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Lachrimosa

As winter pushes fall aside
And birds complete their southward flight
I sit and watch the water glide
Beneath the old stone bridge at night.

The crescent moon, with smile askew,
Reflects her light upon the stream,
And births a thousand stars anew
Which leap and dance as in a dream.

The water, like each bird and season,
Passes by and then is gone,
Like love and life, which for a reason,
Linger ere they journey on.

The moon descends, the starlight dims,
And passing clouds drop shadowed rain,
As molding leaves leap from their limbs
And fall to earth where I remain.

Within the lachrymosal mists
My heart, as like a dying leaf,
Holds fast to hope as it resists
Descent into the wells of grief.

I watch as night’s fair darkness ebbs away
And face the failed love I had denied.
And as the dawn-light ushers in the day,
I sit alone and weep for what has died.

Previously published in the Salzburg (Austria) Poetry Review

lachrimosa = tears, weeping, especially 
in grief (Latin—referenced
in the Requiem Mass)

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We Dreamed of Tomorrows

The chill winter wind bites through flesh to the bone
As grey steely skies freeze the sun in its place.
My exhaled breath adds a cloud of its own
Congealing to ice on my hair and my face.

How often we walked on this path to the sea
On warm summer days when the dune grass was green.
We danced to the sound of the waves; we were free.
We dreamed of tomorrows and things yet unseen.

The children we raised now live lives of their own.
The years came and went, with a blink and a blur
What once was unseen has become what is known.
And dreams we once dreamed have become what once were.

I shiver as wind chills my flesh to the bone
And walk on the path through the dune grass, alone.

Previously published in Sparks of Calliope
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Her Presence Lingers

Her presence lingers like a rare perfume—
Not seen but sensed—a fragrance in the air;
A will ‘o wisp whose whispers fill the room
With echoes of a voice no longer there.

“I love you,” cries the voice. “I love you, too,”
My heart replies as tears fall from my eyes
And kiss the earth the way that raindrops do
When springtime showers and rainbows paint the skies.

As like the sweet scent of a flower, I fear
Her fragrant presence all too soon will fade
When winter’s frozen fingers, cold and sere,
Embrace each barren hill and leafless glade.

And yet, come spring, I’ll find—as true love knows—
Her fragrance in the scent of every rose.

Previously published in The RavensPerch

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James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, Dwell Time, Light, Deronda Review, The Road Not Taken, Fevers of the Mind, Sparks of Calliope, Dancing Poetry, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.

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16 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Those are three beautiful melancholy poems that so perfectly flow they are like tears of their own. As you so sensitively wrote about love and loss, I have experienced my own and can think of no more perfect way to preserve what is in the heart.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      ” . . . they are like tears of their own.” What a beautiful phrase, describing exactly what I was trying to express in these poems! Thank you, Roy for your encouraging comment.

      Reply
  2. Norma Pain

    If there can be beauty in loss, then it can be found within the lines of these three poems. Thank you for sharing these James.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      ” . . . beauty in loss . . .” Again, poignant and descriptive words that both compliment and complement my poetry. Thank you, Norma.

      Reply
  3. Cynthia Erlandson

    These are all heartbreakingly poignant poems. The moon/stars/water/ fallen leaf imagery in “Lachrimosa” paint a picture so evocative of grief. Its third verse seemed to echo with overtones of Ecclesiastes. “We Dreamed of Tomorrows” ends on such a sad “alone.” I haven’t figured out why, but the anapestic meter seems to work well; perhaps it emphasizes the happiness that is being dreamed of or remembered — the dancing “to the sound of the waves”. “Her Presence Lingers” — especially the second verse — makes me feel like crying.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Cynthia, how interesting that I used the word “poignant” in my reply to Norma before I read it in your comment. Great minds think alike! Or, more likely, the word “poignant” perfectly captures the feelings evoked in these poems. I am not an emotional person but I do not exaggerate in saying that I had tears in my eyes as I wrote the final words for each of these poems.

      Reply
  4. C.B. Anderson

    The first poem is a classic, and please don’t tell me I am being overly effusive.

    The second poem takes risks with rhymes, but God knows, James, you landed on your feet.

    I won’t linger on the third poem, because it’s much too sensuous for an insensible person like myself. You done good, young fella.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      C.B. “Insensitive?” Ha! No doubt the fragrance of your own roses stir feelings of romance, of longing, or of deep and profound beauty each time you pass by them. As for “risks with rhymes” I’m not exactly sure what this means. They all seem fairly simple and straightforward to me!

