“A Latticework of Tears”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

“A Latticework of Tears”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

autumn rain has come
orb weaver’s sorrowful web
a latticework of tears
a trellis of weathered memories
in this mournful
forgotten meadow
abandoned
as dusk’s demise
renders moot
vestigial joy
and hope
gives up its ghost

your dreams, you say
what of your dreams
those airy flights of fancy
those rumblings of your soul
tinged the hue of
virginal sun rays
so bright as to
blind you to
the world’s apathy
and horror
so urgent and strident
as to stay your sleep
at night
so incendiary as to
ignite worlds
birth universes

I know of dreams
I know of death, too
the slow withering
of saplings whose
brittle stems
shall never
reach maturity
whose once
verdant leaflets
become piles of
yellow dross
that fade into
oblivion

I know the soul-crushing
pressure of expectations
the futility of failure
the exhaustion of anhedonia
I know the tainted love
of depression
a foul mistress
the bleak and hollow
echoes of loneliness
the roiling pit
of dread and uncertainty
for what lies ahead

dreams memories tears
an elegiac dirge
for a life lost
a life misspent
bereft of love and lenity
the godless howl
of the past
the gaping maw
of the future
I know these things

shattered pieces
of my dreams
litter this lea’s
desiccated grasses
I must tread with caution
lest I slice myself
bloody

let the weaver’s web
display my tears
as trophies of defeat
I have bled enough
let what’s left of me
fall to the earth
as autumn rain

56 thoughts on ““A Latticework of Tears””

    1. Thanks so much, Jane. Yeah, not much hope at all in this poem. In order battle my way past my months-long writer’s block, I’ve been revisiting my haiku and senryu, expanding on some of them, fleshing them out a bit into full-length poems. Many of my haiku and senryu are rather melancholy and sorrowful, so it sort of make sense that any expansion of those ideas will follow the same theme. I’m okay with being “the depressing poetry dude,” and writing about depression and other similar issues is very therapeutic for me. I have 360 haiku/senryu on my blog, so there will certainly be a few with much lighter themes. Honesty, I’m just glad to be writing again, with five new pieces this week. 😀

      Thanks as always for your kind support. I truly appreciate you. 😊

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    1. Many thanks, Ashley, my friend. This poem is rather brutal in its overall mood, as was my haiku upon which it was based. It’s such a stirring image–an orb weaver’s web laced with raindrops. So evocative. 

      I’m grateful for your kind support, as always. It’s a pleasure to have visit! 😊

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    1. Kindest thanks, Michelle. I’ve come across orb weaver webs in meadows before. The sight of a spider web draped with raindrops was so profound to me. It felt as though the meadow were crying. Hence the haiku and then this poem it inspired. 

      Thanks, too, for always being such a wonderfully supportive person. I truly appreciate your words (very much humbled, and most certainly smiling). I’m glad you’re here, my friend.  😊

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      1. It really is… And if I remember right, I think you n I both live in Utah? Something about this place just makes me feel like there’s more here than meets the eye. 💫☺️

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    3. I’m in Colorado, but I was raised in southeast Utah on a farm just half a mile from the UT/CO state line (the extremely rural “community” was referred to as Ucolo), and went to school in Monticello. So, I’ve managed to distance myself from Utah by a grand total of 47 miles! 😄 I’ve resided in a few places throughout the years (Oregon, New Mexico, South Carolina, Louisiana, Utah, Colorado) and never imagined I’d end up back here in the Four Corners area. Always figured I’d spend the rest of my life along the Oregon Coast. Life is fickle and weird, so here I am in southwest CO, an hour from the farm in Utah were I grew up. I’m fond of Utah landscapes, but not much else (too many bad memories growing up in that state), and Colorado isn’t too bad overall. Still, how I miss the ocean… 🐳🐬

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      1. Well, around 200 miles from me. I love it here, but I’ve only lived here 2 years. I still don’t really know anyone here, but it’s a beautiful place. I remember your fondness for the ocean because I’m the same. I suppose we never really know where we’ll end up. Life is just so unpredictable sometimes.

