Get Your Premium Membership

quiet benediction

spring blesses with scent a mind encased in February’s mummy-swathe. I drop my rags of winter stretch out on the warmed porch thought steps lightly on to a carpet, woven of mist and aromatic perfumes, which glides silently into reverie and settles in a hollow under... an ancient white lilac covered in ghost flowers. blooms plucked and heaped on blue willow china plates. lunch for porcelain dolls whose painted smiles never grimace no matter what they are offered; fat bears will eat anything. Debby from down the street is busy disciplining her children (“sit straight, eat your spinach”), baby Tweedy (“watch your sister”) tries to catch bugs and eat them. deep blue lilacs, colour of distant mountains ever just beyond reach like youth once passed. flowers liberated from a neighbours yard ends torn in the haste of stealth gather together in a tall green glass vase; a love note hidden among the stems. words scribbled in passion’s indelible ink left secretly pleading fair maid’s kind condescension. french lilacs red as wine sipped on the swing. scent falls, its ethereal sweetness drapes about shoulders silken as the touch of fingers that slip down her arms. cat’s eyes among the leaves glow emerald peer with curiosity at June beetles. tree frog love song’s, in soprano underscores the big band station turned low. if he could see the lilac now, heavy with life red as the drops blooming on the sands of Juno beach. lavender lilacs rippled by a breeze drape over the veranda to create a bower; secreted from human traffic nana rests. she is so much like her favourite flowers pale, delicate with a fine tracery of veins beneath the paper thin skin of her hands. mauve in the soft light, I watch, in silence, fascinated as her eyelids move “What are you watching”, I whisper trying not to wake her but hoping she will answer from wherever she is and her voice floats to me “I am visiting with all of my loves” .

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 9/20/2017 2:13:00 PM
This is so unlike anything I have ever read. Its not a poem . Its a painting The flower interwoven with the neighbours kids and so is... totally awesome. You create a feeling and all that possibly could be lacking is the scent because all the sense are alive here. Bravo Patricia
Login to Reply
CRESSWELL Avatar
PATRICIA CRESSWELL
Date: 9/20/2017 5:59:00 PM
So glad you enjoyed I got great joy out of writing it. Thank you.
Date: 9/18/2017 5:04:00 PM
Dear Patrica Lace and weave, lace and weave, aroma sweet...aroma sweeter, memory works it's magic as love smiles. You are a great writer. My best to you, chuck
Login to Reply
CRESSWELL Avatar
PATRICIA CRESSWELL
Date: 9/18/2017 5:52:00 PM
Thank you Chuck and welcome to my home.
Date: 9/18/2017 8:50:00 AM
Like rich delicate intricate lace this poem, timeless, a truly mesmerizing beautiful piece Patricia. Just gorgeous!
Login to Reply
CRESSWELL Avatar
PATRICIA CRESSWELL
Date: 9/18/2017 12:27:00 PM
Thank you Maureen I enjoyed writing it.
Date: 9/18/2017 7:04:00 AM
I love this, I think my friend Demetrios needs to read this poem.. I love the use of flowers and so many great lines that create great imagery... You are a very talented poet PAtricia..
Login to Reply
CRESSWELL Avatar
PATRICIA CRESSWELL
Date: 9/18/2017 8:11:00 AM
Thank you for your much appreciated read.
Date: 9/18/2017 1:52:00 AM
I am sat here at 7.45 AM (been up since 06.00) with a big steaming mug of coffee in my hand reading your charming poem, Patricia; love that fantastic last line: "I am visiting with all of my loves". Incredibly beautiful!! By the way, changing the subject somewhat, what on earth are you doing up at this late hour? You are a Night-Owl, Patricia. :) Time to get some much needed sleep now methinks. Night-night! :) john
Login to Reply
CRESSWELL Avatar
PATRICIA CRESSWELL
Date: 9/18/2017 6:55:00 AM
I am a bit of a night owl tis true. I do some of my best work in the wee hours. In the dark there is nothing to distract so I can go into my mind and heart and write. I look forward to waking up to your thoughts on my work everyone has been so good to me here. Thank you John.