When the poet ceases singing


darkling 2

When the poet ceases singing
There’s an end to everything:
Birds in the trees, music,
Tones and timbre, plangent and deep,
Tempests flare in the mind of man
Foreshadow that terrible realisation
That you too have followed this same cliff path
On nights of luminosity and in the darkness-drear
Of night. Mother, father, lover, friend
Swoon towards the moon in triumph
Or despair. Or when those steps we climbed
In childhood, into the loneliness of a dream,
Creak and crack like the echoes of a scream.
And nothing is as nothing seems
And all retains the insubstantiality of dream.


St Sophia’s Cathedral – Constantinople


For the stoic and the silent ►


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John Marks

Mon 2nd Nov 2020 21:31

Thanks be to those stalwart souls who commented upon or liked this poem, versions of which have rattled around in my mind and heart for years. "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness." ~Robert Frost

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New Shoes

Mon 2nd Nov 2020 06:43

"The hills are alive with the sound of music"

Great poem!

and you better get some sleep!

Nicola Beckett

Mon 2nd Nov 2020 05:48

I'm jealous of how much poetry you are churning out I'll be honest, how beautiful this photograph is, question, do you ever sleep?!! And yes you do write beautifully too, it's not lip service I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, God surely gave you a gift now didnt he? And when you don't use it the angels are sad and weep x

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Mon 2nd Nov 2020 03:59

I hope you never cease singing John. Your poetry is the best of the best. Can’t wait for your next book to add to my collection! ❤️

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