This is a poem I wrote over the past few days, having twice seen condensation trails bisecting the afternoon sky. I presume they were left by aircraft, but I saw no other trace of whatever created them. Stepping through my daily routine, I looked up to see the fuzzy white lines that reached from horizon to horizon as far as my eyes could peer. Studying them proved a nice diversion as I paced my way through the chill Chicago air, anticipating the start of another winter.
That was enough stimulus to provoke pondering of the usual unanswerables and to inspire the following verse.
Follow Anew, Trail
By Francis Scudellari
Pressed by, the daze, errand
Footfalls thudding, lost, in
Thoughts chilled, self searching, I
Look up at winter's sky
Vapor arcing, spreading
Starkly, thin essence writ,
Authorless acts told, once
Of unclear beginnings
A worn white scar traced
With traveling fingers
Scratched, across pale blue sky,
Wounds, unknown, left behind
A jagged edged tear, now
Closed up, today, stitched new,
Hid heavens, dark secrets
Whispered low, long ago
Seeming without end,
Spilling forward, in time
It fades back to stretched mist,
Reseeds a cloudless haze
To emptiness, returned,
Head lowered, I, push on
Blank steps, follow anew,
Trail, my line imagined
10 comments:
I love con trails and always wonder where the jet began its journey, and where it will end.
And looking at your last name makes me remember a family who used to live near us when my father was stationed in Spain...relation?
A worn white scar traced
With traveling fingers ...
Beautiful line and beautiful poem.
You have found your calling my friend. You're certainly a cut above the rest.
~JD
Hi Kelly,
I've always liked con trails too ... especially since I love flying. There's something neat about seeing the path someone else took. Like footsteps in the snow.
I've never lived in Spain ... unfortunately ... and don't know of any close family that was stationed there. I'd be interested to know if they were related. A few years back, we actually visited the town in Italy where my paternal grandfather was born, but all the Scudellaris had moved on.
Thanks JD,
That is a good line ... I'm surprised I wrote it :). I don't know how the phrasings come to me, they just do, and I'm fond of head rhymes.
I don't know that I'm any better than anyone else ... just different.
Another grand poem by you Francis! Metaphoric in many imaginary ways, taking emotions on a propelled journey through a mixture of empathy and conjecture.
Thanks Michelle,
I can always count on you to lift my spirits :).
"Pressed by, the daze, errand
Footfalls thudding, lost, in
Thoughts chilled, self searching, I
Look up at winter's sky"
WoW.
Exam time.
The rhyme scheme for my next 2 weeks
Fantastique!
Thanks GSG,
Funny, I didn't even notice those lines rhymed until you just pointed it out. I'm usually more about alliteration, as you can see from the rest of the poem.
Good luck with the exams.
Hi, Francis! A great poem:)
bye
Annarita
Thanks so much Annarita. That means a lot to me :).
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