Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Remembering Meifeng

Poets have an uncanny desire to retain memories that move them beyond the ordinary experiences of everyday life. They often seek substantiation of the emotions linked to these memories.
Discrimination is the adversary that quells them.

In times of racial unrest, these memories that were so poignant and beautiful from days of peace must be let on to the winds to make their final resting place in the sands of time. Like a plant condemned to a tiny patch of earth, the hope of the future rests within the words.
Although we know not where they rest, or if at some time the wind will lift their seeds to spread them to another person's thoughts, we must release them with a certain sadness because discordantly, they plausibly mean little to anyone else.

I am sharing this poem with that very thought in mind as I speculate about near future worldly events- in hope that it might ease the sting of loss at any level and that at some time, I might taste the bread made from it.

Remembering Meifeng

On wings above the cherry grove
alone, a noble crane descends
a flourish of the blossom trove
awakened by the gliding winds

it's feathers glowed of blinding snow
with pitch for trimmings, boldly dipped
upon it's head, a crown, as though
it kissed by cherry painted lips

the cotton candy day was spun
throughout the waves of grass I'd run
to flee the sunlit grade, I went
in marvel of the winged event

I reached the white cathedral where
the crane disturbed it's sacred air
such bright and godly light above
-a blossom dome of heaven's love

it's springtime fragrance hypnotized
that day the orchard drew me in
I wandered deeply, mesmerized
-beheld the rarity within

in deadness, essence seemed concealed
no sound arose from where I'd tread
entrancing visions soon revealed
a woman forming there instead

it's transformation seemed to me
a being cursed so tragically
with beauty far beyond this realm
evolved to lure and overwhelm

before her hands fell twinkling strings
that died, then rose with glassy wings
oh, soulless, I seduced that space
to find, could I, espy her face

she did not know I followed in
so gasped in wonder as she turned
abashment flushed her snowy skin
akin, my face had warmly burned

and how her eyes had pierced me deep
to haunt my thoughts each night I sleep
quite young was I, so unprepared
celestially, the beauty stared

I saw white petals flooding time
upon the wind, now blossoming
a rush of lustrous sound sublime
I felt the wondrous woman sing

adorned with blossom petals bright
she flurried down the mountain slope
her song like fading rain at night
it's echo, distant wisps of hope

oh, night on night, remembering
her song endures all weathering
as calling as a distant knell
-a soft and soporific spell

and night on night, I'm loath to wake
in knowing well my soul's at stake
if I should rise before she rests
for I exist in each her breaths

and every time I meet the dawn
to greet the sun, my voice is drawn
to sing Meifeng her favourite song
remembering that spring is gone

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Last few words: 
Thank you for reading. Any input is appreciated.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


as beautiful poem as I've seen from you. I don't think that there is anything that I would change. I felt the rhythm and found the pattern easily. I spoke it two or three times out loud, and afore ya knew it, it was as though I had written it myself! ~ Geezer.

This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place

I just noticed I had left the editing stage set to "rough draft", which obviously it is not. I never understood the reading out loud bit, but read about people doing this. I tried it a couple times, but my outside voice is never as eloquent as my inside voice. Thank you for reading and commenting.

. like my lost dreams...the flood

author comment

to read aloud those poems that reach my inner ear, the ones that beg to be spoken. I just finished commenting to someone else about the natural breath and rhythm, and we agree that it is important to the success of a poem and the making of classical works. I so wished to have the speaking/orating voice of those that were important in the old horror films, like
Vincent Price, Boris Karloff, and Rod Serling, that I read and practiced their speeches and quotes. I have one fault that I can hear in the readings. I read very fast, and I find that my eyes jump ahead to words not yet spoken and interfere with what is being said in that instant. Practice can overcome that tendency. Anyway, I really enjoyed this one. ~ Geezer.

This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place

another voice with rich texture is Morgan Freeman's. I sometimes imagine his voice reciting some of the great poetic works.
I never considered the idea of rhythm from a natural breathing perspective. That is an intriguing area for study. Perhaps a future interest for me.
As usual, your comments are a vista of interest. Thank you


. like my lost dreams...the flood

author comment

I am glad that my comments are of interest to you. I too, love Morgan Freeman's voice and I am sure that he has spent time with the classics. ~ Geezer.

This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place

(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.