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At Home
Posted: 20 October 2008
Word Count: 65
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At home.
So, what use are roses
To me now?
Brought in memory but
Lost somehow
As darkness shuts out
Sunshine from your day
And worms will wrap around me
In decay.
Remember me by firelight
Not by stone
Forget that I have gone
I’m still at home
Waiting for the soft tone
Of your voice
To wake me from a slumber
Without choice.
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Comments by other Members
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 Mickey at 13:41 on 20 October 2008
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Hi Emma,
To my shame, I very seldom comment on fellow members' work. This is not because I don't read or admire it (although I don't always understand it!) It is because I don't have the poetical expertise to offer an opinion - I either like it or I don't. The reason that I'm responding to this piece is because I really do like it. The opening lines remind me of that poem by Wendy Cope about the flowers that were never bought, and also of a poem that I wrote a while ago called Rest In Peace (same sort of sentiment, but yours is more sympathetic) A really good poem - well done
Mike
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 joanie at 16:06 on 20 October 2008
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Hi Emma. I agree that this is lovely; I like the rhymes and the sentiments. I would drop the capital letters if this were me, however, as I think it stops the flow.
So, what use are roses
to me now?
Brought in memory but
lost somehow
as darkness shuts out
sunshine from your day
and worms will wrap around me
in decay.
Remember me by firelight
not by stone
forget that I have gone;
I’m still at home
waiting for the soft tone
of your voice
to wake me from a slumber
without choice. |
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What do you think?
joanie
ps Did you mean Bought in memory?
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 Epona Love at 16:21 on 20 October 2008
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Hi, thanks for your comments... no I did mean brought, to the grave side, but I guess bought would still work. I'm used to using the traditional capitalisation, old habbits die hard
Emma x
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joanie at 16:32 on 20 October 2008
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Thanks, Emma, for the clarification. Yes, of course, they were brought to the graveside. Sorry!
joanie
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Florence at 18:53 on 28 October 2008
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Hi Emma,
This reminded me a lot Christina Rossetti's 'When I am dead, my dearest' - especially with the reference to the roses. But it's more of a reposte to that sentiment. Rossetti is saying that whatever makes the grief easier, remembering or forgetting, is what those left behind should do, whereas the subject of your poem wishes to be remembered, to remain somehow in all the places she was when she was alive.
I agree with Joanie on the added punctuation as it needs more structure, but the sentiment and imagery is spot on. I really liked it.
Flo
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