Best Crape Poems
The bark peels back like old skin—
Mine, yours, the cinnamon scrolls
Of what we shed to live. August
Bleaches the world to bone, the bark’s faint spice
Rising in the noon glare,
Heat tasting of salt and sand. And still this Crape crowns
Itself with Myrtle fire. Still—
I cannot explain what breaks in me. Still I press my cheek
Against its flaking flesh, feel
The pulse beneath—magenta,
White, pink, the deep red
Of what I've never
Bled for anyone.
Each blossom a small fist
Opening with the muted pop
Of summer rain on dry earth. Each petal, tissue-thin
As the lies I've told myself
About enduring. The Eastern Shore sun
Has made this tree what survival
Looks like: stubborn—
Beautiful, built for the burning
Seasons that strip us
To what we are. Winter comes,
And I am learning
How to be naked—
These mottled limbs
My teachers, conductors' hands
Mid-gesture, never finished
With their fierce music
Of staying alive. Of reaching
Up through the killing
Cold, brittle air ringing
With the clink of frozen twigs toward something
Green promises I cannot fathom—yet still I know
Lives in the light returning.
Daffodil dimples
Crape myrtle blooms form
the entrance now leading
Into the garden of
dreams that we share
Rose buds and hyacinths
tickle our senses
Blending their fragrance
so sweet with the air
Lantana flowers in
yellows of lemon
Paint summer sunrises
along the wall
Hibiscus petals are
raining so softly
Before our eyes as
their beauty does fall
Daffodil dimples now
show as they're smiling
Watching the two of us
greeting the day
Now hand in hand
as we wander this garden
So much in love
midst this wondrous display
Good morning Soupers
The day that followed . . .
Blossomed blue, bright . . . beautiful
Clouds towering into the heavens
Wheeling white, wonderful . . . wordless
The clouds danced in the expanse
Rolling on a sea of silence
Sailing soft, supple . . . serene
Saw nothing
Cared nothing
Floated away
Alone . . . . . blind . . . . . marvelous
mute!
The trees . . .
The trees reveled in their own wild
E m o t I o n s
Old Man Walnut – a true heart-wood
Big boned brooded black
Dark, dangerous, defiant
Lady oak took red at the edges
A deep striking flame-red
Her heart a luscious lively living green
A gentlewoman of a long experience
Patient, Peaceful, persistent and powerful
Elms burst yellow – effulgent
Cried for attention
Demanded attention
Wind whistled wantonly through her leaves
Tall, tenacious, testy, temerarious
Some of the maples slurred
A bright primary red
Like harlots laughing, listening, languishing
Showed interest but cared for nothing
The Sweetgums stood aloof
Star-shaped leaves
Like bruises oozing deep purple
At first draft
S N
T A
O K
O E
D D
Abused . . . abandoned . . .
alone
Crape Myrtles cluster together
Gossiping busy-bodies
Bursting orange with outrageous desire
Watching, wanting, waiting, wanton
Modest were the Aspens
Slender and graceful
Giggling trees
But where they were
They were so many
They could afford to be
Modest, monomorphic, musical, memorable
The Pines and firs
Raising forth green among the colors
Unchanging
Unwilling to change
Criticizing by their contrast
every other change
The Woods
The woods
The chaotic woods
The heartless forest
And the trees . . .
. . . . .The boughs, leafs, limbs, roots
That whole glorious community
Simply went about its
Natural business
Another day in creation.
Live and Love Generously
The Coming of Fall
~
Crape myrtle highlights
in chartreuse diversions,
oak tree decisions along brittle stem
Maple leaf push pins and ash scented postcards
Autumn approaches, its fingers to send
Northern now breezes
as petals start falling,
blending the colors of October dreams
Days count much shorter and windows are open,
change in direction a’ dance on the streams
Standing behind me now
caught in the mirror,
reflections of summer and hummingbird song
Leaves painted softer in patterns of wishes,
butterfly tickles may happen along
Warm apple cider
and scarves plaid and woolen,
hang from the pegs in the entryway hall
Come again welcomes on echoes of sunlight,
send out the greeting, the coming of fall
O, beauty, blooming late under summer sun,
unrestrained crape myrtle, indeed you are one
species I will allow blest freedom to run
in wild abandonment.
You alone grace my deck with expanse and height.
As the soft winds bid you to dance, I might
join beneath your limbs by chance and take flight,
floating to Shangri-La.
I sense your trunk trembles when I take my shears
to prune your wint’ry skeleton. What appears
to be cruel, strengthens you throughout the years -
a blessing in disguise.
Your August glory magnifies my whole world
as your gorgeous, rosy pink blossoms unfurl
into a parasol. Your magical whirl
hints of Mary Poppins.
written April 6, 2017
Grandma, what's a constellation of shapes?
It's the stars your looking at tonight.
See how they're shining bright,
Twinkling, and blinking across the black crape.
You'll need to read Greek and Roman mythology
They're full of legends who had escapades which
Were cloak and dagger kind of scrapes
That put Lupus the Wolf, Orion The Hunter, Draco
The dragon, the big and little dippers in to the
Skies. I hope this is feeding your appetite.
Grandma, what's a constellation of shapes?
It's the stars your looking at tonight.
Grandma, it's cold can I snuggle with you in your
Cape?
Of course you can Joshua. There's so much to
See. I have seen a green Comet and meteorites
That were burning through our atmosphere. Think
Of the story you could write.
If you use your imagination you could have
Quite an adventure among the stars to escape.
Grandma, what's a constellation of shapes?
It's the stars your looking at tonight.
