Yet I’ve seen it done – those
formal gardens in such regulated rows,
all blossoming in the proper season,
even a Japanese tea garden balances
order (those carefully raked stones)
with profusion.
Georgia O’Keefe knew something
about flowers, as did the Victorians,
coding each one, daisies for innocence,
gardenias, a secret passion,
purple hyacinths, their pungent smell
an apology.
I would rather walk alone in the woods
to find those hidden flowers
that speak of survival.
about flowers, as did the Victorians,
coding each one, daisies for innocence,
gardenias, a secret passion,
purple hyacinths, their pungent smell
an apology.
I would rather walk alone in the woods
to find those hidden flowers
that speak of survival.
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| Anemones by Peggy Choucair (Pixabay) |
NOTE: Today's prompt is a combo. For April 11, Robert Lee Brewer challenges us to write a poem about control, especially daunting since so much seems out of our control in these days of coronavirus. Napowrimo suggests we write a poem about flowers and that language of flowers (called floriography) from ancient times (think of Buddhists and the lotus flower) to the Victorians who sent bouquets with secret meanings. As you can see, on Day 32 of self-quarantine, I do not stray far from wishing I could walk in the woods.
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