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Flowers on the water
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Flowers on the water |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855
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At the river's bank, flowers foamed. Their colors mocked my lonely self-known shadow, which was naught but suffused smoky light. Women stooped to pull the pushing blooms, by their heads; a silver pluck of silence. Petals peeked from wicker heaping baskets. I spied white feathers on the current then, bobbing forlorn nibs. Inkless pens. Some poet must have dropped them, overtaken. The women on the bank looked up to see those feathered pieces floating by and by. Then heads back down in work, to summer heat. One woman lost her load within the shade. The basket spun at once into the shallows. The river washed her flowers out in line. The sinking rainbow rushed to meet the pens. Of haste to ring the twirling, hueing nibs. As if to write out words to teach the sky. I watched that color spin against the bend, then disappear to soften further on. The silence came back in, the heat of working. My idle self-made shadow seemed to sway. The woman's basket wet and dripping, empty. Nothing more to do, I left them then. |
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brian sites Senior Member
since 2002-06-25
Posts 1475usa |
a beautiful image even if a little sad feathers as inkless pens the scene magick |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
This is so different than your other poems.. I really like it.  |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
Thank you both. I basically rewrote Edmund Spenser's bridal verse to my purposes -- I didn't realize how much arrogance that took on my part until I ALSO realized how well-loved his poem is in some circles. Oh well. If I hadn't mentioned anything, no one would be able to tell -- it's that disguised. Glad you like this. I wasn't even sure whether to post it not for the longest time. Mikey |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
At the river's bank, flowers foamed. Their colors mocked my lonely self-known shadow, which was naught but suffused smoky light. Women stooped to pull the pushing blooms, by their heads; a silver pluck of silence. Petals peeked from wicker heaping baskets. Heh Mike, some rich images, a beautiful write filled with a quiet sadness. Too early for the rainbow, too early for the dove These are the final days, this is the darkness, this is the flood |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Mike It is magic the way you color with emotion, so subtle I am taken in, sort of like melting before knowing you were standing in the heat. If that doesn't make any sense, then just let me say, I loved this! Beautifully done! |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
 Thank you...And Martie, yes, it made sense. |
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