“Winter Widow”, a haibun

 

At the window she saw the naked trees of winter lit by a slivered crescent moon, casting thin shadows upon frigid ground. Skeletons in the moonlight, these ghostly trees, as brittle as her own internal landscape. Little flesh about her, a fresh widow, reduced by grief now resembling the fragile branches outside in the sullen night.

There was a time when she was juicy, ripe with swelling tissue, wet with moisture, velvet of skin. She lapped at life with full lips and embracing gestures. Speared on her husband she moaned, screamed with laughter, pivoted in sheer joy. Her life had been full, overflowing, desirable, endless, a portrait of promise.

He died one day. Life turned surreal. Much remained, only the reason for living gone. The temperature grown colder, like him under the soil.

Outside it started to snow. She watched the gentle coverage of branch, bush and ground, a tender benediction offered to a cradled earth. She knelt in the snow, grateful for this arousal to life.

She would live, but he must be so cold under the snow.

 

Come kiss my warm lips
Cup my breast in your rough hand,
Growl into my mouth.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2018

 

 

“Winter Widow”….

(my front garden a few years ago when we had some snow.)

I was told by some poetry group that this poem was ‘too racy’ to post there.  So I left.  Poetry shouldn’t cater to the safe, mundane of life.  It should challenge and reflect life.  Poetry isn’t for dullards or cowards.  It can be but who would want to read it?

Lady Nyo

–

She saw the naked trees of winter

Lit by a slivered crescent moon,

Casting thin shadows upon a frigid ground,

Skeletons in the moonlight

Dark ghosts,

Brittle like her bones.

Little flesh about her,

A fresh widow reduced to grief

Resembling fragile branches

outside in the sullen night.

–

There was a time when she was juicy,

Ripe with swelling life,

Velvet of skin.

She lapped at life with full lips,

Embracing passions.

–

Speared on her husband

She moaned, screamed with laughter, sheer joy.

–

Her life had been full,

Overflowing,

Desirable,

Endless-

A portrait of promise.

–

He died and life turned surreal,

The reason for living gone.

The temperature of her life

Grown colder,

Like him under the soil.

–

It started to snow,

A gentle covering of branch

Bush and ground,

A tender benediction,

A white blanket to her pain.

–

She knelt in the garden

Suddenly grateful to feel anything

Even the cold.

 

She would live,

She knew this now,

But he must be so cold under the snow.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014-2017

“Winter Widow” is published in “A Seasoning of Lust”, 2sd Edition, Amazon, 2016.

“Winter Widow”

https://goo.gl/YNzows

“Winter Widow” is published in the new edition of “A Seasoning of Lust”, Amazon.com

 

At the window she saw the naked trees of winter lit by a slivered crescent moon, casting thin shadows upon frigid ground. Skeletons in the moonlight, ghostly trees, as brittle as her own internal landscape. There was little flesh about her now, she a fresh widow, reduced by grief until resembling the fragile branches outside in the sullen night.

There was a time when she was juicy, ripe with swelling tissue, wet with moisture, velvet of skin. She lapped at life with full lips and embracing gestures. Speared on her husband  she moaned, screamed with laughter and pivoted in sheer joy. Her life had been full, overflowing, desirable, endless, a portrait of promise.

He died one day, and life turned surreal. So much remained, only the reason for living gone. The temperature of life grown colder, like him under the soil.

Outside it started to snow. She watched the gentle coverage of branch, bush and ground, a tender benediction offered to a cradled earth. She went and knelt in the snow, now grateful for this arousal to life and sensation.

She would live, but thought he must be so cold under the snow.

—

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

“Winter Widow”, an attempt at haibun for dversepoets.

I’ve never written haibun  before but Bjorn’s prompts are always a challenge at d’versepoets pub.

Winter Widow

 

At the window she saw the naked trees of winter lit by a slivered crescent moon, casting thin shadows upon frigid ground. Skeletons in the moonlight, these ghostly trees, as brittle as her own internal landscape. Little flesh about her, a fresh widow, reduced by grief now resembling the fragile branches outside in the sullen night.

There was a time when she was juicy, ripe with swelling tissue, wet with moisture, velvet of skin. She lapped at life with full lips and embracing gestures. Speared on her husband she moaned, screamed with laughter, pivoted in sheer joy. Her life had been full, overflowing, desirable, endless, a portrait of promise.

