“Bredon Rose” Watercolor, PoeticMeditations
I see the hand of God in the fashioning of a rose,
The skill and knowledge of the craftsman shows,
Each petal lovingly dipped in vibrant hues
Before wrapped into a bud that’s tightly fused,
Around each stem arranged the thorns protective,
Guards the treasure in a defense collective,
Then sprinkled with a heady, sweet essence
To intoxicate and entice the senses.
Will bloom come gentle springtime”s warming breath
Into brief, glorious beauty before kissed by wilting death.
(PoeticMeditations © 2015 All Right Reserved)
For watercolor practice, I’ve been going rose by rose through Smith & Hawkin’s 100 English Roses for the American Garden.
If this was the last day here on earth for me,
I would rise at the usual hour,
Have a cup of coffee and some toast,
Shower, get dressed, floss and brush my teeth,
Drive to work with the radio on,
Work while dreaming of a better life,
Lunch at my desk from a brown paper bag,
Back to work with one eye on the clock,
Drive back home with the radio on,
Glass of wine and dinner from a box,
TV broadcasting the evening news,
Brush my teeth, change into pajamas,
Turn off the lights and lay down in bed
Unawares I would never wake again
Like all the other unsuspecting
Do on their very last day here on earth.
Seek and you will not find.
Knock and the door will not open.
Ask and it will not be given to you.
Unsought for, you may find.
Unbidden, the door may open.
Unasked for, it may be given to you.
Posted in literature, Poetry
THIS BRUSH THAT ONCE YOU HELD
This brush that once you held,
No longer shall you hold again,
Smoothing your curls into satin tresses,
For from existence now forever gone,
Mere shadow of your presence left behind.
This brush that now remains behind, I hold so dear,
For in this hand I hold
That which your living hand once held.
Traced with the craftsman’s delicate finesse,
The tiny bivalve, tarnished by the hand of time,
Opens with a delicate click to reveal
The priceless treasures locked away within:
Twin memories of once upon a time, so long ago.
Conjured the palpable presence of an unseen hand
Brushing lightly like a whisper against the nape
As the thin-twined chain from behind is fastened
Suspending love’s memento from around the neck
Above the softly beating heart against the living flesh.
(©2015. All rights reserved)
Seurat’s “La Grande Jatte” image: en.wikipedia.org
This is what I like to call a “snapshot poem” – like a snapshot or an artist’s sketch used to capture the moment, but using words instead.
SUNDAY IN THE PARK
By Poetic Meditation
Lovers, uninhibited, stop to kiss;
Man’s best friend frolicking with a frisbee;
Pliant, green grass and bushy-tailed squirrels;
Oaks towering into the cloudless sky;
Sparrows singing with gusto overhead;
Picnic tables crowded with families large;
Blankets sprinkled with reclining couples;
Cars packed with church-goers go whizzing past.
Time hangs suspended in this oasis –
Paradise on this Sunday in the park.