How that florid scent
Wafts through your two vents
Making all your senses yield
To wilderness in a field.

How the petals soft
Carry you aloft
To the clouds above us all,
Lightly float and never fall.

How the colors beam
In a matching scheme,
Fine art in a museum
Painting over tedium.

Yet how flowers fail!
Before you they’re pale,
My Lady across the earth,
Rarest blossom the world hath.

 

-Evan Mantyk

Related Post

‘Unforeseen Good Fortune’s Heirs Are We’ and Oth... Unforeseen Good Fortune’s Heirs Are We There’s little of the Plague that we can find to celebrate except for this small gem – when those who died...

One Response

  1. Bruce Dale Wise

    PEONIES, SHELL, AND COILED CANDLE: AFTER STONE ROBERTS

    Upon the pale and shiny stonework ledge
    sits shell, white vase, and beeswax candle coil.
    Here is a neoclassical-clear edge,
    a spare, fine atmosphere betrayed in oil.
    Peony petals drooping, perky too,
    in yellow, white, red violet, and pink,
    against the wall, a dark gray, background hue;
    one wonders how they smell, sweet, light, or stink.
    The smoothness is disturbed by sharp-shaped conch,
    the long-line grooves and patterns of the vase,
    the copper-finished plate and clip ensconced
    about the sixty-hour candle’s base.
    A New Dutch Realist has been let loose
    where once New Amsterdam was in the News.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.