Baby birds cheeping in treetops high, mellow yellow,
Whippoorwills' song when even is nigh, red sunset glow,
Raucous crows in the hot noon sun, deep orange gold,
Humming bees in blazing wildflowers, dark green wold!
Seagulls' elegant glide over pounding surf, royal blue,
Crickets calling through a summer night, a black revue,
Loons hooting across transparent lake, twilight purple,
And cardinal chirps lonely songs, in pink crape myrtle!
Parrots squawk away the sunny hours, of forests green,
Nightingales sing forever and a day, white moonbeams,
Humming bird emblazons the peony bush, pretty pink,
Goldfinch trills on desert bush, as orange sun slinks!
Autumn brings leaves in multifarious hues,
Time's flow quickly readies us for winter's blow.
Fun days on our patios will soon turn to blues,
As it takes its leisure neath a blanket of snow.
The Sycamores have shed like some molting dog,
And each Crape Myrtle is dressed a yellowish red.
The huge Hackberry resembles an old upright log,
Now, too soon our days may be filled with dread.
The Hibiscuses are a gathering of pithy stalks,
Where once dinner plate size red flowers hung.
Now no cars come, stop and give strange gawks,
But things will be normal once spring has sprung.
Fallen leaves unmistakably are whispering to me,
Dancing at my feet they swirl along the ground.
As if they can't decide where they're supposed to be,
Each movement choreographed to whispering sound.
It is not easy to happen upon them,
Pure nymphs in their natural beauty.
It happened to me only once when
I was resting beneath a red sunset maple,
As the summer hear began to soar.
A stone throw away was a lively stream
Around which grew in flower
A clump of Crape Myrtle Dwarves.
The breeze blew softly carrying
Some mellifluous melody,
Whilst nubile gorgeous maidens,
Laughing merrily frolicked
An amorous intense folk dance.
Then some loud noise disturbed the peace.
And all disappeared out of sight.
Was it a dream?
Crape Myrtle tree, a beautiful sight
Blooming in summer as days turn warm
Purple petals fall, a visual delight
Crape Myrtle tree, a beautiful sight
Delicate blooms, soaking up light
Flowering in splendor with unique charm
Crape Myrtle tree, a beautiful sight
Blooming in summer as days turn warm
Flourishing tree, reaching to sky
Summer sun sizzles, beauty remains
Lush branches touch birds flying by
Flourishing tree, reaching to sky
Sunshine streams through clouds on high
Children seek shade in wind song refrain
Flourishing tree, reaching to sky
Summer sun sizzles, beauty remains
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, March 15, 2012
In my soul a window opened
and I weave my smiles in crape.
But a wish, so cruelly broken
fades away in the shadows of the past.
I’m so in love, but deprived of loving,
like nightingale without a voice,
Why the fate so mercilessly has poisoned
the seed of love, that grew in us.
Life goes away, it runs so quickly,
like dewy drop, which, falls in lake.
It quite true, you live only twice –
when you are born and when you love.
How can there be despair when the entire
natural world unfolds with new life?
When the anhinga alights from the Nowhere
he was into the Somewhere you are, negotiating
his spectacular landing, spreading out his
Gulliver wingspan to warmth and healing on
the grassy knoll that rolls down to the lake--
manmade it may be, but the green-gold ducks
don't know that. They swim, they scan,
they disappear into its mysterious depths
for what nurturance is there.
How can there be sorrow when the male cardinal
darts across your line of vision with his red reality
twice in the same day into the Crape Myrtle
as it readies to burst its rooted heart? And, when
he comes again at dusk to rest on a budding
branch to sing a song you never heard before--
allows you to tell him how beautiful he is.
But when you ask him to stay, he darts away
because you are not the regulator.
How is there is no blessing when the stone
gray Buddha in his prayerful place on your porch
with his folded hands and bare feet reminds you
that the gods we respect do not always look like us.
When the Northern mockingbird who fell in love
with the South offers his limitless songbook
in the Laurel Oak, that wise grandfather, whose
leafy language writing the Braille of the senses
says Hold On, Hold on, and So, you do.
I greet the morning with anticipation, bubbles
of excitement inside, straining forward to walk
outside and stroll among the flowers my hands
have planted and cared for over the past years,
the weigela from our youngest daughter, tomato
plants from her daughter, the dill we placed nearby
to warn off bugs, the orange rose bush from Aunt
Juanita, as happy in my yard as hers, my mother’s
petunias, flowering almond, and variegated sedum,
four Alberta spruce, grown several times their size
as when my brother gave them to me, prior to his
quiet acceptance of death after he lost the battle
with brain tumor. A hibiscus bush, with its dinner-
plate-size blooms, the longed-for weeping willow,
living strong where two others before had perished,
a pink, wild-rose ground cover, spreading more each
summer, the crape myrtle my husband hauled in from
another state, azalea bushes thriving after many false
starts, spring clematis in deep burgundy, and another
September one of miniature white stars, framing the
arch given to me by our only son-in-law on Mother’s
day, the red rose climber from our eldest son, mums
everywhere, joining the celebration of season’s end,
as I now contemplate the closeness and inevitability
of my own.
Bumblebee in crape-myrtle dance
buzzes blooms on the highest branch:
Ambitious. Delicious.
In my soul a window opened
and I weave my smiles in crape.
But a wish, so cruelly broken
fades away in the shadows of the past.
I’m so in love, but deprived of loving,
like nightingale without a voice,
Why the fate so mercilessly has poisoned
the seed of love, that grew in us.
Life goes away, it runs so quickly,
like dewy drop, which, falls in lake.
It quite true, you live only twice –
when you are born and when you love.