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FLOWER POEMS

by Jacqueline Ives (Age: 77)
copyright 01-31-2012


Age Rating: 13 +

DAISY

 Out of the tunnelled night

the soul emerges

into a field as bright

as the Day’s Eye.

 

 

NARCISSUS

 When the mist drifts in the garden

the flowers seek the light,

and the slim, bright boy

seeks himself in the pool.

 

On a clear day, humans,

he sees you all fair,

neither gods nor demons

nor uncommon rare,

but varied as the flowers

that with you breathe the air.

 

When the mist lifts, the golden

slim, bright boy

sees himself in the pool,

and the innocent

incense-scented flowers

turn towards the light.

 

He sees you varied

as the mirrored sky

on a clear day, humans,

when the guilt lifts from the eye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

POPPY DAY

 

Unreal these poppies

that we wear like badges.

 

Better they should bloom in fields,

Bright, transient, fragile,

as real poppies are.

 

Better again, a wand should wave

and we should see churned fields

of torn-limbed soldiers,

remember sundered vows of:
”War no more!”

 

 

ROSE TINTS

 

The normal human creature wears

rose-tinted thoughts to blur his cares,

but Cain through vice or virtues see

blood-rosy tints in common trees.

 

A tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye

and blood for the blood of our blood

- O, this is a slogan and this is a cry,

a  hymn since the days of the flood.

 

O, you and I are quick to wear

rose-tinted thoughts lest we should care

that Christ was not too proud to be

blood for the blood of you and me.

 

A tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye

and blood for the blood of our blood

O, this is our slogan and this is our cry,

our hymn since the days of the flood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ATLANTIS

 

I wish we were back in Atlantis

which slumbers beneath the grey sea,

the land more distant thanBabylon

and strange than far Araby.

By the sperm and spawn of Atlantis

(our fathers – forefathers – ourselves)

I desire to see now my birth-pace

And lie where the sea-bed shelves.

 

I bear a deep debt; I’ve a sickness;

a guilt and a ghost won’t be laid,

unless part of the past I fathom

that’s hid by the dark mermaid.

 

The debt that we bear from Atlantis

is more dangerous, more vast,

than the many-colouredAtlantic

which covers the seething past;

for out of the lives of Atlantis

was dreamed, and evolved, and grown

a weed of out-reaching invisible

- and we are the fronds wide-thrown.

 

A Kristos, too, shines from that country

and lilies bloomed in that spring.

Through misted times of great distance

we remember remembering. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUN-FLOWER

 

From noon until three, the light was gone

and our brother suffered and hung.

From noon until three, the light was gone,

the joy went out from our heart, from our song,

and our darling fevered and hung.

 

From noon until three, the light was gone,

the joy went out from our heart, from our song,

 a sick red moon was instead of the sun,

and our friend was in anguish and hung.

 

 

For three whole days (or eons of days)

our joy was gone, the light went out

from our heart, from our song,

our sun-flower into earth was fallen

and when shall he shine in the sun?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BABY DAUGHTER (1970)

 

Roses and freesias died,

anemones are lost.

Even our love has sometimes

faded, lacking trust.

 

Only this child, of all the

flowers you gave me,

shall bloom – and fortify

our love – and last.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TRANSIENCE

 

A boy’s voice

a rainbow

poppy petals

the shine on conkers

the sheen on a fallen feather.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LEAFLET THROUGH DOOR

 

“Get rid of unsightly weeds,

daisies, dandelion,

and even speedwell.”

 

I would rather a leaf or two

blew through my door

than this unsightly notice. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YELLOW STARS

 

A garden with bright tiny flowers

- yellow ones like stars.

A dark path goes down an incline

into a wood.

Unknown, not evil.

 

The child explores the dark wood.

She holds on to one light

to guide her through.

 

 

 

BY THIS ALONE

 

All day he smelt the scent of dying flowers;

by this alone might know that she had died.

Would be no more a rambler by his side

she who had loved and tended all her flowers

(the fear of death, it ticks between the hours

which trip - and turn to brown leaves dead and dried).

All day he smelt the stench of dying flowers;

by this alone might know that she had died.

This stench it is which permeates the bowers

Of autumn drawing on to winter-tide;

to winter when the sap is dead and dried;

the time which haunts but will not halt the hours.

All day he smelt the scent of dying flowers;

by this alone might know that she had died.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 







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        05-14-2013     phoenix        

very good and very interesting i am unclear if this is a bunch of poems or just one really big one but ether way i enjoyed reading it or them keep up the good work



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