A newborn’s cheek seems to be born from this silken substance. Perhaps we are not that separate. Plant or human, rooted deep in shadowed beginnings; we awaken our bloom until life completes its cycle and uproots us.
This bloom died to honour my birth. Slowly it wilts. I watch it in time lapsed sequence, wondering what shall happen when someday, someone, finds these scentless memories pressed, tucked between yellowing pages.
A final wintering shall bring this bloom life once again. Its aged petals, frail and brown, placed upon the earth beside me. Time shall reroot us to another space; organic nature metamorphosing, a state that cannot be named ~
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This was inspired by a poetic prompt at dVersepoets. I wrote this quite late last night, ergo, it is a bit disjointed. I hope I achieved a bit of what the very talented writer, Mark Kerstetter, had requested in his highly informative post.
…after a long day at work, I am relaxing to the tune of Superbowl and lots of wine. If you happen here and comment, I shall visit soon, just later. Cheers ~
Andra Watkins
/ 2012/02/05It always makes me happy to have fresh cut flowers around, and sad, because they died for me.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/05I know…I was blessed to receive two sets of flowers this birthday. I forget how much I love to have them around me, but do feel bad as well. I think that is why I press so many of them ~
brian
/ 2012/02/05nice…i like it…following the life of the rose mirroring your life as well…pressed between pages of the family bible maybe…ha…my parents have one that is huge with all kinds of stuff inside…
watching the bowl as well…just popping in…gonna be a good one i think…
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/05thank you, brian… I love seeing bibles and books that have a hodgepodge of stuff. I’m oft amazed at notes and scraps I find in random books ~
Carl D'Agostino
/ 2012/02/05A final wintering shall bring this bloom life once again – the Resurrection at the End of Times for the Second Coming ?
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/05oh boy…I’ve no idea about all that, but as I wrote this in that semi-lucid state, it had me pondering that ‘second body’ and if nature gets one as well… ~
Semaphore
/ 2012/02/05I’ve pressed flowers between books and found them years later, like a two-dimensional time capsule of my past life.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/05love that image very much, Semaphore ~
C.B. Wentworth
/ 2012/02/05Beautiful! I love how it mirrors the cycle of life – everything is connected in more ways than we could ever imagine.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/05a connection beyond anything that I can comprehend in my little mind, that is for certain, CBW ~
inzwakazi
/ 2012/02/06Happy belated birthday.
The title of the book is : The Kaiser;s Holocaust – Germany’s forgotten genocide and the colonial roots of Nazism. Have a great day.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/07Many thanks for popping back in with the title!!!
Mark Kerstetter
/ 2012/02/06Things only disappear in the world to be incorporated into other forms. It’s no wonder flowers are given on special occasions, whether birthday or funeral, because there is no more beautiful reminder imaginable of the fleeting, changing nature of life.
Oh, and Happy Birthday! -To my favorite writer of prose poems on the internet.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/07A wonderful compliment, Mark, in which I don’t feel quite worthy of accepting. Your blog posts always inspire me to think, to travel, toward something in a slightly different direction, so, thank you ~
hedgewitch
/ 2012/02/06You should never feel bad about cut flowers–that is their purpose, to live a brief life and bring beauty, and if not picked, even in nature they still fade and die in birthing new ones. So enjoy them guilt free-(-I worked in the trade, and no cut flower species is being endangered or damaged, honest. ;_) ) I love, however, the sense of preciousness this has given the rose in your poem, and the value that adds to your life and its own.
libraryscenes
/ 2012/02/07Oh, thank you for that, Joy! Now I see why your penchant for flowers; you seem a master gardner, too. I shall continue to keep old flowers; at least one from every bouquet if I able to salvage. The one in the picture has now dried quite lovely…a blood red almost, the bloom quite shrunken (an apt metaphor if you ask me) ~