"The Night Bivouac of Napoleon's Army" by Vasily Vereshchagin‘The Breaking Season’ by Annabelle Fuller The Society January 21, 2018 Beauty, High School Submissions, Poetry 9 Comments Lips, soft as velvet, primrose pink, Are rent the blue of bruising ink. They rive and crackle in the cold, Retract in tissue paper folds; Corroded strips as flayed as zinc Teased grey and gaunt, and growing old. Faint silver sands shake down like snow, Days melting slowly in the glow Of raindrop spheres which sadly swirl. The epilogues of chilled limbs curl And only snowdrop shells can grow, Their petal stems all sharply furled. Ice strives to anodise the throat And strangle any golden note. Breath hovers in a frozen cloud And ripples like a rimy shroud. The season seeks to crow and gloat In icy crowns, all poised and proud. Frost sleeps within our brittle bones And clots white water into stone: Fish paralysed in glassy halls As daylight ebbs and verglas crawls. Each speck of life is quite alone And cloaked in misty coffin palls. The year’s last act is spliced and split With wintry whips and heaven-spit. They sting the skull and smart the skin, Their lustrous coldness puncturing Our lungs in silent censorship. They dare the year to reach the spring. Annabelle Fuller is a student and poet from Yorkshire who writes for The Indiependent. She has had poems displayed in the V&A, Sigmund Freud Museum and Oxford University Church, and won her category of the Ilkley Literature Festival in 2016 and 2017. Her work can also be found in New Poetry Magazine and on the Poetry Society website. Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) 9 Responses Lenore January 21, 2018 So glad to see beautiful poetry like this on the Society’s page. Thank you. Reply James A. Tweedie January 22, 2018 Annabelle, Thank you for your chilling vision captured in an innovative rhyhmic scheme (no doubt familiar to those more “versed” in such matters than I am). Everything is lovely but several turns of phrase strike me as particularly elegant. Some of my favorites include: Days melting slowly in the glow Of raindrop spheres… Breath hovers in a frozen cloud… And clots white water into stone… Although this is a cliche I mean it as a sincere compliment: “You have a way with words.” Indeed! Reply Leonard Dabydeen January 22, 2018 Beautiful and timely seasonal poem. Enjoy its rhyme scheme in iambic tetrameter. Like stanza four …” Frost sleeps within our brittle bones/ ….”. Welcome Spring. TFS, Annabelle Fuller. Reply James A. Tweedie January 22, 2018 Leonard, I appreciate your nod to my query but it’s the aabbab pattern I was curious about (I typed “rhythmic pattern” instead of my intended “rhyming pattern”). Does this pattern have a name? is it common or rare? It certainly adds depth and richness to the repetitive tetrameter it embraces. A successful choice. Reply David Watt January 22, 2018 I also loved your many memorable phrases. Those already mentioned plus: ‘The year’s last act is spliced and split With wintry whips and heaven-spit.’ I look forward to reading more of your work. Reply James Sale January 23, 2018 Like this a lot: “They dare the year to reach the spring.” – superb last line. Reply Annabelle Fuller January 23, 2018 Thank you for the comments, everyone! I’m glad that rhythm and rhyme have been well received. Reply Fr. Richard Libby January 31, 2018 Rhyme, meter, language . . . it’s all there! Well done! Reply Hibah Shabkhez February 1, 2018 Deliciously spooky. The kind of thing one remembers later on, and whispers over hot chocolate in a biting early morning wind. Reply Leave a Reply to James A. Tweedie Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.