The leaves turn beautiful Before their death So I wish it was with me [dont' we all wish this, alas it may only be so in inner beauty] Autumn's advance Heralds winter's arrival The cooler air comforts me As I await nature's repose [I've always found a restlessness at this time of year, repose is much needed] I wonder if she dreams While anticipating spring My dreams release me From my world that is dying [you are always in thoughts of someone other than self while you yet recognize youself and what you are about] Her hibernation Gives way to rebirth My sleep is doubtful I'm not sure I'll awake [another season, another moon--who can be sure of what is to come, when do we stop counting the seasons or moons] The seasons cycle New life will return But time sometimes stops For us left behind [it might appear that time stops, however in stopping we also recieve rebirth only in a different form, we move on to another level of being] Very deep, very impassioned even if somewhat melacholy. In your well executed form/style which is truly yours, you have laid bare your sole and the most inner you if anyone dares to look...how very courages. Often through pain beauty is born, must we suffer to ponder, ponder to feel, feel to write? Thank you for sharing. Warmest always, Lora

This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-11-21 17:21:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.42857
Medard, The death of plantlife..........Mother Nature sleeps. She goes within, to return in spring. As you age, you are afraid, you won't wake up......... As you age, your not as pretty.[like leaves turn color] I find now that I'm older[64], I looked pretty good at [50] I didn't appreciate it, just knew I wasn't as pretty as age 30. And that's my mistake, not appreciating what I've got, only griping about what is not. Time sometimes stops For us left behind, I'm a bit puzzeled about this ending. It seems cryptic. Some people lose loved ones and for them, time stops? [yes it does] You pulled me into this very well. Nature, and the last line of every stanza, you entered/how you related to the happenings. You did a good job, intermingling. As we all, well should be. It's part of our world. Very nice,, enjoyable... Dellena

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2005-11-21 10:43:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.69565
Medard, There is a thing called the "pathetic fallacy," born no doubt as a result of our scientific bent. But I've often found some of the richest musings to ascribe some sort of moral or sentient consciousness to nature. So i think your line "I wonder if she dreams" about nature invites all kinds of rich speculation, and is a good poetic line. Also the idea as to whether nature "stops" for those left behind. A poet has achieved something when he moves another person to think. Your achievement is noted. Mark

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