Monday, June 16, 2008

Wild Rose

I am no hothouse rose, no flower tamed
to sterile perfect clouds of velvet red.
I am a wild rose, ragged banners framed
by dagger thorns that guard my crimson head
from bird and beast and careless heavy tread.
Compare this petal to your lover’s lips:
her mouth is softer. On me, bees have fed
with savage bites, while you have kissed with sips.

In August, I will ripen scarlet fruits
each drying to a rattling box of seed.
The legions waiting in my fertile hips
will spread to distant fields and set down roots.
Don’t think to pick my blossoms. Fingertips
that come too near my face will learn to bleed.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Missy said...

Beautiful! I absolutely love this poem.

jadey said...

I love this. The life of a rose so beautifully done.

SweetTalkingGuy said...

You sound like the voice of the wild rose bush in my front garden - I like the way you did this.

Lucy said...

Very gorgeous and sensual, I like this!

Rob Kistner said...

Rich and excellent -- really captivated me... ;)

Stan Ski said...

Flowers with attitude. A rose by another name?

sister AE said...

A perfect warning. I love the line:
"The legions waiting in my fertile hips"
especially with the pun on rose hips.

I am going to have to try harder at iambic pentameter - yours reads so beautifully - my attempts are far too clunky. Thanks for the inspiration.

Beloved Dreamer said...

This is excellent. It is beautiful in it's simplicity and wild sweetness. Well done.


Greyscale Territory said...

What an amazing double-edged poem - one narrative symbolising another!

Well done!

tumblewords said...

A rose...this is lovely work! The images are vivid and real - I see the life of a rose! Love it!

one more believer said...

i will never look at my red rosebush quite the same.. i like what stan sed.. rosebush w/a attitude...