The Death of Dignity

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is by Jane Cornwell

 

 

The Death of Dignity

The birds came to this morbid place

because they always did.

Bringing flowers to weave a wreath

to mourn the recent dead.

They crowded round the fresh dug grave

and ruffled weary wings

with no intent to swoop or dive

and silent was their song. 

The flowers from impassive beaks

all withered when they fell

upon the earth so dry and cracked

on this sad, blighted, hill.

For here, within this lonely plot,

old Dignity lay dead.

It starved as Avarice grew fat

and Falsehood stalked the land.

 

Compassion too, had left this life,

replaced by Fear and Hate.

Anger swamped our shores in waves

and Day was quashed by Night.

It was no plague that brought these birds

to Dignity's sad end.

Just Humanity's brutal deeds

that put it in the ground.

Don't weep for Dignity, don't cry,

for everything we've lost.

The birds have flown, our words are clay,

the time for Hope has passed.

Tim Fellows 2021

Ikaros

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Waxwings" by John Law, and "Concentrating on hearing voices" by Kerfe Roig

Ikaros 

after Cavafy

 

He fashioned wings with wax

and the largest feathers he could find. 

Their course to safety mapped with care.

His son, a dreamer, felt the rush

of clear breezes through his hair.

Spiraled, swerved and glided 

ever closer to the sun. 

Looking back, the craftsman wept

as Ikaros fell helpless to the sea.

The wax had gone, the feathers

floating free and cast upon the wind. 

Don't fly too high, don't dream.

Just let the wax stiffen

and cripple your wings. 

Tim Fellows 2021

The Hill

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "Roman Soldiers" by Jane Cornwell

 

The Hill

They came as ghosts, emerging in the dawn,

oblivious to time that had sped past

since they met death upon this battlefield

that was now meadow; and now swift the snow

fell on their shields, melted on their swords.

Translucently they hovered in this place

unable to find peace, they screamed and roared.

Recalled the blows that ripped them from this life

so far from home; their wives and children cried

when news from foreign fields arrived in Rome.

The only man who saw them on that day,

head bowed against the stinging Northern wind,

climbed the hill to face the phantom troops, 

stood straight, held out his arms and gently spoke:

Somnus autem, fortes viri - sleep well, brave

men of Rome. As the snow began to fade

so too did they, their armour, shields and swords

gleamed one last time as sunlight split the trees

and peace could come to this unholy spot;

the blood and bone below the earth now cleansed. 

Tim Fellows 2021

The Trap

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. This is written in the "Mirrored Fib" form, based on the Fibonacci Sequence. The Fibonacci Sequence is a mathematical sequence seen often in nature, and many spider's webs have the spiral form linked to it. See the bottom of the blog for more details.

The art work for this day is "Reticulation #2" by Kerfe Roig

 

 

 

The Trap

Web
lies
waiting
poised to host

a careless victim;

struggling in vain to save its life.

Would I watch, wondering whether I should intervene 

if anything were caught within that sticky trap, break apart the web, or simply snap

the thinnest threads that hold the insect in its place, to free it from its jail, liberate 
before Arachne wins the deadly race, but perhaps

its translucent wings are broken,

and, deprived of all

nutrition,

spider

would

die. 

Tim Fellows 2021

 

The Reverse Fib Form

In Mathematics the Fibonacci Sequence is formed by starting at 0 and 1 and adding the previous two numbers together to form the next. 

(0),1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,....

When made into interlocking squares, a spiral form appears from it as shown below.

This spiral, and the sequence is seen all across nature. Flower petals, sunflower centres, spider webs. As the sequence approaches infinity, the ratio of consecutive numbers approaches a number called the Golden Ratio. This spiral, and the golden ratio, are used across art and design to make aesthetically pleasing shapes. The Acropolis, Taj Mahal, and the Mona Lisa all have this concept built in. 

 

For "The Fib" poetry form, we write a poem using the number of syllables in the sequence for each line. This gets unwieldy from 34 upwards. Stop when it makes sense to! To make it more challenging, reverse the sequence to make "The Mirrored Fib" form as in my poem above.

 

1

1
2

3

5

8

13

21

21

13

8

5

3

2

1

1

Apparition

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "The Nine of Wands" by Kerfe Roig

 

 

Apparition

 

Alone in the desert, 

the clear night air raised bumps

on his unfeeling skin. His eyes

were raised, a billion sparkling

stars ignored. 

 

His only focus was the comet,

screaming in an endless vacuum, 

propelled without purpose, 

not even instinct. Flicked into motion,

crossing the frontier. 

The nine wands, painstakingly

inverted in the hard ground, seemed

to gleam in the moon's half light. 

They said that it would bypass

Earth, as far removed

 

as the aircraft he saw leaving trails

in the hot blue skies. But he knew

that there was more to the Universe

than Science, and the wands would

bring it to him.

 

Here, to this spot. Soon. 

 

Tim Fellows 2021

April Shower

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell and "April Showers" by Kerfe Roig 

 

 

 

April Shower

 

I hear the breeze rise through the woods

where, in other years, you would have walked. 

I listen for the haunting notes that followed you

but nothing drifts across the April air. I wonder

if you still play, your lips on that thin reed;

your breath, enclosed in maple, ready to vibrate

and pull me, an entranced snake,

through the house into the white-walled room;

your eyes closed, fingers moving on their own

and me, alone with just an empty chair.

 

A sudden squall has brought the April rain

and drives me to the cover of the trees

 

I watch it splash in puddles, see it drip 

from spring's new leaves, washing you away. 

 

Tim Fellows 2021

Snipe

 Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Snipe" by John Law

 

 

 

Snipe

 

Mottled back disguise

Tread gently on salt washed sands 

Rise like a dragon

Lie still and silent
Moon slides across morning skies

Trigger finger tight

 

Plunge your strong bill deep

Pull smoothly, your body still.
Death comes in the dawn

Tim Fellows 2021