This image of a beautiful rose was captured by a new friend, Yvette.
Merci beaucoup Yvette, cette photo d’une fleur est absolument magnifique ……
.
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Burnt Roses
You picked roses, cut their nursing
stems. Their cradled, vital blooms
slashed into slow death. That
crystal vase, a mausoleum, a glass
casket to watch them slowly fade
away, designed to wither and
decay for your enjoyment.
Their petals blacken and you smile.
And what of my heart? Can
your shears pierce it too,
prop me in a jar and watch my
essence drain away? Has the
foulness of your death breath
blown upon me? Do the remnants
of my rotting, sloughing
soul please you?
But roses will die anyway,
at season’s end you say.
What’s a month or two?
Or a decade given to the realm of beauty?
What beauty is that, dearest?
My crystal urn clouds the view,
this misty grey once called my life
grovels upon the shards of it.
I long for what once was,
the glory of that single moment in time
when I lived upon my stem.
.
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johnallenrichter 
September 5th, 2011 at 4:51 pm
I especially LOVE that first stanza! Some really lovely imagery here.
September 9th, 2011 at 4:52 am
Thank you so much! You are such an incredibly rounded artist and you have absolutely captured me…… Thank you for visiting my little bit of free verse…….
September 7th, 2011 at 12:38 am
This is excellent–terrific ending, and the whole allegory/metaphor well drawn and synchronized for maximum power. I have a weakness for flower poems anyway, and this one was most pleasing in all ways.
Also, thanks for your enthusiastic comment on my poem. Much appreciated.
September 9th, 2011 at 4:49 am
Thank you for this humbling critique…. Joy, your poetry humbles me, your sight, your vision, ……… Do you ever wonder what thoughts occur to incredibly talented people, like Peyton Manning, whose ability to throw a football is like poetry itself? Or like this young singer I just discovered, Fever Ray? Oh, I want to know the thoughts that she has, the visions that her soul has as she carries that incredible voice and song around with her…… Those are the thoughts that I have when I read incredible poetry like yours…… Visiting your poetry is entirely my pleasure…….
September 7th, 2011 at 2:39 am
This is really nice, poignant, even sad, but filled with the truth of life, and the beauty of a rose. Great use of metaphor, imagery to illustrate the point, and a powerful ending.
September 9th, 2011 at 4:41 am
I loved your poem “Silence!” How often those thoughts creep into me…. and your other poem, “Calm Lake,” is equally impressive… I wish I could write like that, to be so descriptive and sincere with so few words, to display the beauty of language and thought and emotion without the sinful verbosity that ravages me…… Thank you for visiting…….
September 7th, 2011 at 4:07 am
you know…i almost never manage to cut the roses in my garden and put them in a vase because i hate to see them waste away before their time…what great metaphor here to use the roses for un-rooting others for our own pleasure
September 9th, 2011 at 4:27 am
Somehow I think the roses in your life are well taken care of, Miss Claudia! Thank you for the kind words…..
September 7th, 2011 at 10:26 pm
Loved the metaphor ~ a heartfelt poem full of beauty & sadness. Great ending too! Much enjoyed the read, thank you 🙂
September 9th, 2011 at 4:36 am
Thank you dear Wings…… beauty, yes, I see it now that you mention it but it wasn’t on my mind when I wrote this, I’ve never been one to complain about the confines of a relationship, always happy to be loved and to love. I guess this poem came from the misty corners of the mind, that little place we all have, the one that shouts “What if?” Truly a human thing, and all human things are beautiful.. Thank you…….
September 9th, 2011 at 4:01 am
John, this is so poignant and a deep reflection on the transience of life. I love roses and on my “to-do” list is needing to go deadhead those that are spent.
I’m in agreement with your comments on my blog…the ones about the king being stark naked! I am not a fan of obscure poetry but try to search for something to like–an images, some words or an overall feel to each poem I read, especially if I comment on it. As for form poetry, I turn to it when I’m feeling stuck. It seems the discipline helps jump-start my creativity. But the most important thing is meaning and it should never take a back seat to form perfection.
Thanks for taking time to comment…I’ll be offline for a while now, preparing my novel for the publisher.
September 9th, 2011 at 4:25 am
Victoria, I will miss you for this while…… though we’ve only just met. You don’t know it but you have inspired me.
September 9th, 2011 at 12:50 pm
this is excellent…harsh…but excellent…ha…the metaphor is great and her response tells much…really well penned man…
September 10th, 2011 at 6:28 pm
Hi Brian… yes, a little harsh I think….. Sometimes those things come out, like throwing water on fire. You don’t really have to think about it, it’s just a natural reaction……. I think life is that way too. Sometimes….
