Posts Tagged ‘rose’

Freeing The Caged Venus: Revolutionary Sonnet

April 16, 2017

At her old house, post omelet, rose’d Venus stood:
Scared, caged bird nervously contemplating a chance.
As she paced back and forth across her floor of wood:
Should she venture out and fly to far-off France?
Surprised Venus, uncaged. April, 2017, Emerald Downs MyWayDay
It was easy for others to advise her
on how, when and what she should do, where to go.
But she needed her loved Universe to surprise her
(like when she’d dined with Maya Angelou).

With her passport, small backpack, underwear, comfortable shoes,
she took a deep breath and launched her my way living.
Experiential, experimental, however she’d choose.
Taking, discovering, still rising, loving, giving.

At her request, this is an on-going birthday sonnet.
Because her best beat goes on! She is not done yet.

How Her Glorious Dust Covers Us: Revolutionary IMprov Free Verse

June 2, 2016

The fabulous
quality
about the wonderful
and graceful
and grace-filled
and colorful
and shimmering
and shining
pixie-dust wonderment
she trails,
like clouds of glory,
in her wake,
is that the particles
dance
and touch
and coat
and smudge
and color
and touch
and lift,
like the rose blossom’s pollen
and sweet scent
everyone else
who knows her.

The Best Valentine: Romantic IMprov Haiku

February 9, 2015

Flowers wilt and die./
Chocolate turns to *crud. Poem words/
immortalize you.

*Originally “crap”

His Garden, Broad: Romantic IMprov Haiku

January 1, 2015

He’d always grown both/
daisies and roses, but he/
liked wildflowers best.

On The Eve Of Solstice In My Brown Garden: Revolutionary Email Free Verse Poetry

December 20, 2014

DeadRoseGarden_Jan2015A friend and I
walked through the stillness
of a late autumn
early winter.

A gentle dust of frost
and a wisp of snow
bathed dead twigs
and leaves
and grasses,
browned,
wilted,
frost-bitten.

“Look how ugly
those rose bushes are!
Remember their summer
beauty? It’s Hard to believe
they are brown and black
and wilted!”

“And the maple tree!
Once gloriously green,
then shimmering scarlet!
Now bunches of dead,
grey twigs and branches,
a few black and brown leaves
desperately hanging on,
as if to recall former colored beauty,
as if to say “You once gazed,
amazed,
at me,
in my glory.

And the grasses!
Glowing light and dark
greens
and silver hues,
now fallen over
blades
of rotten decay
and death.”

I paused
on our walk.
My breath
formed silver clouds
suspended before my face.
In that suspenseful,
suspended
moment,
it seemed I could see
through the cloud, clearly,
what had been,
and what would yet be,
and what was:
Beauty.

My voice hushed,
almost to a whisper,
as though I feared
to disturb
their slumber.

“When you awake,
first,
in the morning,
and gaze at your lover,
as the early beams
turn her hair shimmering,
her skin glowing,
you stop
and admire her,
gently,
silently, softly.

You look
not just from memory
of past beauty
and delight,
of moments shared.

Do you wish she looked
as she did
in her shimmering black dress?
Her swimsuit at the beach?
Her well-maintained work ensemble?
Her cook’s outfit?
Her yoga suit?
or that get-up-and-go
only you see
(and only for a moment!)?

Is that what you wish for
and think of
as you see her,
dreaming,
slumbering?

No.
You stop
and gaze,
and appreciate
in THAT moment,
and enjoy THAT view.

You don’t criticize
hair tossed and tangled.
You don’t call revolting
a face that is devoid
of all enhancing make up,
that still glows
with faint warmth.

You don’t withdraw
from her scent
made stronger from
her time and energy
spent providing you joy.

When you look upon her,
you don’t see
ugly.
You see beauty
in so many forms,
you hold your breath
for fear that the very air
you exhale
might disturb her,
might stir her
from her deep slumber,
and that moment
of soft,
gentle,
pure
beauty
will be lost.

“Just a moment more,”
you think,
“to admire in rapt
appreciation,
her peaceful,
tranquil,
sleeping
soul.”

So it is
when I gaze
on my
wilted rose garden,
my bare tree branches,
my brown and blackened grasses.

I do not see death,
ugly,
with its black,
brown,
and wilted rot.

Instead,
I see a sleeping
beauty,
sweet repose
in that wilted rose.

I see the twigs
and tufts of grass
slumbering,
gathering strength.
I admire the look,
gaze
at the phase
they are in,
sleeping,
resting,
renewing.

That renewal
not only
has its own beauty,
but it reminds me
of what is yet to come:
Tight buds pushing
out of twigs
and branches;
bright green blades
bursting forth
past old ancestors
that provided protection
and nourishment;
bright scented petals
bending seemingly dead
sprigs,
exploding the garden
with early spring color.

Gazing, I see
not just that promise,
but the soft, gentle,
subtle breathing,
the ebb and flow,
the yin and yang
of sleeping,
resting,
reviving
beauty.”

My words
and breath
hung,
crystal in the air,
then slowly fell,
shimmering,
and surrounded
that sleep
with morning rainbows
and promises.

I Wish The Gardens Were Open: Revolutionary ImproVerse Rhyming Haiku

November 19, 2014

Out of the garden, inspired blossoms glowThough the gardens are/
closed, inspiration and light/
still blossoms and glows.
OR
Though the gardens are/
closed, the inspiration and/
the light still blossoms.

A Rose In Winter: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

January 19, 2014

a frozen and dried rose in the middle of winterA frozen and dried/
rose, though plucked in winter’s grasp,/
will still smell as sweet.

OR
A frozen and dried/
rose, though plucked in winter’s chill,/
will still smell sweetly.

No Surprise Rose Blooms: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

November 3, 2013

Surprise rose blossoms near cottonwood treesHe’d planted roses/
with care. Blooms didn’t surprise/
him. He’d thought of her.

Rose Garden Tasks: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

March 28, 2013

It’s time to throw off/
sleep’s cold, shed leafy blankets,/
and reach for Spring’s growth.
OR
It’s time to throw off/
winter’s cold, shed leaf blankets,/
and wait for Spring’s hope.
OR
and hope for Spring’s blooms.

Making The Desert Blossom: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Rhyming Haiku

September 3, 2012

Desert rose blossoms in Red Butte Garden, Salt Lake City, UtahPioneers were told:/
“Make the desert blossom as/
a rose!” So they did.