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    1. Thank you kindly, my friend. It means a lot to me to know my words connect with people. I’m so glad you’re part of our community here. I’m always delighted to see you stop by for a visit. All the best to you, my friend! 😊

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    2. I’m sorry for the confusion, my friend. When I mentioned community, I meant the wonderful people like you who leave such nice comments, as well as the good people who write stories and poetry. This is a fun place, and it feels good to have such nice people come and say hello.  😊

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    1. Thanks, Cindy. I appreciate your support as always (even when my poems are super-depressing!). You always make my day with your bright demeanor. Thank you for this, my friend. 😊

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    1. Thanks so much, Layla. The nature-lover in me really took hold on this one. I lived in Oregon in the mid-’90s and it rained nearly every day during the fall and winter. I actually loved it–it was refreshing and everything was green and bursting with vigor. That autumn rain in forgotten meadows lends itself so easily to metaphor. I couldn’t help but to come full-circle to the rain at the end. 

      I’m always glad to see you stop by, and your supportive comments are incredibly inspiring. I appreciate you. 😊

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  8. Sad but so beautiful. You’re on a roll! Yay! 🤗 One summer when we planted corn (and nearly harvested two successful cobs, lol!), I saw a web woven between the two, perfectly centered, but I also saw the spider and thought, “Yep, not coming out here again until Fall!”

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    1. Oh, man, I hate spiders. On the farm where I was raised, there were cat-face spiders that spun intricate webs. I remember as a little kid having the living daylights scared out of me by one particularly fast and huge spider while examining its web. I’ve never forgotten that! Their webs can be beautiful–especially when adorned with raindrops–but I can do without the spiders… 

      I’m glad you enjoyed this dark piece. Much appreciated, my friend. 😊

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    1. Thanks so much. I agree completely–autumn rain is magical and lends itself so well to metaphor. My days in rainy Oregon showed me how wonderful the rain can be. I appreciate your kind words so much. Thanks for stopping by! 😊

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    1. Many thanks, Iseult. I really dislike spiders but their webs are magical. Exploring meadows after a storm yields such treasures–diamonds caught in orb weavers’ webs, or in this case, raindrop tears. I’m so happy to know you enjoyed this one. Thanks for your kind support, my friend. 😊

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      1. this line…

        I know the tainted love of depression a foul mistress the bleak and hollow echoes of loneliness…

        Just clung to my soul.

        the poem does a full pirouette. Evoking hope while still demonstrating the darkness skillful writing as always Mikey. Loved it

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      2. Thanks, Nigel. There’s always been something incredibly compelling to me regarding weaving sorrow with beauty and hope. There’s a dichotomy in play, and I like the tension and ambiguity, and at times the smooth melding of opposites, Counterpoints are dynamic. With all that said, it just seems natural to me based on a lifetime’s experiences, trying to figure out how life works and why, most of the time, it doesn’t. And yeah, depression is a foul mistress, for sure. Thanks as always for your insightful comments, amigo. 😊

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      3. A foul mistress indeed. Your writing is really captivating mate. Poetry still eludes me, so I have to really meditate on it when I read certain pieces. But I’m getting better at it ..thanks to you and other generous souls on WP who keep encouraging me. 👏👏

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  11. Beautiful, Mike, and so dark and mournful. The last two stanzas were sublime – gasp-worthy (a real physical reaction I have to poetry that strikes deep). Your imagery is always gorgeous and the way your used nature to reflect your feelings was lovely. Nature is both kind and cruel.

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    1. Thanks, Diana. It’s incredibly dark, for sure, as was the haiku that inspired it. I thought, should I publish this one so soon after my previous poem which was so much more hopeful? And my mind said, SURE!!! 😁 I love writing and I’m in the midst of remission from writer’s block, so every piece I write really excites me. Just tonight I’ve completed one poem and I’m nearing completion on another. I don’t know how long this will last, but I want to take advantage of the inspiration my old haiku and senryu are providing and see what I can do. This will make it seven new poems in the past seven days. I’m currently penning a ridiculously hopeful poem. Not sure when I’ll post it here but it will appear eventually. 

