There were flowers.
Orchids pinned upon a mother’s breast,
All lace and diamonds.
Long black gloves
And painted lips,
As she left, laughing.
A child who watched
As the door closed.
*
There were flowers…
Yellow tulips,
Cellophane and ribbon
A girl who blushed
As the curtain fell
Upon the stage;
She cradled them,
A first bouquet.
*
There were flowers,
Roses and lilies
White, in hands and hair,
Their fragrance mingled
With frankincense,
A ghost of awe and wonder
Finding a home
In memory.
*
There were flowers…
Rainbow hued,
Everywhere.
Greeting a life newborn,
With love and welcome,
Lighting stark severity
As a babe cried.
*
There were flowers…
Daisy chains
Around his brow,
Crowning him with sunlight,
In laughter,
In simplicity,
In love.
*
There were flowers,
Three roses,
Red as life,
Placed in a cold hand,
One for each heart
Saying farewell.
Too long,
Too soon.
*
There are flowers,
Heather and bluebells
Painting horizons
Still unexplored.
Pathways of petals
Laugh at our feet,
Inviting.
*
In joy or sorrow,
When the tears fall,
There are always flowers.
*
There are joys for which we cannot find expression, moments that have a depth of emotion that can only be shared in images. It is here that poetry comes into its own, for the pictures we paint with words can conjure all the emotions of the human heart. From solitude to passion, from aspiration to the quest for the soul’s inner light, we seek to find ways to share our journey through life, to witness our footsteps as we pass through its shifting sands and cast a reflection on time itself. The poet is both mirror and reflection, framing the images of a human life and giving them a beating heart.
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