along prim pastures
random
thistles
root to haunt dim musty memories
in airless torpid pungent afternoons
topknot-tufts
volcano
stagnant flame—
cool lava spurts against soft grey-green
dusty milkweed cups
volatile—
threatening thistles nettle-warn
wayward cows that graze
toward the west
unassaulted crowns of color
crest
low pastures—
until stiff summer’s age
fades flame to subtle snow
... at the touch
of harvest winds drift-thistles
abdicate
A contest entry
- Theory Of A Thistle - Overnight Contest by CarolDesjarlais.
525 points, ended August 20, 2007, 8 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Oooh, love the shape of the words already! How intruiging...*reads on*. I love the abstract wording and imagery, particularly the last full verse, and the word ''nettlewarn''. Also the strange isolation of the word ''abdicate'' is effective but does not detract from the reading flow of this poem. Love this! Will take a tour around your work in appreciation of the comment you left on one of my poems. Thanks again for that, and well done!
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Thanks in reply. I appreciate your comments and insights.
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Oh, yes, the warriors and guardians of ground....and yet, the army appears every spring, ready to do battle for their piece of ground. Love this.
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