      I truly appreciate your support, my friend. Thank you so much for your kindness and friendship. And as always, thanks for stopping by. 😊

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  12. Mike, your words are so powerful in their sorrow and how heavy they weigh on the heart. But this poem is beautiful as ever and I love how you use nature to express your emotions whether they’re dark or joyful. You know how much I love nature, so your imagery truly resonates. Sending light your way, my friend.

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    1. Thanks, Lauren. Nature is so adept at lending itself to metaphors about all aspects of life. It seems as though I can’t think about anything without some metaphor popping into my head. I enjoy it, however. It keeps me connected to nature even though I’m unable to get out and explore the natural world as I did in the past. I’m glad you found beauty in this dark piece. Even when I’m writing about the worst of life, I try to imbue my words with beauty, a lyrical feel. It’s the balm that heals my wounds, and hopefully the wounds of those who read my work. Thanks as always for stopping by, my friend. It’s always a delight to see you here! 😊

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    1. Many thanks, Michele. You always have the most wonderful things to say and I really appreciate your kindness. Even though darkness abounds in this piece, I always try to fashion my sorrow in such a way as to create something beautiful from it. In a way, it’s like the rejuvenation of a dying flower by summer rains. It’s cleansing to write about my experiences–it allows me to put order to them and place them in their proper places. It means a lot to me when people are able to see beyond the sorrow and grasp the hidden beauty. Thanks a bunch for your thoughtful comment and for stopping by. You’re always most welcome here, my friend! 😊

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      1. You do have a gift for spinning sorrow into beauty. So much so the sorrow fades away and I am left searching for a term or description for the emotion you evoke. I fall short. I think your writing deserves a new term. Thank you, Mike. I am so grateful for you. 🙏🏻😊

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  16. Beautiful and forlorn! Love the title, “latticework.” A framework where sorrow and rich imagery entwine, where loneliness and beauty coexist, where darkness and lyrical combine.

    So glad to see you writing and posting, my friend! Blessings!

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    1. Sincerest thanks, Peggy. That beauty and sorrow coexist is a curious and wonderful dichotomy, indeed. It’s like a flawed gem that’s all the more perfect because of its imperfection. I’m glad you can see the beauty in my melancholy poetry, my friend. It helps me deal with the sadness if I can express it in such a way that lessens its impact (even though some of my work is brutal) or even sharpen its blade to the point where it’s no longer felt when it cuts. I appreciate your kind support as always and I’m delighted to see you drop by! 😊

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  18. “let the weaver’s web
    display my tears
    as trophies of defeat
    I have bled enough
    let what’s left of me
    fall to the earth
    as autumn rain”

    your poetry has a very good standard, dear Mike. It deserves to be published in the best possible way.

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    1. Many thanks, Saima. This is incredibly kind of you to say. I’m so glad my poetry speaks to you, and I’m always delighted to see you stop by. You bring light with you, my friend, and your words make me smile. 😊

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  19. Pingback: A Latticework of Tears – Gobblers by Masticadores

  20. Dearest Mike, this piece I must have missed when it first came out. It is truly stunning, and although it is mournful and full of the horrors of nature’s destruction and tied into our sadness and disappointment of what life sometimes brings our way, it is a magnificent piece. It is transcendent, and honestly, the third stanza is one I relate to in so many ways it is uncanny.

    Such wonders and sadness in miniature but powerful pieces make this piece even more extraordinary. Just an immense joy and honor to read you always, my dear friend. Sending you my love and hugs, Joni

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    1. Thank you, Joni. Your kindness knows no bounds, my friend. It’s a terribly sorrowful poem. for sure. I write what I know, what’s inside, and it’s not always pretty, I suppose. In my world, nature and the human experience are inextricably entwined, so metaphor comes easily. Experiencing the cycle of life and death on the farm all those years taught me the relationship–the kinship–between all things. It just seems natural to combine nature and human emotions. I think you know exactly what I mean as your sublime poetry is deeply rooted in your own love of nature.

      I appreciate your generous words as always. Thanks for being here, Joni. 😊

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