"By a voice he saith: Hear me, ye divine offspring, and bud forth as the rose planted by the brooks of waters.  Give ye a sweet odour as frankincense.  Send forth flowers, as the lily, and yield a smell, and bring forth leaves in grace, and praise with canticles, and bless the Lord in his works." (Ecclesiaticus, a.k.a. Sirach, 39:17-18)
I am a rose by the living waters
My roots reach deep into the river’s bed
My thorny arms reach out to the heavens
Angelic choirs descend from the heavens
their arms full of graces poured like waters
upon the earth. I quicken in my bed
Glorious is the sunrise warming my bed
Blessed are the rains sent by the heavens
This humble flower, my own Lord waters
Pure waters cleanse my bed to yield roses for the heavens.
I am a hundred faces staring at me
Unlike Narcissus, I am not thrilled by what I see
Somehow, the faces are familiar and strange
all are distorted, even grotesquely so -
and their eyes, their eyes are accusing,
sad, amused, angry -
all at once
Could that be me on the mirror?
who am I
who am I
Where do I stand
before the Eyes that know
how the images combine?
Who is the vision
who is real -
the ones I see
or the one
I perceive myself to be?
Where is the truthout of this confusion?
For DVERSE’s Poetics Prompt, Lilian wants us to write about amusement parks, rides, state fairs, and such. For this prompt, I bring myself back to the Bangor State Fair in 2012. Contrary to the tone I used in the poem, I had fun in the Mirror Maze. It was one of the rare attractions that I enjoyed at the fair. I really do not enjoy the rides. They make me sick and make me deathly afraid. My poor children can never ever expect me to accompany them in their rides. The one time I was prevailed upon to take them to a kiddie plane ride, I screamed louder than my four year old. I really cannot fathom how people pay to scare themselves silly. 🙂 That’s just me – no offense intended for those who love roller coasters and such.
when I could barely make a step
when all of me screamed of tiredness
unsure of my path
wary of each little sound
coming from the woods -
the rustle of leaves
the startled cry of birds -
I saw a daisy
wild and alone
blooming right on the road
rocky and forlorn
Could it have survived
a well-trodden path?
its beauty was a welcome respite.
WPC: THE ROAD TAKEN
yellow roses on the teacups
waiting to come alive
with conversation and stories
as only friends can have
but where are the friends
who come and visit
had time erased them
one by one
the roses faded
into the crazed porcelain
until friendly hands caress
and bring them to life again.
I bought these pieces from a vintage shop a few years back. The rose pattern and color made me want them the minute I saw them in the shop. I have not used them since I got them. They have been kept in the cupboard but they make me glad when I catch a glimpse of them whenever I get needed items from the cupboard. When I saw the “Yellow” prompt, I remembered them. The roses are just what I need to fill my need to see flowers in deep winter.
By your leaves I know you -
They glittered like peridot
When kissed by spring's early morning sun
and spread like an emerald lace
To cover the hot summer skies.
As fiery tongues they fell
and lit up Autumn's sombre glow.
Countless birds have felt orphaned
by the loss of your shadow.
And though winter leaves you bare
I will know you by your skin
Rough and gnarled under my palms
That all but belies
The tenderness you hide within.
And if nature stripped you of all
But the wood with which you stood
I will still know you
By the lines time tattooed on your grain
which tell of your grace and strength
and all things that cannot be seen.