Bindweed

( Can anyone remember Listen With Mother)

some might name them

convolvulus

which is a tad too posh

for my London liking

though i call them

morning glory because

of those pure white trumpets

heralding each new day 

raising their necks to face

the sun

delicate skirts tell a story

of how i as a child of six

was told bindweed was

not a real flower it was

no more than a common

weed

but little weed was a friend

was she not? who sat between

BIll and Ben who were 

protective garden pots

i was very fond of her

on children's half hour

she was the only flower

in my garden

backyard out of bounds

nothing grew there

in the shadow of arches

blackened by smog

whenever i see her climbing

i can not fail to smile

across the years and

country miles

she in all her innocence

reminds me of a much

younger me

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I always called them Morning Glory as well, but this is more than that...this is watching a grandchild grow with each new day...each new morning...she gets a little older and reminds the speaker just a little bit more of what she was like in her youth.
j.

[Chris Shaw]

Dear Jacob, I really like where you went with this poem. Thank you so much.

Chris

[Lorry]

Flobadob Chris, flobadob.
Some weeds be pretty and that child never forgets that. They find beauty in things beginning with just... Just a weed, just waste of money etc. Nothing can change that beauty to a child. It's just another grown up label we don't need or want and didn't flippin' ask for.
Trust me, I'm Scottish. We have a weed as our national flower 😀

[Chris Shaw]

Of course, you have the thistle as your national flower:) You called it a weed, I didn't.And you remembered the flower pot men, I am so happy about that. Little weed, little weed ... flobalob. THose were the days.

Chris

[barleygirl]

Very thought-provoking. Makes me wonder about the (indiscriminate) use of the word "weed" as designating which are wanted & which are not. This, tied together with the implication that kids grow like weeds & also are often irrepressible like weeds, this is an amazingly fresh & unexpected comparison! With no offspring myself & looking in dispassionately as an "outsider" . . . I notice that many times bloodline appeal is wrapped up in one's own reluctance to let go of one's own youthful weedlike ways. I believe that, whether one has g-kids to watch grow or not, at some point we have to recapture those weeds within us & celebrate life as youthfully and as long as we can! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Chris Shaw]

Dear Margie, thank you for sharing your thoughts. I really enjoyed where you went with this poem. I certainly was a weedy looking kid. Very pale and very thin. I don't think I ever saw sunlight for years.

Chris