Flowers don’t start in segregation
Our seeding was as balanced -and foolish-
As any ignorant gardener of the masses
The plants are shaped by the land
And the land shapes them
The war of the white roses
Claiming the wettest corner
While the thin line of flag
Holds firm to the sun
A beautiful map of invisible conflict
This is not actually metaphorical. Note: Don’t ever try to move rose bushes.
For more zones of conflict, invisible and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
Climb high enough
And you stand level with the heavens
The cloudline separating the messy
Business of living
From the clean dead blue
Of the upper atmosphere
Purity has its own price
Sometimes there is a usefulness in seeing the world from a different height or perspective, in understanding the point of separation.
For more contrasts and separations, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
As the heat rises,
Heavy in our throats and hearts,
So we take our bow,
Our bold palette laid before you,
A tapestry of hope and possibilities.
Shall we blanket the meadows,
Our seed on every rise?
Shall we burn under the sun,
Under the inescapable light?
Let us lay out the final hand before you
Our passage from the possibility,
From the half-formed dreams of spring,
To something fixed and final.
Let us pass boldly,
Our blossoms as loud as our hopes,
Let us pass from spring’s possibility to
Summer’s unknown future.
Every May (and sometimes, the first week of June), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.
For more hard won wisdom, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.