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  • skkott 1:56 pm on Friday, July 10, 2009 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: personal, poetry   

    Hi Grafers, been traveling lately in a t… 

    Hi Grafers, been traveling lately in a third world country with little access to decent internet. Derek, heath and Ed thanks for your responses to Oprah-Chopra article. I wanted to share my thoughts on Orac and Chopra, but I think I better give it a rest. I want to share some thoughts about Sarah Palin, but I quit that thought.

    Here’s something I just read that I like to share:

    “the sorrow of a rose” by annaruiz

    the sorrow of a rose
    lies
    in her thorns

    how
    she makes peace
    with the blood-red sun

    how the sunlight
    fades
    into moon

    and
    the finger
    pointing
    trickles with tears.

    ~A
    http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=9874&sid=76b93275b8e5237e348e8c1ec27c7777

    Although the imagery is cliched, this poem works for me. I think the power of this poem lies in the brilliant way in which the (cliched)imagery of the rose is connected with the (cliched)imagery of the ‘finger pointing to the moon’.

    P.S. Steve Toth, from the comment thread:

    “When winter comes
    roses lose their blossoms
    but hang on
    to their thorns”

     
    • heath 6:47 am on Saturday, July 11, 2009 Permalink | Reply

      the sorrows of a rose are aphids, beetles, borers, and powdery mildew, which deplete her of her energy, and leave her hard-put to maintain her thorn-protected sweetness and beauty. the rose has a dormant/bloom cycle until death. while blooming, she shares her essence with all, and only a little care is needed to strip her of part of her generous beauty without being hurt. while dormant, she offers rose hips as a vit C source in winter. what would we do without rosewater, rose petals, rose-petal and rose-hip jams, and rose-hip tea, and the flowers themselves, which have been woven through our lives and stories for eons?

      as it is, thorns make sense, protecting the rose from greater sorrows than she already bears. if the rose ever found herself watched over by every human on the planet, perhaps her thorns would soften and fall away. if a pricked finger really trickled with tears, it would never again harm a rose after its first act of having done so. but man has never given undefended beauty much mercy.

      the moon and sun know the rose’s story, and aren’t sentimental or cliched about it. they hold silence, and share their light with her.

      the beauty and sweetness of the rose are celebrated with good reason. her tender, generous stamina helps life seem more bearable.

      bless all gentle hands that touch her without destroying her. until there are enough of them, bless the rose’s thorns.

      • ed 4:09 am on Sunday, July 12, 2009 Permalink | Reply

        For all my care,
        the rose unfair
        does claw me

        With hided gloves
        I tend my loves
        The bull would gore me

        So clear my patch
        of this mismatch
        Let iris reassure me

    • derek 12:08 am on Wednesday, July 15, 2009 Permalink | Reply

      Even though I’ve been pocked more times than I can remember,
      I keep going back, no gloves, fingers tingling from thorny pricks,
      to stop and take another sniff.

      • derek 12:10 am on Wednesday, July 15, 2009 Permalink | Reply

        or poked……..

      • heath 3:04 pm on Wednesday, July 22, 2009 Permalink | Reply

        with my oft-at-hand moralistic hat on: yeah, that’s what makes life good. 🙂

  • derek 10:27 am on Tuesday, June 30, 2009 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: poetry   

    quiet lightning 

    quiet lightning
    a distant storm
    the city noise drowns out
    what thunder there is
    all i hear is the train
    yards away
    thundering by
    and flashes so bright
    even the city lights
    can’t blind them out
    this street reminds me of Philly
    he said
    red bricks
    weeds
    and a cheesy mural
    painted on the big garage door
    of the piano warehouse
    where we rehearse
    his one man show
    captivating and inspired
    but out the window
    and the corner of my eye
    quite lightning
    the rumble of the city
    a storm passes by

     
    • heath 1:08 pm on Tuesday, June 30, 2009 Permalink | Reply

      ah, sweet!

      • derek 11:16 pm on Wednesday, July 1, 2009 Permalink | Reply

        hey Heath

        • heath 3:06 pm on Wednesday, July 22, 2009 Permalink | Reply

          commented on Grafediting too just now — the different visual frame gives a slightly different flavor to the read — I believe in cross-posting as an editing tool. 🙂

  • heath 12:11 am on Tuesday, April 14, 2009 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Frederick Seidel, links to others' stuff including mine, poetry, The Cove, WWF magnetic money boards   

    Open, orphan: hugs hugs hugs. Links in… 

    Open, orphan: hugs hugs hugs.
    Links in link: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/warriorpoets/message/13120

     
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