Constance La France Poet Imagism

Notes About The Poem

 
Writer's Statement:

The first thing you will notice about my poetry is that I like to write my
stanza's anisometric, that is, composed of unequal lengths.  I also like
automatic writing without conscious control.  I have the ability to put 
myself into the poem, I am right there with the words as I am creating.

My poems tend to dwell on the sadder and more morbid aspects of life.
As the early romantic poets like to do in their poetry, I also like to write
in the school of drowned-in-tears style.  Often my poetry is mournful and
takes the reader to a cemetery, a graveyard.  So, I am also writing in 
the style of the 18th century poets whose melancholy words dwelled in
darkness.  This is known as the school of graveyard poetry.

In this poem, I am the ghost of a girl, a poet, who died young.  She 
cannot rest in peace because her poetry is lost to her in death.  It was
suppose to be buried with her but was not.  So now she will spend eternity
searching for her poems that dwells in the realm of the living. 

______________________________

Decaying Red Roses

I slowly open the old, rusty cemetery gate that groans,
      it squeaks and creaks in the still night,
        the trees are swaying dark shadows,
          reaching out for me-
            I walk
            a path
          strewn with fallen leaves,
        they crunch beneath my feet echoing.
      A sudden wind takes my long raven hair,
it whirls around me like a dark velvet, warm cloak.

The headstones go on for miles in rows and rows,
      names engraved, cut into cold stone,
        voices of those gone whisper softly,
          but I journey on.
            I seek
            a stone
          that bears my name.
        Statues of angels turn and weep,
      their tears wash me like gentle falling rain,
in the distance a mound of red roses already decaying.

This my resting place-   I should be dwelling in peace.
      I lived a short life and died young,
        and in death I am beautiful,
           but I linger still.
             I was 
             a poet.
          I seek the poems,
        I wrote my words in blood,
      in journals my many poems still exist,
words written that should have been buried with me.

         it was my wish


__________________________
January 14, 2017


Poetry/Imagism/Decaying Red Roses
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1311-070-17
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France

Submitted to the Premier contest, Imagist
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 12/04/20

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John Lawless December 11, 2020 at 7:46 AM Excellent....had me from the first line, the first groan of that rusty gate. A flashback filled saga of remorse. Nicely done Constance Constance La France December 11, 2020 at 11:39 AM John, thank you for visiting my poem and for the great comment _Constance

Vijay Pandit December 11, 2020 at 5:58 AM This is superb, Constance. Images you created brilliantly tell your story. Constance La France December 11, 2020 at 7:30 AM Vijay, thank you so much for the visit and the compliment on my poem, appreciate _Constance

Beryl Edmonds December 10, 2020 at 5:35 PM This is truly a wonderful work of art, one senses the poet searching in the dark for her poetry that should be beside her in the graveyard. Amazing Constance... Best wishes ~ Belle Constance La France December 11, 2020 at 7:30 AM Belle, thanks for the great comment, yes, I imagine many spirits of those passed, do not rest in peace because something is unfinished in this realm, like the girl in the poem who has lost her poetry _Constance