Wed 23 Jun, 2010 03:09 pm
I am tired of solitary roses.
Pure red and perfect,
long stemmed and lovely,
cutoff at the ankles,
dressed up for sale and brought home for love,
but left standing in a fashioned vase
on a domesticated table.
Where are the bouquets?
Those wild, dappled darlings,
feet in the earth,
face on the sun,
smiles popping up everywhere
But I also grow weary of petals open to the sun
but closed to the moon.
Horny little beggars
waiting for buzzing bees and butterfly kisses...
Where are those night-blooming daturas
smiling in the moonlight?
Virgin white bells
waiting for chirping chiropteras,
and velvet tongues chasing echoes in the night...
Hi Bill !
I'm not sure I would have found this without direction first.
A gem! If I may say so. Makes me want to go and lay on the grass and watch the stars. I find a sense of universal oneness when I do so.
Sever not the remnant
Of a flower's ageing quest
To pretty-up thy parlour's essence
Have a great weekend Bill.
A very nicely imaged poem. I look forward to seeing more from you.
Yes, and I often watch the stars lying on, well, we don't have grass here but a drop cloth or two amd we're fine! Makes me remember a poem I wrote many years ago after an evening of doing exactly that. I initially titled it Outside, then retitled it Somewhere Safe to Sea. I'll post it in this forum. Hope everybody likes it...
Thank you for your kind reply. It bothered me that Letty said we have a dearth of poetry here, and would like that to end. I'll post another in this forum in a few minutes in response to what Mark said...
Fantastic to have a poet among us again. Loved the gestalt type verse, and then the alliteration brings the notion of a wild rose to life. I like the title of your poem as well qwertyportne. Welcome and never stop your writing. What was your inspiration?
My hikes in the desert, where I frequently see Sacred Datura, a flowering plant that in some places is called Indian Apple, Thorn Apple or Jimson Weed. It is quite beautiful, at least to me. Native Americans make a tea from the leaves to "enhance" their vision quests. The name Jimson Weed comes from a story that in the Revolutionary War, soldiers made a tea from the plant but didn't realize how dangerous it can be. Some died from an over dose. I have a bit of Choctaw in my blood and have always been intrigued by the native American, what, philosophy? So I feel some identification with the plant and its history. My walks also tend to make me identify with wild flowers more than store-bought ones. I'll post a poem called Weeds that probably inspired me to write Night Blooms. Can't remember for sure. Thanks for your kind comments.
Thought I posted Somewhere Safe to Sea in the Poetry forum but discovered that it is in the Original Writing forum. Not sure how that happened because I started in the Poetry forum. Sorry... http://able2know.org/topic/153650-1