stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21625
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2021-04-26 12:02:32
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-04-26 12:02:32
    [post_content] => in memory of g. a. w.

All we have are the notes in our phones

and a lemon before it rots against

the ceramic fruit-bowl, blue memento

mori, the crazing writing age in webs.

Not the dusty kind, stuck to cilia

and the dark corners of a buy-to-let;

I mean the alive webs, silky and wet

in the garden, late spring, before the cough.

To hold a crocus and feel the city

emerge from its stamen; I knew you would.

A hospital bed now a riverbed,

a lemon holds its sun close to its skin;

remember to rouse me from my dreaming

before morning, so I can send this text.
    [post_title] => The Human Seasons
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => the-human-seasons
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2021-04-27 12:30:23
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-04-27 12:30:23
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=21625
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2021
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the Keats challenge (‘The Weariness, the Fever and the Fret’: Writing Illness, Health and John Keats) on Young Poets Network in 2021.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Keats challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 19098
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Alice Hill-Woods
            [slug] => alice-hill-woods
            [content] => Alice is the third-prize winner in the Civilisation and Its Discontents challenge on Young Poets Network, inspired by Freud's work of the same name. Alice is also commended in the Keats challenge, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 19098
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Alice Hill-Woods
    [slug] => alice-hill-woods
    [content] => Alice is the third-prize winner in the Civilisation and Its Discontents challenge on Young Poets Network, inspired by Freud's work of the same name. Alice is also commended in the Keats challenge, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021.
)

The Human Seasons

Alice Hill-Woods

in memory of g. a. w.

All we have are the notes in our phones

and a lemon before it rots against

the ceramic fruit-bowl, blue memento

mori, the crazing writing age in webs.

Not the dusty kind, stuck to cilia

and the dark corners of a buy-to-let;

I mean the alive webs, silky and wet

in the garden, late spring, before the cough.

To hold a crocus and feel the city

emerge from its stamen; I knew you would.

A hospital bed now a riverbed,

a lemon holds its sun close to its skin;

remember to rouse me from my dreaming

before morning, so I can send this text.