Where the Wisteria Grows, a poem
At the flower market this morning
I thought of us and our naked lives
Did you notice the star lilies bowing
and the whirling cups of green calyxes?
A painter’s pallette of color there
fretting in terra-cotta, feral and windblown
A fabulous fusion of scent and form,
forests of nectar-pots on knobby stems,
the stuff of heaven for the anthophilous
In just a day or two, they’ll be gone
I couldn’t help but think that these
yes! … these are our human days
our days to sow or steal our human joys
Another day will inevitably transform us
The moon will stew us in a sofrito
of tulips and night-blooming jasmine
At dawn on the day I decide to die,
we’ll sip oolong at the Tudor Rose,
but I won’t be there, I promise I won’t
You’ll eat orchids to celebrate our love
and our long walks in kempt gardens
Once you picked forget-me-nots –
meant as the soul of our redemption
When their colors fade and leaves wither,
it will be time to look for me …
Look for me where the wisteria grows
With subtle euphony my blue-violet tendrils will
call you, weaving and binding you in love again
© 2017, poem, Jamie Dedes; Pondering Angel © Barbara Stone, talented photographer, valued friend
The recommended read for this week is Robert Pinsky’s Singing School, Learning to Write (and Read) Poetry. No rules or recipes here just learning by studying the pros. Charming. Fun.
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