"Marsh Landscape" by Louis Remy Mignot ‘I Want To Believe’ and Other Poetry by Sally Cook The Society May 21, 2019 Beauty, Poetry 10 Comments I Want To Believe I want to believe a scarlet sky Promises sunshine. Don’t know why They say red skies mean turbulence— To me it doesn’t make much sense. I want to believe in love again And all the things that might have been: The velvet dust on a moon moth’s wings, And fanciful shapes of color; things Now put aside so we can tweet And twitter, to make our lives complete. After a Freeze After a freeze, the ground is hard and sere. Hard ice piles up upon the crusted snow. Dry plants shrink back. They seem to show their fear, As I do when I think back on the flow Of time, and shrink a little in my shell. I know I’ve learned my lesson very well: That every crack in armor writes a line, And in the end you’ll use it in a rhyme. A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY. 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) Related 10 Responses Joseph S. Salemi May 21, 2019 Two very nice pieces, Sally. The choriambic substitutions in the first poem are quite effective ( “want to believe” and “Promises sunshine” and “fanciful shapes”). You have a penchant for writing poems about the weather, but you always manage to make a connection with a psychological state. Reply Sally Cook May 22, 2019 Thank you, Joe, for pointing out my use of weather, both psychological and meteorological. Your comments always dig below the surface to find the full meaning. But isn’t that the essence of poetry and all art? Showing the world one’s knowledge (or lack of it) is such a small part. Reply C.B. Anderson May 21, 2019 I, too, have had a bad week at the office. But I’ve rarely seen you so pessimistic. Did another cat go missing? Thanks once again for an opportunity to reflect upon my own mishandled life. Reply Sally Cook May 22, 2019 Yikes! So sorry — chin up, C.B. Reply Joseph S. Salemi May 22, 2019 To both Sally and Kip — As we get older, the tragic element in life becomes more prominent in our consciousness. That is a given of the human condition. You have to be a certain age to realize the full force of what the Roman poet says: Sunt lacrimae rerum, mentem et mortalia tangunt. It’s almost untranslatable, but here’s a try: “There are tears within all things, and mortality impinges itself on our mind.” Reply C.B. Anderson May 22, 2019 Timor mortis conturbat me. Reply Sally Cook May 23, 2019 So true; the ancients understood life far better than we do. Perhaps the true meaning of each life resides not so much in what occurs or does not occur, but in how we deal with the vicissitudes. Reply Sally Cook May 23, 2019 To both Joe and Kip — On second thought, it is not so much fear of death, but more the running out of time, don’t you think? C.B. Anderson May 24, 2019 Sally, in some sense this is a distinction without a difference. Reply Sally Cook May 25, 2019 C.B. – Perhaps. But I have seen people who fear death with a passion yet not because they fear the loss of time to do anything at all. I have also known of those who work right up to the end and seemingly have no fear of death. Certainly no two people will react the same way to a threat of extinction. In the end, a great mystery remains just that; a great mystery. Reply Leave a Reply to C.B. Anderson Cancel Reply Your 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.