Little Cherry Blossom Contemplates Becoming A Pollen Seed~

Much like shell casings

Encasing rattling runes

Ruins of my bones fell in metal sparks to ground

Grounded in the soil

Soil spread a moist blanket

Blanketing a mystery taking root

Rooting beside a cherry tree in full dress

Dressing, cross stitching a weary mind

Minding its own addled thoughts

Thoughtful of earth pulling tiny tendrils from seed bones

Bones split open for the fertile womb

Womb of another song

Singing shapes with rain drops

Drops of sunshine penetrating a weary idol

Idolized by tiny earth worms congregating through the underleaves

Leave me not, love me not

Not like skin, not like pearls for a mystical girl

Girl shape in sprouts

Sprouting leaves

Leaving those shell casing bones under deep foliage

Foliage in the breeze, whispering

Whispering a new day

Days beside the cherry tree

Tree dressed in white flowers

Flowers brindled with runes

Runes filled with nectar

Nectar on a blue bird’s wings

Wings in flight

Flight spreads a story in pollen contrails

Contrails in the sky

Skylight speckled with dreams

Dreams on the see through roof of a old man in a peacoat

Coating his life in swirls of ink

Ink in his glass of wine

Wine the color of cherry blossoms

Blossoms of a mad girl dripping lovely mystery. . . .

 

 

 

 

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Reviews

[SpokenWord]

I couldn't help but to think about growing up while reading this and how I had to contemplate becoming an adult and what that meant for me for the rest of my life. It is wonderful going through a transformation from one stage of life into the next unless it is the last stage of life of course. :) I like the style you chose for this write and is like a swirling thought from one into the next.

[Lachenille Papillion]

So vivid is your word paint… I see you… back across the decades… child placid and pale, still, crumbled to ground beside a swing… the mysteries unfolding…you cascading across time… away from the beckoning of that eternal earth bed… through the decades of that cherry tree’s growth… swirls of colors in every experience that fell like waterfalls of life upon you… I can see reflections of moments within the eyes of every soul you touched along the way, every heart you opened, every mind you expanded, every life you changed… until you stand… a breath’s width from his peacoat… knowing it was always meant to be…

Words cannot surmise the talent you place here… but thank you, dear lady, seems appropriate~

[LilyT]

I have to say that I really like Matthew's interpretation of this in his second paragraph. What I personally saw was an evolution in revolution. Shifting backward to move forward. Your looping cadence if magnificent, you know that. Very few poets can pull that off. Like Kerry said, you never lost the meaning, or content to the form. And that is what a true poet is. And you are the best, Selene. Not just the best poet, but the most uninhibited dreamer I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. The ending is incredibly enchanting.



Dreams on the see through roof of a old man in a peacoat
Coating his life in swirls of ink
Ink in his glass of wine
Wine the color of cherry blossoms
Blossoms of a mad girl dripping lovely mystery. . . .

[Brad]

damn, s, that ending is like honey wine trying to drip from a full greedy mouth

[Matthew Kult]

I absolutely love the contruction. Something different, atleast for me. But aren't we all a little mad, and as much as I don't(but I am going too so I must actually want too) I am. It seems the whole cafe has gone mad, and Although I know it's not, I have to feel a little at fault. Everyone wants to classify themselves in one light or another. Elite or not. I don't understand the hatred being preached, the segregation of writers from one another. I understand the frustration, I understand that because it is absolutely ridiculous that some writers just don't respect other writers. But to classify the some with the majority is called stereotyping.

So how does any of that have to do with your poem? Well besides that you are the best writer on this site, I think that any rebirth, any reformation should start with you and this poem. A chance for everything to restart to grow forth from the foundations that have already been established. In my gut, this poem feels like a chance for renewal. A way to make this site once again utterly amazing and constructive. Not segregated and hateful. I guess if there is a war....call this my battle cry.

You are the best. Thought you should know.

Always,

Matthew

[Kerry O'Connor]

I love this "wrap-around" poem, each line leading on to the next flawlessly - you never missed a beat of rhythm nor a shred of meaning. Stunning work.