A Fragile Rose

Dark clouds penetrate

And engulf the fragile

Image of a rose, petal

Drops, its faint kiss–

Dies, with light loss.

 

A filament cracks,

And starts, and bursts

Into red-white amber;

Memory and mask tremolando,

Fortissimo staccato burst of sun.

 

A scented shift of light,

Breaks languish of fears:

Shadow-vapours and night

Accented on fallen petals–

Rise tomorrow’s beat-wings.

 

Oh rouge glistening petal,

Crinkle cut with precision,

Rest now on my eager pen,

Black ink, red light, decay,

For new season of sight.

 

Stanza set in silhouette;

Deaf dark petals survive;

Symphonic sights, and sounds

On breath of freedom, and

Lyric, of begotten new-life.

 

A falling and uplifted rose,

Caught easy in the quill of

Night. It seems to me an

Epiphany of light, a star

Scent light of life–conducted.

© Iain Sutherland, 2013

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24 thoughts on “A Fragile Rose

  1. It is scary at your descriptions of this flower. I love how you treated the components. When alive or dead. Most importantly, I envisioned more of the components that will snap. I know you cannot tell all about it. But it is beautifully described here.

    • Hi! I’m glad to see you back! I’m always happy when readers can envision more than is actually there. Sometimes, with poetry, it’s as if I’m providing the thatching of a window frame in which to observe a scene. My highest goal is to create poetry that is poetically vivid and clear, but that interacts with the reader’s imagination–to create a living and breathing body of words. A reenactment of life. I think I learn something everytime I read other people’s work, and experiment with different words and images.

      Thank you for your words! Thank you for your poetry.

  2. Serendipity to read this at this moment! So beautifully written, love the rhythm and the imagery. It is like a painting…the artist draws the viewer in but we are also influenced by our perceptions. My aunt is a painter/sculptor and she loves it when people come up with different interpretations of her art work. My profile photo is one of her paintings. I see a few images in this beautiful poem. Namaste…

    • Yes! Oh yes, I think this describes me heart behind poetry. I want to paint images on the window of the skull. To draw the reader in to contemplate a scene of beauty. To see through the brush stroke of construct at the image inbetween, that only they can see.

      Thank you for you encouragement. Your words mean so much to me. (Your Aunt’s painting looks great! :D)

  3. I read it as life goes on and is purposeful even beyond the stage of life that we consider beautiful. Even out to the end of our life, life is as beautiful to us as we make it, even if no one else sees our beauty anymore.

  4. This is beyond gorgeous. I was looking at my birthday roses (from last week) and thinking I should write a poem. Having read yours, I think maybe I’ll just take a nap…!

    • Hahah, that is great! Happy Birthday for last week. I really enjoyed writing this one. It started with the first stanza, which I wrote months ago, then I got inspired and added to it. 😛 Glad you liked it!

      • Oh that is fun, like finding buried treasure–when you come back to a poem’s bones, and fill it out. By the by, I did manage to get a “roses” poem done–a Fibonacci, soon to post…. Catch you later.

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