September 9th, 2011 at 6:59 pm
A stunning poem: masterful handling of free verse– thanks a million for visiting me– I especially loved these lyrical lines–
..Their cradled, vital blooms
slashed into slow death. That
crystal vase, a mausoleum, a glass
casket to watch them slowly fade
away, designed to wither and
decay for your enjoyment.
Delicious! xxxj
September 10th, 2011 at 7:28 pm
Jenne, thank you so much for visiting me….. before I responded here I went briefly to your blog to find your latest piece, “Amphibians.” I’m still speechless though only just a second ago, (unfortunate that I already posted a comment to you,) this finally soaked into me:
“a seahorse floating
within
whose name I dared not speak….”
“A tiny and uncommon thing
that slipped from me ”
I’m sorry that escaped me before. OMG…… Jenne……. :tears:
Thank you for your kind words……..
September 9th, 2011 at 7:13 pm
Really great! Classical Poetry — something understandable representing something even more understandable. Just very well crafted!
September 10th, 2011 at 8:02 pm
Thank you for those kind words……. It means so much to find praise from artists so intensely talented and cutting edge such as yourself…. It is indeed humbling…….. And thank you for recognizing the classic nature of my emotionally driven poetry…. It is all I have ever written for as long as I can remember. As a child, and in practicing my own vision of iambic meter, I felt that my poems were indistinguishable from those of Emily Dickinson. It was just a childish fancy, I realize that of course, but it has since been a lofty goal that has stayed with me through the years. Thank you for recognizing that……
September 9th, 2011 at 9:18 pm
I like you idea of a vase being a glass casket. Your poem reminded me of one i wrote years ago:
Here Lies Marigolds and Zinnias
We are all like flowers
Cut from the ground we came from
We are all looking out
From the vases we are held in
Named for our family lines by botanists
Hoping our petals will be cherished
We are all flourishing and fading
Giving and taking our seed to the grave
September 10th, 2011 at 9:00 pm
Thank you for that poem…….. You would not believe where it just took me…. My mother was an avid Marigold lover, and planted them by the dozens in plots around the home. She always kept a vase of them on our dining room table for nine people… (OK, it was really for eight, they don’t make dining room tables for nine but there was always a high-chair scooched in somewhere…) As a preschooler I asked her one day to let me help with her daily chores. Out of frustration she pointed to the dying vase of Marigolds on the table and asked me to “Take that out behind the back yard and dump it out in the field of weeds back there.” I was a little confused, as of course a four year old would be, but happy to oblige anyway. So I walked over to the table, picked up the family-sized bottle of ketchup that was sitting next to the vase, and emptied it into the weeds behind the back yard. I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack when I returned and asked what I should do with the empty ketchup bottle. I suspect that mom always knew that I was an idiot, but she loved me anyway so it doesn’t really matter…. Thanks for visiting Connie. I love your blog!
September 12th, 2011 at 9:41 pm
That is a great story! It reminds me of the time by brother started a fire in the yard and I didn’t want him to get in trouble so I kept going back and forth to the house for a glass of water. The jig was up when my mother realized I couldn’t possibly be that thirsty.
September 13th, 2011 at 2:16 am
I certainly hope the fire got put out! Brothers do that sort of thing, don’t they? I certainly did….
September 9th, 2011 at 10:27 pm
This is excellent!!!!!!!!
September 10th, 2011 at 9:15 pm
Thank you Ayala…… I just finished your poem Ten Years, a poem depicting the horrors of that September day in 2001. Thank you for that. And thank you for your kind words……
September 10th, 2011 at 12:13 am
This rang a little bell of a murder mystery movie I saw as a child… it was in black and white. The lady of the house arranged roses in the foyer. She snipped at them with especially long thin shears skillfully handled. Dare say she was the murderer in the end 🙂
September 10th, 2011 at 9:48 pm
I would so loooooove to see that one……. It sounds familiar…… I’ve always loved the older murder mysteries…… Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte might have had roses in the foyer. Oh how incredibly scary that movie was for a child….. And I’ll always remember watching House on Haunted Hill in my grandparents home one chilly, chilly night…..
September 10th, 2011 at 12:37 am
Ah, we kill the things we love, what a powerful poem – I love the image of a crystal vase as a mausoleum – and the ephemeral life of a flower as a metaphor…. I have signed up to your blog and will be back for sure
September 10th, 2011 at 10:03 pm
You are entirely sweet and have just boosted my day into something much better than it was before……….! Thank you so much for your words Marsha……….
September 10th, 2011 at 8:10 pm
What a striking closing. Lovely.
September 14th, 2011 at 2:16 pm
Loved the comparison of the heart to a rose. And the crystal mausoleum… brillant!
September 17th, 2011 at 12:45 am
Love this:
“Their petals blacken and you smile.”
And your last line (“lived upon my stem”) is fantastic:
“I long for what once was,
the glory of that single moment in time
when I lived upon my stem.”