Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

And these are colors not quite natural—
azaleas explore this April air
and, puckering their petals, they explode
against this sky— magenta mysteries—
bewildering and being wild and blessed
before they shrivel up and dry and die—
compelling mysteries, the likes of you,
corrupting “natural” with something true,
because you’re nothing less than flowers’ sky,
but you’re the kiss that’s all the heavens dressed—
astounding— you. When grasses, weeds and trees
assume they have the power to unload
all unassuming browns and greens on where
a flower blooms, you change them— beautiful.

excellent poem.

the mysteries of the flower
the power of like in bloom
like makes like. life is life.
"the slow explosion of the rose"
a line I recall from a poet
I knew once, an old socialist.
I remember his big strong hands
as he pounded a nail into his
little cabin in the woods.His
laughter bounding off the trees.
He liked to talk about Hemingway
Lorca, a rose is a rose, is true.

after spending 8 years in the Florida Keys, I returned one spring to visit my family in Maryland and was overwhelmed by the beauty of the azaleas in full bloom....I had forgotten their impact on spring in the mid-Atlantic....the poem to me speaks of that impressive display and the lack there of.....

brilliant colors make a brilliant poem