There are myths spreading like fingers through sand;
Flowers that appear on the fences edging the playground
And you try to take them home, tame them.
Fill your dad's film canister with seeds, rattle them
All day in your desk, in your pocket;
Wait for the lawn mowers and morning glories
To tame and free the grass.
Sharing today with the Wednesday Muse. Today's theme is spring flowers and it feels that there are a million ways to go with this--the azaleas at Mercer (a personal favorite), Mom's azaleas and the fact I loved the blue color of Miracle Gro (not enough to touch it, just enough to watch Mom feed them), the smell of spring onions, the smell of the wisteria, the way a bee shows up when the wisteria blooms to police our front walkway (NOT where the wisteria is located), the smell of a blooming apricot at Mercer...I have, unfortunately, never seen a cherry blossom, which Toni describes so beautifully in the Muse. Therefore, today's spring verse refers to morning glories (technically summer blooms) in elementary school. Hope everyone has a lovely week! :)-- Chrissa
I love the idea of morning glories taming and freeing the grass. A beautiful poem for the prompt Chrissa, and I love your flower photo!!
ReplyDeleteI'm convinced your muse stays deliciously drunk in the sweet (and often ominous) language of fairy tales... in the sort of motif that veils itself behind pretty colors and scents, but never let the reader go home without hearing the flower bones (those seeds are still rattling in my head), or without forgetting that "pacifying" and "suppressing" and "subjugating" are other words for "taming". Like I said, drunk on the language of fairy tales--full of sweet smiles... and a lot of teeth. And I love every bit of it. 😁
ReplyDeleteLove this, Chrissa. Lol, the morning glories can take over and I let them. ;-)
ReplyDeleteLove this. I have an outgrowth of white and blue morning glories that resend themselves. Also at the ending of summer, tiny orange morning glories. I like how the seeds rattle about in n the film cannister and how you wait to free the grass. The thoughts of morning glories rollicking about is lush and wondrous.
ReplyDeleteNice one, Chrissa
ReplyDelete