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Posts Tagged ‘roses’

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DHRUPAD 9 (solstice roses)

Solstice roses solstice rain
bright as sparrows
solstice cloud low bright
and sparkling rain.
Field roses, wild roses, dog roses,
solstice roses bloom fall fail
arching sun-like arching star-like
arching dancing leaping hedgerows.
Field roses white as cotton dresses
in sunlight fields in sunlight wind in solstice fields
light as cotton white as summer
blooming falling failing blooming.
And dog roses pink and frail and strong
as sacred as secret pink flesh
blushing pink curling pink scented and smiled and honey sweet
and stroked in light and solstice solstice light,
bloom and leap and arch and fall and fail.
Tattered heavy petal fall
weighed and washed bright solstice rain.
White as sheep new shorn, white as blisters,
white as taste in morning air,
white as solstice fall and failing falling failing,
flocking leaping solstice roses arching out
and arching over and petal falling petal failing pale as butter,
bright as eyelids, bitter smiling falling
failing blooming failing falling
solstice roses wild roses dog roses field roses,
thorned and throned and holding on,
leaping arching bowing blessing
bowers sprinkled white and pink
glorious as sheep in the morning solstice,
morning sparrow hedgerow morning,
rain wet wind and sparkling solstice morning.

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Down to Night

Over northern hills ink clouds stain a perfect blue.
They grow dark and slow as the sorrows of others.
The full moon, a young girl in love glowing golden, illuminates all.
Roses dip on warm, motionless thought.
The way the seconds talk, the way the night settles deeper into itself
As if there were nothing else.
The way light turns purple, and the birth of stars.
This house, this little house creaks, its clocks tick on.
One or two slow flies spin the edge of rooms.
Little cat settles at the window; her white paws.
Words disappear.

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THESE MOMENTS.

Hemlock

Clouds the hedge banks.

Light

Is high, a heaviness

And a stillness.

Slow air

Collecting summer,

A weight of green.

Pillow clouds

This light rests upon:

Grey and silver.

Content

To remain a veil.

The dry earth,

Warm and pale.

Nodding roses,

Damask scented.

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JUNE RAINS (haiku/haibun cycle)

Sudden gust of wind.
Rain-wet face.
These grey, empty streets.

These grey, empty streets:
I do not know their names.
They do not know mine.
A dream in cold dawn.

Too many words attached to memory. A posy of complaint, shades of all the colours of melancholy. Cast down, forgotten, they shall dissolve, mulch for future centuries. Beautiful air locating magical symbols. A play with syllabic sweetness, a river of sanity too far to touch.

A dream in cold dawn.
Somehow choosing a role
No-one else will have.

Is there a moment, a time, when each one of us decides our degree of visibility? Do we slip, collecting the well-worn clothes of a vacant consciousness, into comforting roles, familiar, mapped out? And so they adhere, become so owned. The first and the last in the queue. The sensible one, the designated driver, the quiet one, the strange one.

No-one else is here.
Squabbling sparrows
Scattering blossoms.
Rain-wet garden.

The colours have swiftly changed from the brightness of May to the weighed greens of June. Elder blossom is the punctuation, and the delicate scatter of wild roses. The bindweed curls, the honeysuckle prepares its longing fingers. The sun breeds cloud, sucks moisture and breathes storm.

No-one else will know
This one silent moment.
Rain wet garden.

Rain-wet garden
Flowers weighed down.
Unavoidable sorrow.

Unavoidable sorrow.
Thoughts falter.
The low-slung cry of swallows.

Low-slung cry of swallows
Steady rain
Strange emptiness.

Strange emptiness
Fills with peace.
Scent of wild roses.

Scent of wild roses:
Though they bend and weep
They know this rain a blessing.

—–

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Summer path

—-

Clouds bloom , air cools.
One drop, then two.
Sudden scent of roses

—–

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