This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-12-26 14:26:54 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Come Be With Me Like The Rain

October lights are wings of the sun which Swing into the sapless death of green In winter. The process of seasonal change Is inevitable, may be foudroyant, and our Culture is a poem rhyming the eccentricities Of nature. Poetry draws from the dualism In world and spirit regions, a reflection Of life choices. Our society has less form And restraint, slides of eliding, and more Hyperbole than understatement. Sound, inside The dust of itself, becomes tedious and heart Starts to pound for a vocable. Some cuittle For cynosure, thus able to smell the jasmine, Jasm to taste honeysuckle, and to find divinity. All played out against the sublime backdrop Of history. In my barren life, you are my sole And ultimate asphodel and you kiss my fingers, And walk away. And I? I linger at the door, my Face pressed against the frame, whispering Your name. Sighing, whispering your name.
Copyright © December 2004 Mell W. Morris

Additional Notes:
For Eric Walker.

This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2005-01-04 11:54:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.14286
I find myself pondering the culture vs nature finding it as rhyming the eccentricities vs drawing from the dualism in world and spirit lines in this poem, perhaps meaning that society is built on the worst extremes of our natural being, I'm probably just misreading, but thanks for a good read and letting me comment.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Wanda S. Thibodeaux On Date: 2005-01-02 06:58:10
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
Dear Mell, This poem is exquisite. If I could have a wish, I would want him to be with you like the rain. Your poetic skills in this piece are astounding, it actually falls soft on our ears, a song of darkness, of light, of letting go, liquid as tears- we feel the droplets of pain. Your title is a wonderful choice, your verbiage, exciting. This may top your "Every Poem An Autograph" which I thought was an amazing piece. "Foudroyant, Jasm, splendid choices for this poem. I couldn't pick a favorite line, they are all fabulous. I am late in critiquing this but not because I haven't read it over and over. It is brilliantly composed and leaves this reader sure that it should be the winner this month. My best always, Wanda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2004-12-29 11:01:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell, there are occasionally those poems that must be read aloud to fulfill their destiny. I usually read a verse aloud, at least once, to hear its “poetical-ness”, but this one carries such a sense of beauty and irony that it is required, or miss the moment. Come Be With Me Like The Rain – Nothing you could say in the poem overshadows the eminence and imminence of your title. I could have stopped, and I would have been fed. October lights are wings of the sun which Swing into the sapless death of green In winter. – Whenever I read your pieces there is so much to learn just to understand your thesis. Once again with this piece the matter of knowledge adds a certain wealth to reading your piece. “Sapless death” where the “sap” viens to the leaves close, and depending on the amount of sunlight and temperature, the colors of the dying leaves are ushered or delayed. Excellent. The process of seasonal change Is inevitable, may be foudroyant, and our – (you win the prize for the only person other than me, that I know of, to ever use the magnificient word “foudroyant”. Here it’s dualistic meaning is most pronounced, that of death and brilliance. A Brilliant coup for you!! Culture is a poem rhyming the eccentricities – You first stanza, ending with this line, and “of nature” remarks to the essence of the soul. That in the waning and dawning of life and death, good and bad, there is the other side remaining, the “silver lining” if you will that transcends the temporal with eternal meaning. Of nature. Poetry draws from the dualism In world and spirit regions, a reflection Of life choices. – Your previous stanza did well to expound this principle. I feel the essence of what your write, that of the soul of the poet. It is beyond the temporal, and records its platitudes in verse. Our society has less form And restraint, slides of eliding, and more Hyperbole than understatement. – Society, you have removed it from its bannerless appearance and trivialized its appearance. One would at first believe that the effort was to limit the actual value, when underlying it all, is the reason necessary to affect a meaning. A well done piece of irony. Sound, inside The dust of itself, becomes tedious and heart Starts to pound for a vocable. – Similar to the foundations of a sun, the dust condenses together and eventually a planet or star will emerge from the vagueness. Adding a “sense of being” to “dust” makes the creation of “sensibilities” into a creation premise rather than “chaotic providence”. One might actually think from this verse that the “irony” of the previous lines denotes atrophy rather than entropy. Maybe even that entropy must, by nature be “created”. Some cuittle For cynosure, thus able to smell the jasmine, - Here you make your case that “sans focus” one is unable to recognize and smell the beauty of the earth, of creation, even of each other. Jasm to taste honeysuckle, and to find divinity. (Have no reference for JASM, have used jasmine as the root), the sweetest smell of all flowers (to me), and Italian and middle-eastern Jasmine are my favorites. I am never far from their scents, and their scents launch a thousand memories for me. Here you associate the nectar with divinity, that if one can rectify their existence, and absorb the scent of jasmine (analogy to enjoy and partake of the beauty of the world), then one will have the essence of divinity thrust upon them, an inevitability. All played out against the sublime Of history. backdrop – and the creation, that focus, remains a “sublime backdrop” because although it matters, it matters only for the purpose of higher goals. In my barren life, you are my sole And ultimate asphodel and you kiss my fingers, And walk away. – In this verse you personalize the entirety of your thesis. One wonders at who would leave beauty. Why the decentralization of thought, why avoid the scent of jasmine, why leave love, when love was already focused. POWERFUL, POWERFUL!! And I? I linger at the door, my Face pressed against the frame, whispering Your name. Sighing, whispering your name. – Watching the autumn leaves turn, and knowing the winter awaits, and soon, if one is resilient the sap will flow, and life will turn!! I know the whisper of names too well. Mell, I am overcome, this is so great a piece. To close for the needy, to distant for the needy. Thank you much for its arrival.