He died one day. Life turned surreal. Much remained, only the reason for living gone. The temperature grown colder, like him under the soil.

Outside it started to snow. She watched the gentle coverage of branch, bush and ground, a tender benediction offered to a cradled earth. She knelt in the snow, grateful for this arousal to life.

She would live, but he must be so cold under the snow.

“Come kiss my warm lips

Cup my breast in your rough hand,

Growl into my mouth.”

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

“Winter Widow”

 

 

The naked trees of winter

Lit by a slivered crescent moon,

Cast thin shadows upon a frigid ground,

Skeletons in the moonlight.

 

A fresh widow

Watched at the window,

Little flesh about her,

Those brittle branches

Now her bones.

–

There was a time when she was juicy,

Ripe with swelling life,

Velvet of skin.

She lapped at life with full lips,

Embracing passions.

–

Speared on her husband

She moaned, screamed with laughter,

Sheer joy.

 

Her life had been full,

Overflowing,

Desirable,

Endless-

A portrait of promise.

–

He died, life turned surreal,

The reason for living gone.

Life’s temperature grown cold,

Like him under the soil.

–

It started to snow,

A gentle cover of branch

Bush, ground,

A tender benediction,

A white blanket to her pain.

–

She knelt in the garden

Suddenly grateful to feel anything

Even the cold.

–

She would live,

She knew this now,

But he must be so cold under the snow.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

Winter Widow first published in Seasoning of Lust, Lulu.com by the author

“Winter Widow”…..

‘PITCHER OF MOON’ NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM!~

http://goo.gl/RzFRj4

For Gay.

I was unhappy with the opening line….and wrote to Dr. RK Singh in Mumbai about this.  He suggested “Winter’s naked trees” for the opening, and it works.  He also wrote of too many adjectives.  I took some out.  Perhaps it reads better.

Lady Nyo

WINTER WIDOW

– 

Winter’s naked trees,

Lit by a slivered crescent moon,

Casting shadows upon a frigid ground,

Skeletons in the moonlight

Dark ghosts.

–

A fresh widow

Little flesh about her,

Resembling  those brittle branches

 In the sullen night.

–

There was a time when she was juicy,

Ripe with swelling life,

Velvet of skin.

She lapped at life with full lips,

Embracing passions.

–

Speared on her husband

She moaned, screamed with laughter,

Sheer joy.

Her life had been full,

Overflowing,

Desirable,

Endless-

A portrait of promise.

–

He died and life turned surreal,

The reason for living gone.

Life’s temperature  grown cold,

Like him under the soil.

–

It started to snow,

A gentle covering of branch

Bush, ground,

A tender benediction,

A white blanket to her pain.

–

She knelt in the garden

Suddenly grateful to feel anything

Even the cold.

–

She would live,

She knew this now,

But he must be so cold under the snow.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

“Winter Widow”

“Winter Widow” is posted for OneShotPoetryWednesdays.blogspot.com

–

WINTER WIDOW

–

Dark, naked trees

Lit by a pale, slivered moon,

Cast fractured shadows

On a frigid ground.

–

From her window she saw

Skeletons in the moonlight,

Dark ghosts-

Brittle like her bones.

–

She was a fresh widow

Reduced by grief,

Little flesh about her

Resembling those fragile branches

In the  breathless night.

–

There was a time

When she was juicy,

Ripe with swelling tissue,

Wet with moisture,

Velvet of skin.

She lapped at life with full lips,

Indulged her thirst for love.

–

Speared on her husband,

She moaned,

Screamed with laughter,

Pivoted in sheer joy.

–

Her life had been full,

Overflowing,

Desirable,

Endless,

A portrait of promise.

–

He died one day-

Things turned surreal.

So much to do,

The season for living now gone,

The climate of life grown cold.

–

Outside it was snowing,

A gentle covering of

Branch, bush, ground,

A tender benediction,

A white blanket to her pain.

–

She knelt in the garden

Suddenly grateful to feel –anything,

Even the searing cold.

–

She would live,

She knew that now,

But still,

He must be so cold

Under the snow.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011

from “A Seasoning of Lust”, lulu.com