"The Kiss of the Siren" by Gustav Wertheimer‘Harbinger’s Gift’ by Tony L. Damigo The Society March 30, 2020 Culture, Poetry 4 Comments My waning days give way as dark besieges all my light. My tree, its branches sway in frigid Winter winds that bite! So too, the chill consumes me as my crackling hearth yet burns. The flicker of my fire bespeaks of warmth, yet none returns! A shadow in the dark I see, its specter drawing nigh. And in my stormy throes I hear a mournful banshee’s cry! Then soft as fluttered wings, her footsteps flew across the floor. Her raven hair unkempt beneath the tattered shawl she wore. Her eyes of limpid pools, reflecting deep into my essence. No sound around just silence and an eerie frigid presence! Her weathered hands reached out and then she pulled me to her face. With icy lips of blue she kissed, and shared my last embrace. Tony L. Damigo © Tony Damingo is contributing poet and participant at local ‘Open Mic’ readings in the Crestview, Florida area. He is also a poet of the Society of Creative Anachronism; a Renaissance reenactment organization. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 4 Responses JULIAN D. WOODRUFF March 30, 2020 A very evocative piece of work, with a use of meter that manages to suggest a petrifying fear. The painting makes me wonder: are we talking about a banshee or a siren? Your poem actually seems to suggest a cross between the two. Two niggles. I suppose you gave a lot of thought to the exclamation points. I admit that 4 in 6 quatrains makes me uneasy. I also wondered about an adjective before “warmth,” replacing “of” in the wake of a transitive verb; but unless you come up with a strong one, it’s not worth the bother. Thanks for a distinctive contribution! (Exclamation point meant.) Reply C.B. Anderson April 2, 2020 Don’t ask for too much, J.D. Too much explanation can ruin a poem. Reply Paul Oratofsky March 30, 2020 The first three stanzas are in the present tense, and then, in the fourth it’s suddenly in the past tense. That present tense was effective, so I’m not sure why you changed it. The fifth stanza could be present or past, but the last one remains in the past. There are other odd ways of putting things here, that seem forced, and just to fit the meter or rhyme, that feel like compromises of diction. Like the third line: ‘My tree, its branches sway” instead of something like “My tree’s bleak branches sway…” But the overall mood of darkness is effective, and the ending does pack a chilling punch, so the poem works to a degree. (32ºF) Reply C.B. Anderson April 2, 2020 It’s easy, Paul, to lose track of tense. I often have to go back and correct this inconsistency in my own poems. Person (1st, 2nd or 3rd) is another dimension in which it’s easy to get lost. If the mood of darkness rings your bell, then just go with that. Reply Leave a Reply 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.