Rain on Windchimes/poem by KrimsonReaper

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Submission Name: Rain on Windchimes/poem dots

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Author:	KrimsonReaper
ASL Info:	26/M/Denver, CO
Elite Ratio:	4.61 - 328/443/46
Words:	151

Class/Type:	Poetry/Longing
Total Views:	751
Average Vote:	No vote yet.
Bytes:	1081

Description:
This is actually a poem taken from my novel of the same name. The novel isn't finished, of course, but I thought I might see what kind of feedback I'd get by posting this. It is a story that touches on many different aspects of humanity, how the tales of perfect strangers are woven into the whole by chance and conspiracy. This poem is from the story of Peter Chapman, one of the central characters, who is being destroyed by his grief. Lamenting the loss of his beloved Addie.

Rain on Windchimes/poem dots

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She left without a passion
to hold her heart at bay.
Discord a sea of silence,
deceiving in its sway.
She loved the rain on windchimes.

Her tears would muffle tolling
When merry songs went quiet.

An autumn funeral weeping,
a lily on her grave.
A song of spirits haunting,
the words so very brave,
Just like the rain on windchimes.

The plagues were laughing children,
Her tomes of death mere whispers.

But the yesterdays still breed
tomorrows and todays,
When the Rose of night conceives
the thorns of morning rays.
The pain is rain on windchimes.

The sins of then forgotten,
Her breath a thought in passing.

Creators gamble infants,
They cast a die of dusts.
Play, Brats of Man, at incest
and satisfy Thy lusts.
Remember rain on windchimes.

The twilight means existence,
Her storms are creatures sighing.

Submitted on 2004-04-09 01:15:07 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

1: >_<
2: I dunno...
3: meh!
4: Pretty cool
5: Wow!

||| Comments |||
  Aaron, I think this is one of your best. Stunning imagery and word use--
"When the Rose of night conceives
the thorns of morning rays." and "Creators gamble infants,
They cast a die of dusts."--
I could go on but we don't need two copies of the poem on the same page--
The windchimes alone would be a haunting image, as they themselves have that eery, mystic quality--but your wise use of repetition mimics the way those chimes disturb,--and please, with their incessant delicate tinkling.

There seems to be an elusive message--even more so, sometimes-- when they are still.
The non-rhyming couplets between the perfectly rhyming stanzas--also subliminally disturb, jar--and those discordant notes also subtley mimic the way windchimes have those odd eery notes every now and then. The total effect is that we HEAR the chimes---and FEEL Peter's despair and loss.I have read this several times now--and each time it is that feeling that one gets when alone in graveyard--especially with a breeze rustling in the trees.
It's simply an achingly evocative write, one that haunts even more than windchimes themselves. Well done. Silver
P.S. Are we to be treated to more samples?? Mmmmmmmmmm
| Posted on 2004-04-18 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ]
  Once again, I just felt like comming back to read this piece of art again...It's nothing like the things I've read before...
| Posted on 2004-04-14 00:00:00 | by Crestfallenman | [ Reply to This ]
  hey dear, really enjoyed this one, as is usual with your stuff...i've had these eerie floating wisps of thoughts since my childhood living on the streets, when i used to watch the Boston sun setting...and you pegged it perfectly with that line..."the twilight means existence". see ya ~april
| Posted on 2004-04-09 00:00:00 | by leper messiah | [ Reply to This ]
  on windchimes///

i really hate to love these things. this poem is eery. windchimes symbolize "something happening." and don't you just FEEL that when you hear them? f.uck. that god damned twinkling. put a cluster of things together, and they will twinkle. they could be knives. they could be nails. they could be bullets hanging from strings. that f.ucking twinkling. i just shiver and scrunch up my shoulders like when someone walks too close behind me.

and no element can stop that noise. not even silence. you can't wish them to cease that same sound of..........god. what is it. it's something happening.........like memories mingling. it is like when you remember something, but you can't remember the entire thing until you remember something else, until something sparks....and then you hear windchimes and you pull your hood over your head and you walk as fast as f.ucking possible and you hope that your memories never connect again.

ghost.
| Posted on 2004-04-09 00:00:00 | by myghostsliketotravel | [ Reply to This ]
  This is the kind fo thing I would buy a book for. Sensitive imagery and well-thought out. I get you abotu novel being "unfinished, of course."

~ Niphredil
| Posted on 2004-04-09 00:00:00 | by Niphredil | [ Reply to This ]
  mmmm... beautiful. I thought I'd start w/ this, since it clearly pertains to the novel.
"But the yesterdays still breed
tomorrows and todays,
When the Rose of night conceives
the thorns of morning rays.
The pain is rain on windchimes."

That's my favorite part. The whole thing flows amazingly well. Makes me want to read the story so I know what's going on! I'd buy the book just for this!
What I really love is the R&R structure. The longer stanzas ALMOST lull you to sleep, but the half-rhymes in the 1st and 3rd lines of each keep things moving, while the couplets between verses fall completely outside the rhythm. Something awful happened. You can hear it. And rain on windchimes... what an image! <><
| Posted on 2004-04-27 00:00:00 | by WorththeWait | [ Reply to This ]
  I truly think this is a poet's poem. I don't how how you did it but with a flow like the raven and a chime indeed you pulled every subconcious string that ties us to poetry, mingling the senses yet so subtly that we are lulled and me into a state of nervous invigoration.. you truly have a love affair with words :D
| Posted on 2004-05-01 00:00:00 | by Learah | [ Reply to This ]

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