BLUE ROSE TRIPTYCH

07 01 13

I.

The balance sheet of my internal work
bottoms out in blood assessments
shading every measurement of record
with its iron evocation tinge
One day's spectral serenade
held a note of cherry blossom pink
hueing my accrued debt lacerations
in a burnishing of dissolution
No crimson-dipped verdure had a chance
against the angular azure rose crown
and the prism court it hovered over

II.

One single person on one single day
sent me flowers: a blue rose roof erected
for "the star gazer and the color lover"
No u to be found in the plasticine
forked note shooting out of the
prismatic mini-glade...a New England wink
to ignite a withered Northern Light
Wry shelter for a fellow poet's sense
of metaphor refusing to be flatlined
by the gestures of the simplest kind

III.

I recall a solitary day's sentiment of scents
and the humid hiss of life's toxic breath
on its origin of stems
My balance sheet of annual internal work
wheezes in a patina of dried blood now
freezing the informing of your untimely wilt
in a single photograph taken
to remind me of the one bouquet
that coloured that solitary day

Author's Note

I hate writing in the Summer...I can't concentrate when it's hot out, and wind up getting frustrated because I can't organize my thoughts as I'd like, and that's how I feel after spending parts of a week on this one...I don't know, maybe it's just the inspirational circumstances of the piece that has me feeling so flustered right now...I guess I'll know in a few days...

In memory of Clare.

Reviews

[Androglossia]

Once in our lives, we bump into something extraordinary to help us realize the importance of 'now'. And I think it is not the experience that lingers but the lesson embed into our being which I think is going to be useful in time. I can see how Clare's exit affected you but I'm confident that you have learned something useful from it. As of the poem, it's highly emotional which is not your usual but it is the emotion that makes it exceptional.

[kublakhan27]

At first I was a little surprised to hear you say that my work usually doesn't have such highly-charged emotion, but then I thought about the fact that I usually don't write in the heat of the moment, which I have been doing lately, and it made perfect sense...you know me before I know myself haha ;P The irony of receiving flowers from one who would die just months later is something that continues to eat on me and always will, but the positive memories are gradually making their way to the surface, just not quick enough to prevent such a piece from ever being written...thank you Maryanne :)

[Androglossia]

I have known you as a friend and had been earnestly reading you for more than 12 months. Need I say more? lol. Seriously, anything that happens which doesn't seem to make any sense to you in the present is going to mean something in the future. And I guess all of these poems written in the aftermath of her death is one of the reasons why the flowers. Maybe it has something to do with the red thread of fate:) What can you say about that?

You're very welcome, Steve. As always:)

[kublakhan27]

Haha you need not say another word my dear :) I couldn't agree more with everything you've said here...I continue to cling to that age-old belief that everything happens for a reason...fate is a funny thing, we spend our lives chasing it down and it usually lures us into places we've never been...this poem has yet to sink in so I remained confused as to where the words came from and where they will take me...like everything else in life, time will tell I suppose :)

[KAOlmsted]

It's moments like these, after reading you Steven, that I remember why I came here in the first place, and I thank you for the reminder.

[kublakhan27]

Thank you Kim, so much...there are no words to describe the magnitude of your inspiration.

[KAOlmsted]

xoxo Always my pleasure...and thank you...

[kublakhan27]

Always a pleasure on my end as well :) xoxo

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"metaphors refuse to be flatlined"

we get in periods where we just can't write a damn thing..and the muse is on her last breath...

but she rises once again, refusing to succumb..and we once again pick up the pan...and those colors we paint with our words return.

beautiful verbiage here.

[kublakhan27]

So well put...when I'm writing under conditions such as these, I don't even feel like my muse is anywhere in my vicinity...I feel like I'm writing on pure brain power, and I only have a limited supply of that haha Thank you for your great reviews Jacob.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Haunting, etheral, tenuous, poignant...I need more adjectives. You always have such a way with imagery, and the colors that you used in this piece were really taking center stage throughout. I feel the metaphors and swim in your word choice. I wish I had more to say...

[kublakhan27]

You have said more than I could or would have expected from anyone :) Your reviews are among the ones I look forward to the most...I just hope I can continue to write things that grip you to this degree...thank you Sara.

[Rita L. Sev]

The color imagery is amazing here, as though these colors come to life, and accompany death.

Wry shelter for a fellow poet's sense
of metaphor refusing to be flatlined
by the gestures of the simplest kind

These line stand out to me. In spite of death, poetry never dies...

[kublakhan27]

Absolutely...poetry can outlive any or all forms of literature...as long as there are people around, poetry will be always close by...so glad you enjoyed it, thank you Rita :)

[Dana Alsamsam]

the first section has a beautiful juxtaposition of the crimson of blood against the beautiful colors of the flowers. it is haunting and lovely at the same time burning with hefty emotional volume. my only suggestion would be to lighten up the word choice just slightly as it gets a tiny bit wordy- i did enjoy decoding it though!

the second section has a memory-like feeling to it. happy, romantic and nostalgic. i especially love the line "the star gazer and the color lover" as well as
"Wry shelter for a fellow poet's sense
of metaphor refusing to be flatlined
by the gestures of the simplest kind"
us poets often thrive off of the most simple pleasures and gestures in life turning them into beautiful works of writing.

the third is hugged with syllables of sadness and crusted with dry blood. the pain is palpable here.

lovely write!

[kublakhan27]

Thank you always for your in-depth review Dana :) Good call on the word choice...there are many elements of this piece that I struggled with mightily and that was one of them...I'm just letting it simmer now in the hopes that I can tinker with some things in the not-too-distant future...while I was working on this, I began to see three different pieces taking shape, with the moods being the dividing lines...I'm happy that it was able to take you on such a journey :)

[Dana Alsamsam]

i can tell you really put a lot of effort into this one! with that said- it doesn't feel incredibly forced so that's lovely. i enjoy the three separate sections with their clear moods. never a problem!

[kublakhan27]

My recent writings have been intensely personal, more intense than usual...I'm relieved and glad to know that I can still reach out to readers in this way :)