The white rose is hunched
Its petals dry and sore
Like cracked lips
Over licked
Nervously caressed by hungry tongues and bodies lost of warmth
I touch it gently
See the little bruises on its skin.
We are in the white place.
I walk the roads that lead to it.
I bring back light for the flower.
Space
Quiet
All that it needs to be.
I sit on the bench
Rest after I have tried these new roads.
The sky is bruised. gently.
Pink and orange.
Sliced up by the noses of planes.
Like birthday cakes and balloons.
A light swirl. movement.
Time mixed in a drum like candy floss.
The light is fading on the hill
I ring the bell
To go back into the building where I am.
Sixty days have passed in room twenty three
I fade and fall.
I am hunched like the white flower
Catching light
Watching the red marks fade on me.
It is not good
It is not bad
It is just the next day coming.
24 comments:
Your metaphors sparkle in this piece of yours. It is a sad and wistful poem Jae and I am very impressed.
I held my breath as I read this, hoping, hoping, hoping that you would be seeing a tiny light at the end. Your writing just shines! (exhale)
I liked the light in this poem, more light than dark, and hopefully there will always be more roads to walk. And somewhere always light.
Thank you OldEgg..makes a change to sparkle..
Thanks Linda..and exhale! ;)
It's a big place..lots of roads to explore..thanks Mary..
Jae
I know a woman who is physic, and she read the person through the rose. Perhaps the hunch is that you are tired. After all what you are doing is very hard, gains don't come easy. I like that you are searching for the light, and you are willing to travel.
This is a poem I think you will like...
I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
glens that hold secrets;
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers...
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant's
feather...
Will you know me?
from
"I Shall Come Back"
Hilda Conkling (age ten), 1922
Traveling new roads is exhausting. This piece takes the reader on the journey, allowing insight into the challenges, the changes, and also the potential for enlightenment. The fading red marks, the healing that is slow but steady, moves the piece toward even greater understanding. This is indeed a pilgrim's progress. My writing self has been silenced. I must find time to write in the next few days. You inspire me, Jae!
It is good that there is a next day, isn't it? You can throw the ld one out and start over new, every single day. Sometimes the rose is hunched over protecting it's soft belly while it heals. Then days can come when it turns face to sun for warmth. Rest is good. When you are charging up the hill of yourself, running blind into briars and quicksand, I think there has to be rest in between, time to let bruises turn from blue to green to yellow. The next day comes and they pile up behind you. The marks fade.
The poem is like a lovely patchwork quilt interspersed with light and shade!! Catching the light is a healthy sign with much more hope coming in the morrow's dawn!!
Cheers and good wishes!!
Thank you Annell - aged 10! Reminds me of Daisy Ashford..It is true..a kind of half light tiredness..clear eyes but circles under them..
Thank you Kim..slow and steady wins the race..I have checked in and hope you are recouping your writing mojo..maybe you need to be silent sometimes..to get back the well of words..
'The hill of yourself'..what a wonderful concept..thank you Dee..I have many valleys and hills..middle aged spread..
I would like a picnic on that blanket..thank you Nanka..
Jae
I read your piece and think how can i write after reading that. my only possibility is light and silly as you capture everything else in so few words. thank you.
The ending of this is breathtaking.
I find this poem a little less sad than the others in the series. Maybe it's the beautiful color imagery. Or maybe it's because the last three lines sound sort of Buddhist.
It feels like someone has been severely ill, riddled with pain and maybe you wait for them to recover. It seems like you've been waiting for hours to heal and help bring back color to this poor flower. I have to say, I find this one to be just as dismal and blue.
Your words are always so ripe and magical.
Thank you scape..good to see you..
Thank you Mama Zen..
I'm glad..thanks Ann...good to share colours..
Thank you Archna..
Jae
Yes, this journey you are on is one of small steps, one slow step forward each time. The red marks fading is good to read. You are healing both in body and mind. Rome wasn't built in a day, and we all have our own ways of healing and we all do it in our own time. The fact that you are walking new roads is so good to see too. New roads mean new adventures, new things to discover and look forward to in the confines of your days and world. Room 23 will not be so much a prison as your sanctuary.
This is hope filled, beautiful.
Nice piece of writing Jae:) Lovely imagery.
Thank you Daydreamer..I hope for that sanctuary feeling day too..
Thank you Tarang :)
Jae
beautiful to the last :D
just keep "petaling",,,forward
I'm so glad because what I see in this is hope and acceptance!
beautiful sky, tender observation,
this is a soulful voice,
here is some love and laughter from
another lass with big hair =)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0wARmRtKtE
Jae, there was so much imagery in here - much of it light and beautiful... except for the red marks (sad face). But your description of the sky as bruised and cut up by jet tracks absolutely took my breath away. Striking poem. Great write, Jae! Peace, Amy
http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/11/15/the-balancing-act-of-life/
Thank you - Alice, Glenn, Laurie, Lucy and Amy..Jae x
Lovely words and images. I pray that the next day coming will be better. God bless.
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