Sunday, January 18, 2009

Camellias

This morning's sun is not the honey light
of summer, thick with golden dust and slow
as syrup pouring from a jug. It's bright,
but thin and cold, and slanted steep and low
across the hillsides. Frost is blooming white,
these flowers forced by icy winds that blow
as hard this morning as they blew all night.
Too cold for rain, but far too dry for snow.

And I am restless, pacing to and fro
enduring winter's grip, that holds us tight.
But my camellias, which somehow know
what weather to expect-- they're always right--
have broken bud. Now scarlet petals show
outside the window where I sit and write.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

13 comments:

Matt said...

This is a very beautiful poem. It's just what I needed to help through the rest of the winter. Thank you!

Anonymous said...

Lovely...

Thank you...

Anonymous said...

Lovely...

Thank you...

said...

those first lines are near perfection.

pbsweeney said...

Ohhhh, this poem! Exquisite.
I love everything about it - really masterful.

Richard said...

our camelias, stubborn as weather, never go away

Tumblewords: said...

Nice offering of color and spring blooming deep in the clutch of winter.

SweetTalkingGuy said...

I can hear the Shakespearian voice coming through as I read this.

It has a timeless quality!

artpredator said...

wild to think of your camellias blooming there in the cold--and ours blooming here in the hot wind of the santa anas raging!

gel said...

delicious lilt to your poetic prose words. (here via poetry train)

gel said...

oh and especially welcome flowering words you wove for us/me, because it's winter here. :)

Danika / OpenChannel said...

so few people I know can get away with writing successful sonnets... yours is so natural, great rhythm and flow.

Rethabile said...

Everyone is very right.