"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Saturday, April 4, 2015

R.E. Slater - And There Was No Dawn (poem)




And There Was No Dawn
by R.E. Slater



In the black of morn gay songbirds sang,
alongside warbling robins chirping “Cheer-Cheer-rio’s”,
the spring woodthrushes clucked “Twala-la-dees,”
echoing woodland grouse thumping plumping breasts.

Upon my ear dark greenwoods flew awake
by their one’s and two’s and three’s, til’
fair woods burst its blackened bounds
echoing O echoing sweet heavenly rings.

Chilled the air, and frosty the grounds, were
upon the deep darks that closed my bounds,
as anon did I go a wandering its glistens
gloriously listening sweet heavenly visions.

Yet the heralded dawn would not come,
as deep darkness held fast the steadfast sun,
as I, and woodlawn, held our gaze
along shadowy lands its nary haze.

At once I knew this darkened world
was withholden its light upon its stays,
as earth revolved and day turned night
benighting the lands of the midnight sun.

Once filling with warming light from above
each ray singing gay morning fast awake,
but not this day, nor tomorrow’s dawn,
All ruined, all lost, this darkening day.

Both land and beast, slumbering hawk and fowl,
knew not whence this source of withering chill,
that closed the eyes of an unseeing world
withholding gay songs upon its beating breast.

And there was no dawn this day of days,
and there was no sun greeting mankind’s ways,
to darkly lay morn's bounds upon the ground
denying gay haunts across fair paschal lands.

As I, and earth, felt our way upon fey paths,
across the deep darks awakening its evil,
believing goodness came when fast asleep,
but it did not come these wastelands of hate.


- R.E. Slater
April 2-5, 9, 2015; Aug 27, 2015; Jun 1, 2020;
“you made me see the stars above”

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved





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