Grab a pencil and pull up a chair, this is the place for poetry!
Helianthus
Oh proud grand worshipper of the sun!
Girasole, rotating on your mighty stalk
to follow the rays you adore
while on the garden floor
where your admirers walk:
your seedy remnants lie when
your blooming day is done
Thank you for reading!
Showy knot of gathered shame
don’t punish us with your absence
for such a slight as this trowel’s
disturbance
Mischief peeks out from among
your skirts, where your eye hides,
bashful – I see you pretending
to not see me, your pentitent gardener
I give you my slight bow
in return for your precious head,
Olympic daughter, bring
all your glory to the golden bowl,
be the centerpiece
of my patient table,
let your bright bloom
be my heart’s physician
Today’s poem is steeped in the language of flowers – since this was a year ago, I will admit I don’t remember writing it, but I can guess that I did a lot of digging around in obscure references for this one! Thank you for reading.
A golden face
surrounded by long pearly whites
Your golden face
called common but not out of place
among a joyful bouquet, light
and dear as purity’s bright
sweet golden face
Today’s flower poem is a rondelet! Thank you for reading.
Give me your kisses
and with them your deepest heart
bind yourself to me
without condition or games
In return, I’ll do the same
Another flower poem for May! Thank you for reading.
sweet scented beating heart of passion
named deliverer of 1000 declarations
and 10,000 apologies
the thorn in the side of lovers
a petaled face among the brush
wild, ready to peck at the pride
of the faint of heart
Flower poem #1! Part of my process in writing this poem, and all the ones that will follow this month – after I’d randomly come up with a flower for each day – involved reading up on the meaning of the flower. The Victorian Language of Flowers fascinates me; I love the idea of receiving a coded message in the gift of a bouquet. Here is an article that I don’t think I referenced but still will give you the gist. Thank you for reading!
speak to me in the waft of
petal stamen language
pollinate my thoughts with
a breath as sweet as the first
warm wind of spring
teach me beauty and brevity
and the easy joy of the moment
the wisdom of leaving a simple
life attached to its roots
I know the ruin of clippers and spades
I know the trauma of transplantation
show me how nature feeds
and restores from season to season
show me lessons planted by the Divine mind
with hope to take seed
and flourish within mine
send me flowers in photographs
rather than vases
leave them be
let them live while their time
is ripe, and then again,
bright ghosts, gracing
my dreams with color
and quietly whispered words
A new series for the month of May! Last year, I set myself a challenge of writing flower-related poems every day during May, and I just realized I never shared any of them here. So, lucky y’all (haha) the time has come to change that! I considered making all new photographs and / or cyanotypes to accompany them, but there just isn’t time, so I’ll share other random flower photos and prints with them instead.
Incidentally, the cyanotype at the top of this post is the cover image for my book The Body Botanic, which you can snag a copy of from Blurb! Botanical poems, botanical cyanotypes, plus the whole collection of body sonnets I’ve written so far.
Thank you, readers, for your time!
It’s a good day for Emily
I sip tea and watch the rain
chin in my hand, like any woman
prone to flights of fancy
and often confined at home
since the spring, our garden has grown
into a tangled beast
untamed and free
nature gone to seed in glorious abandon
unchecked and vivacious as a fertile mind
liberated from the chains of society
sending out generous shoots
nurtured with care
the inside looking out
from the shelter behind panes of glass
Oh how I do love me a rainy day, a cup of tea, a book of Dickinson’s poetry. . . . . Thank you for reading!
Rolled up and served up
well seasoned, handed over
there’s a sense of fulfillment
in a duty well done
The burning takes place
in an open field, after the rain comes
smoke sends signals to the senses
inner life, come to life
Whatever gets hung from these branches
the birds will peck at, in time
night rodents will investigate
it will keep the insects busy
I stood outside and waited for the shine
They told me it would happen
but it took a lot of patience
a lot of singing, in the interim
Afterward it was right to withdraw
everything curled back, exposing bones
The dry season blew in overnight
something had to break the rhythm
Once they had finished the weaving
the pattern was obvious
it told all the stories we needed
it insulated our legacy
In the end what remained was rich and sweet
a roasted harvest, fit for kings
doled out and shared among us
precious as a secret grown in the dark
Thanks to J.D. Harms for this Saturday Poetry Prompt, “The Fragmentary Prompt” — this one took me a while, including a first attempt with meter and rhyme that I promptly discarded. I asked my daughter for seven random words, and she gave me taco, fire, tree, star, shrivel, blanket, and chocolate; these stanzas are written to those words, in that order. I can’t say why I chose the photo that accompanies it, other than it just kinda leapt into my brain and also it’s a place that takes my breath away.
That nip in the air is
the little ping of nostalgia is
a tickle in your nose is
the tantalizing aroma of earth is
mingled with wood smoke is
ozoney comfort of rain coming is
a good excuse for baking is
coziness and hominess all rolled into one is
a blanket and slipper socks is
snug as the cat by the fire is
remembering where I left my tea is
the pleasure of a new notebook is
the satisfaction of a well-sharpened pencil is
reason enough to look forward to long drawn out evenings is
the simple pleasure of a few minutes is
a breath of fresh air is
the nip of nostalgia is
a tickle in your heart
Thank you for reading! Who else waits for autumn all year and finds it just as wonderful every time? This is from my Medium archive, and it’s not necessarily the right time of year for me to be sharing it but I’m going in order, so there ya go. . . . . autumn vibes in late spring!
The stones speak the language we give them
vocabulary imposed with a hammer and a chisel
in their own words
they would be steadfast and silent
we blow them up to make way for our own plans
grind them to gravel to crush
beneath the wheels of our progress
we press them into service
stand upon the steps we carve
and quarrel endlessly
while they watch
impartial as law
firm as justice
silent as equality
I can’t remember what was going on around me at the time I wrote this poem, but I can guess. . . . . Thanks for reading!
The Poetry Patio