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2004-12-26 19:39:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Whew Mell, blow me away, what sensitivy, incased in wonderful linguistics. You capture raw emotion here, and being a child of October I truly understand the emotion ow what your poem symbol sresses. and you couldn't have written a more caring symbolic about and to Eric. Bravo my Freind/Girl you get more better (ha ha, hows that for English. My pleasure to be able to comment (per usual), you knock my socks off with the love of all love drama poems, about someone so near and dear to you. Impressive!!!!! Love and Happy New Year, and well health, and love.....Jo Mo
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2004-12-26 18:25:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.11765
Hi Mell, I feel like I'm back in school trying to understand Macbeth. I'm not sure of the name your whispering......spring? a plant name? sunshine? warmth? I personally find divinity in all of nature... Of nature. Poetry draws from the dualism In world and spirit regions, a reflection Of life choices. [true] I looked up; foudroyant-stunning/quick/severely eliding-omit/shorten cuittle-coax/cajole cynosure-guide/focal point asphodel/plant-lily family You must be a teacher... I really like your idea in this piece/I'm just having to use my head alot... You are saying you miss the green/and floral of spring? I"M doing my best/I'll have to think more on this...... I like the challenge Happy NY Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-12-26 16:47:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell-O: This is a very complex poem, in this reader's limited understandings. I feel that this is your poem more than it is meant to convey ideas to readers. As such I have to quote Rick once more: "A poem IS." In that sense, I can embrace it fully and absorb what I can of its meaning, without any discomfort that I won't understand all of the references and the meanings for you. It leaves me with a deep sense of melancholy and a welling-up of my eyes -- for the tenderness in it, mixed with what feels like sudden lights blazing and disappearing (foudroyant? lightning-strikes). Of course the very word "October" resonates with many emotional implications for me. The onrush of the "seasonal change" and though expected, is nonetheless disquieting. 'How can this be? It simply is!' the speaker seems to state. The word-pairing of "sapless death" affixed to "green" suggests a waning of vitality as felt physically and spiritually. The poem addresses poetry - though not 'ars poetica' in its entirety. Brilliance is very apparent in the wordplay of "wings/swing" tied alliteratively to "winter." The unusual word "foudroyant" alerted me to the eccentricity of the writer - your use of uncommon words is an intense delight for this reader. Also, the metaphor of 'culture' as 'poem' is wondrously captivating. There's so much more to this than my somewhat fatigued mind absorb. "Poetry draws from the dualism In world and spirit regions, a reflection Of life choices. Our society has less form And restraint, slides of eliding, and more Hyperbole than understatement." A lot to think about here. Profound philosophical/spiritual insights, offered along with comments on our society, along with euphony and somewhat crisp-sounding observations -- "Our society has less form/And restraint" may resemble sociological treatise, but then "slides of eliding" could have slid from Wynton Marsalis's trumpet. We have separated "world and spirit regions" in our dualist world view, you show us. What are the things we describe with our poetry, but the very things which are hidden by that world view, you seem to say. And I am thrilled to the core with "Sound, inside/ The dust of itself, becomes tedious and heart/Starts to pound for a vocable." It is clear that the speaker is someone who lives poetry. Anyone whose "heart starts to pound for a vocable" is an artist with words, a passionate proclaimer of verbal music as re-creation. "Some cuittle/For cynosure, thus able to smell the jasmine, Jasm to taste honeysuckle, and to find divinity. All played out against the sublime backdrop Of history." I think "cuittle" may be Scots for cajoling, but I'm unsure. You synesthetic gifts are apparent above, as smell and taste are part of your experience and ability to "find divinity" in surrounds -- not dualistic here. No separating of things into categories so that the intellect may dissect. The heart of the poem, IMO, is in your final lines, Mell-O-Marsalis. In my barren life, you are my sole And ultimate asphodel and you kiss my fingers, And walk away. And I? I linger at the door, my Face pressed against the frame, whispering Your name. Sighing, whispering your name. "Asphodel" recalls some of your earlier work. I can't forget your Lily (lillies) and magical transformations. These last lines are so intimate a part of your experience that I can't find the right words with which to honor them. Savoring them with each breath, I realize the intensity of the love that is revealed, the longing of a mother for her son, the searing anguish of the holding/ releasing of a now adult child. The realization of frailty and need, and the sacrifice of what one intensely desires vs what one realizes must be. One of your finest, most complex works, and I haven't done justice. I see you (the speaker) leaning against the door frame, so very delicately and painfully aware of mortality and eventual parting. This is powerfully anguished, sublime writing. The writer's transparency is given as a grace to the reader, asking nothing in return. Immensely moved -- and feeling a bit whelmed. What can I offer in closing that would have any value next to this? Brava, my friend. This has the exquisite sadness and beauty of the title's rain. And so, if I could, I'd offer a rainforest, complete with a warm cabin and writing desk, plus ink and paper in every shade. LL Em.
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