Magnolia wept heroic white tears
flushed with magenta modesty
like curls of paper she sheds them each spring,
they are alien amongst her bare arms
as if the autumn sacrifice of leaves
has not been enough, she must denude
herself further. She didn’t seem naked before.
The petals propose a finer reality
conspicuous wax-like infallibility.
A nameless surface, a form sublime:
cradle to a thousand angels. Or to
a flock of brooding flamingos. The petals
drop, turn brown and rot. Heaven retreats a pace.
3 comments:
A very cerebral poem which nevertheless has a lot of feeling behind it. The half line sentences concluding the two stanzas sets them off very well. A fine poem.
Dave, thank you for the encouragement. It is a much more refined poem than what I usually write.
When a house near me was sold, the new owners took down the most beautiful Magnolia tree. It must have been there for years, if its size ws anything to go by. Your lines brought it back to life for a moment, in my mind...thank you!
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