White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree,
Their waxy bells, a whisper in the air,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
A single stem, a graceful embassy,
Where light and shade in subtle hues compare,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree.
Their petals hold a promise, calm and free,
Of beauty born, a fragrance soft and rare,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
No thorns, no prickles, just a smooth decree,
They stand aloof, a silent, silent prayer,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree.
In fields of green, a whisper of the sea,
Their ivory forms, a vision to declare,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
They speak of grace, of peace, and harmony,
A gentle touch, a whisper in the air,
White trumpets rise, a silent, stark decree,
Calla lilies, born of purity.
green leaves, foreshadow,
of sword-like regalia…
lily buds unsheathed -
dainty pastels of yellow,
purple, pink and lavender
the sunshine stunners
a varicolored valley
calla lilies wild
blacks reds and orange
at home with pinks and yellows
the swinging season
pink robin in leaves
strutting towards the sunset
unseen gardener
Lone Lily
Unfurled in quiet repose
Grasped in the hands of the damned
Held under chin to capture the soul
Closed in the darkness
Of satin lined box
Never again to be gazed upon
It’s sweet scent lost to the living
Slowly fading as flesh melts
And all that remains……
Exquisite flower
Beautifies with dainty grace
The place when you stand
From weddings to funerals
Representing transitions
3-6-2016
my morning coffee
while soaking up the sunshine
the Calla Lilies
are a balm to my senses
I breathe in their rich fragrance
Alas, I beseech you, Rose. How many have fallen to your elegant beauty? The curves of every petal, red as a ripe cherry, have called so many.
Next to the rose, who can love the Calla Lily? I am only a simple flower, beautiful, perhaps, only for that simplicity. My curves are not as elegant as yours, my whiteness not as royal as your red. I am not thought of for birthdays, or even to leave as gifts on graves to the dead.
The calla lily ladies pay a dainty little toll
to shade their face from beauty which will purify their soul.
(all protestant their daughters - ambiguity is plain -
unscented shapeless bodies with no luster to their mane)
Belief is not conceit received within a holy name
but licks with tricks to finger flick a bic to bigger flame
which decimates the future of a church so prone to pride
in search of resurrection since the congregation died.
All present indiscretions and confessions labled sin
will find in time backslidin' minds are slippin in again.
Too late for fate to find a place where faith and hope await
but somethin' in the wind again will land upon my plate.
But old remorse can set a course as games are played too straight
where beauty brought was never bought to be the brand new bait.
So wait for fate to find a face to place inside the race
for there is where the lion's share of mischief found disgrace.
A lily sits frozen upon a white mountain,
Overseeing the crimson sun.
Overseeing landscapes with striking ginger and emerald,
That even God dreams of such blissful sceneries.
Its Wind blows the Grass,
Into a wave motion, swiftly, and gently moving towards the lily,
Yet such a gentle gesture is unable to sooth away its bitter cold.
When it rains and falls on the ground,
Striking sounds of a piano echo’s throughout its pores.
Leaving a beauty, a masterpiece,
Trapped in a cold glacier, unable to feel,
The sweet rush that you feel,
When you hear and see what the simple things in life has to offer.
The magnificent beauty
Unique in its appearance
Used since the days of Rome
Marked in the passage of winter solstices
Treasured and cherished
Lover of water, pure and elegant
Fragrant and bliss
With a tear drop center
Once gracing the royal gardens of Paris
Cut and resting in glass, posing on tables
Clinched together in the arms of a bride
With lace and white ribbons a showstopper
One can’t deny
In a rainbow of colors made for the eye