      And thank you for being effusive. God knows we all need to both give off and absorb a bit of effusiveness every so often!

      Thank you for your supportive and encouraging words.

      Reply
      • C.B. Anderson

        I wrote “insensible,” not “insensitive,” James, but either way you are right to scoff,

        The risks? Well, you repeated end-rhyme sounds where they were not expected. Maybe not much of a risk

        In a previous post of yours, you said that my praise was too effusive.

  5. Paul A. Freeman

    ‘a blink and a blur’ sums it all up.

    I especially enjoyed Lachrimosa and Her Presence Lingers. We Dreamed of Tomorrows was a little too melancholy for my present mood.

    Thanks for the reads.

    Reply
  6. Daniel Howard

    Lachrimosa is my favourite, especially the following stanza:

    “Within the lachrymosal mists
    My heart, as like a dying leaf,
    Holds fast to hope as it resists
    Descent into the wells of grief.”

    Reply
  7. Gigi Ryan

    James,
    Only someone who has known the depths of grief can bring such beauty from ashes. Thank you.
    Gigi

    Reply
  8. Margaret Coats

    James, I find that your title, with reference to the Dies Irae sung in a traditional Latin Requiem Mass, moves this poem profoundly beyond the topic of grief for a deceased person. In fact there is almost nothing in the speaker’s description of his actions, to suggest grief for a person. There is only the title that might mean he has been to a funeral, and the line saying love and life pass by like water, but in a more lingering manner. In the final stanza, we hear of “the failed love I had denied” and thus could possibly think it might be love (not the beloved one) that has died. Especially as he weeps “for what has died,” when he could easily say “for her who died” or “for him” or “for those.” And why would he say in the next-to-last stanza that his heart “holds fast to hope”? Does he think the deceased will return to life, or that love will be restored?

    Of course this hope could be his hope that the deceased is in heaven, where they may meet again. But you say nothing of that, while focusing strongly on a single word of the Requiem sequence, which occurs at the most important turn of that tremendous chant. “Lacrimosa” starts the 18th stanza, where it moves from tercets to couplets and leaves behind all three of the melodies that succeed one another up to that point. I have to consider the words (literally translated) from there: “Tearful that day/On which rises from glowing ashes/The guilty man to be judged/Spare him, therefore, God.” Your speaker could be mourning for himself and his guilt in having denied the love of God and made himself deserving of death and hell by sin. The Dies Irae (Day of Wrath) has much to say of hell. But your speaker’s heart may hold fast to hope because the final words are “Kind Jesus Lord, give them rest.” Verse 19 did say “him” in the singular, but verse 20’s “Dona eis requiem,” is conventionally always spoken in the plural, even at a funeral for one person, to acknowledge that many may benefit by this prayer.

    Look what you did, James, by drawing the requiem liturgy into your vigil by the old stone bridge!

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Margaret, the referenced poem is not as convoluted as you suggest. The person in the poem (who may be either male or female, but probably male, for a number of reasons) is grieving the loss of a relationship—a love that has died—a marriage, perhaps, or an engagement that has been broken off. Various thoughts cross his mind as he sits alone through the night by the old bridge. He clings to hope like a doomed leaf clinging to a branch. He feels as if the whole world is weeping with him (lachrimosal mists) as he faces the reality that that his relationship has died. Death and tears. Dies Irae and Lachrimosa. The setting for the requiem that played in my head as I wrote the poem was Verdi’s, whose setting for the Dies Irae is without equal. Despite the references, the poem is not particularly theological at all.

      Reply
  9. Shamik Banerjee

    These poems are poignantly set, Mr. Tweedie. Grief is a subject that not only produces the most striking lines but also makes everyone pause and ponder. The raw emotion presented in your second piece, coupled with the form, makes it a hard-hitting one (I like the part where it talks about your children and the dreams you had, and definitely the couplet). Comparing your partner’s fading old age days to that of a flower’s slowly-vanishing scent (and the gradual increase in fear that comes along with it) is just brilliant. I love this concept. Thank you for these poems. 

    Reply
  10. Corey Jackson

    Shakespeare’s sonnets to the Dark Lady reverberate in one’s consciousness upon reading “Her Presence Lingers”, replete with rich and romantic phrasing. I love the exquisite and touching metaphor of tears that “kiss the earth the way that raindrops do.” The volta in the final couplet is vividly and expertly rendered: ” . . . I’ll find . . . Her fragrance in the scent of every rose.” Here the speaker’s grief is rendered into an ecstatic memory of sensual uplifting joy. It is a heartwarming and memorable sonnet!

    Reply

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