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.
Categories:
myrtles, august, change, endurance, growth,
Form: Lyric
Myrtles Plantation has twenty-two rooms
Ghosts travel through there, some kicking in zooms
Identical parlors for women and men
Haunted house tour here is about to begin
Don’t come to Louisianna and ignore this tourist sight
The nightmares she will give you will last at least one night
Poltergeist just headed down by the silvery cold pond
Six hundred acres of which ethereal spirits and ghosts are very fond.
Categories:
myrtles, travel,
Form: Rhyme
Myrtles in the mist
Sunlight streaming in
An ethereal presence
A rainbow of tapestry
Little light purple star flowers
In the ink green darkness
At the heels of the eucalyptus woods
A lavender lullaby, wordless
Bluebonnet faces shady with sleep
A hum of a psalm that is all life throbbing
Earth in constant motion
An ocean cradle rocking for centuries
Apocalypse forever renewed
When dew becomes jewel
And frost sews its lace
A crochet of vines
Embroidery of mosses and flora
Scent and sound
Fragrant rustling of the eucalyptus
On the salt-sea breeze
Swept off from the dunes
The last twinkle in the dusk
Quiet flower heads lie in wait
Of some ancient memory
That may never exist
For some long-forgotten harmony
And heartbreak
Washed in on some far-off shore
When the mist of the morning
And the mist of the dusk
Are indistinguishable
When both command and instill
A hush and halt
A mind-clouding gas
Mesmerize and harmonize
Some mists are eternal
Some a passing glance
Emotions and myrtles go hand in hand
The mists are the spirits of the earth
Myrtles are a lullaby
The evening prayer that glows within.
Categories:
myrtles, flower, nature, ocean, spiritual,
Form: Free verse
Prunella loved the color purple,
planting some lovely Crepe Myrtle’s;
they had a humongous growth spurt,
all due to her nitro-rich dirt,
now her yard’s a Myrtle hurdle.
6-11-2022
Contest / A Funny Limerick - Any Theme Contest
Tania kitchen
Categories:
myrtles, animal, flower, nature, poems,
Form: Limerick
Myrtle had a pet turtle
She was fair looking and fertile
Tried to get into a girdle
Squeezing so hard
she turned purple
Her cows mike curdled
Drank it and hurled
Then Myrtle lost her pearls
As the story goes Myrtles turtle
Ate her pearls and walk in cycles
The funny thing was
Myrtle was married to
A vet who doctored squirrels
To go on would spin your head
Turing it around in cycles
Categories:
myrtles, fun,
Form: Rhyme
Crepe myrtles are not supposed to grow in Kansas but in my gardens they flourish thanks to my green thumb and lots of love and communication. I appreciate them and they thrive, feeling cherished.
gorgeous bobbing heads
lovely sea of crepe myrtles
delights grasshopper
Categories:
myrtles, flower, garden,
Form: Haibun