Oh, my wondrous winter rose!
I live to see you bloom in all your charming chilling grace.
Awaiting your pearly presence to embellish my arctic stance stilled in mystic motion,
where my frosted saccharine soul craves only your ethereal embrace to cast a spell of life.
Although distance divulges myriad of yearnings in vacant vermillion veins,
yet I am willing to weave scintillating seconds in a rosary of tears upon my eyelashes,
till I see you glistening at the edge of every silver splashed storm.
I long to press velvety warmth to your glacial glazed petals with my devoted touch,
as I know how I can comfort pink pastels present somewhere deep in your snow-kissed soul.
Lost and found in each other's gaze,
you and I would tango upon twilight tinted tundras for winters to come.
I dream of us together wrapped under the blanket of icy indigo nights,
where our jasmine scented saga would hymn in our rhyming dewy breaths pouring in majestic monophony.
waterlilies promenading
in a lonesome pond
are glimmering jewels
of green onyx and emerald
exuding empyrean elegance
of your perennial aura
oh, the purplish water
that holds her tiny roots
gently interchanging
like a melody transposing
from monophony to polyphony
whilst lilac and sandstone petals
dance with its rhythmic flow
my young heart melts
as leaves in varied hues
of emerald and jade
reflect the kiss of sunlight
like the sparkle in your eyes
when I whisper, "I love you"
17 March 2021
Notes:Water Lilies (or Nymphéas, French: [n?~.fe.a]) is a series of approximately 250 oil paintings by French Impressionist Claude Monet (1840–1926). The paintings depict his flower garden at his home in Giverny, and were the main focus of his artistic production during the last thirty years of his life. Many of the works were painted while Monet suffered from cataracts. (Photo and info credits to Wikipedia )
All Yours ( March 17) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
Mid-spring, skinny, black, blind
eastern tent caterpillars -
Malacosoma americanum -
falling from the cherry tree
leaning, human, over our deck.
Irksome. Mash and kick
them with my feet, continue
practicing or reading.
Three weeks later, reading
late at night. Heavy-bodied
black-eyed, reflexed antennae -
many hundreds of moths
crave the lamplight, some attaining
extinction through cracks
around the window screen. Vexing.
Until next morning, I look
up the name that has eluded me
all spring and early summer.
The single-minded moth and larval colony -
one small monophony.
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