The broken brittle flowers
lie within the yellow aged vase
the cracks in the pigment
sharp against the flickering light.
the dog sits at the head of the stairs,
his whimpers caught in mid-flight
he can go up but not down,
the poet notes
even in the frail light.
[ the heads stick out of the black earth
fingers twitching to the Music
of not quite yet
furious with impatient life
where the impatiens last
but for a few days. ]
yet,
yellow ages slowly
ever so slowly
till the cracks appear,
and puppies become fierce
as they leap from stair to stare.
Author notes
Written December 30th, 2004
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1 - 14 of 14
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a wonderful poem
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this was good. I like the way you set your imagery and especially liked the image of the the dog at the stairs. It's a really cute image. nice.
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rhyming is certainly not a necessity in poetry. i personally prefer free verse; it seems to allow the poet to flow better without being hindered. i thought this piece was well done; i like the concept and how it ended with the 'stair to stare.' very interesting and thought-provoking, nicely done!
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I like this a lot.
This is pretty good and I really don't care if it is rhymed or not. You did just fine and I clicked on it because of the title. -
And all around there are broken things that knowing only the speed of growing.. growl in their existance as they fall from a wholeness they never knew they had.
~~Lisa -
This is the second poem I have read that doesn't rhyme but it is about puppies so I guess it is okay. I think with a little bit of work it could rhyme. I have a really good rhyming dictionary you can use if you decide to change anything. I'll check back. I do love this poem though. Keep writing!
Love,
Bo Peep
Edited on Jan 02, 7:21 p.m. because ''. -
This is a "trockne Blumen" variation I think. Schubert made his most beautiful song of dead flowers into a set of variations for flute, I think it was, to earn cash, cos he was skint.
I always want to hate your poetry for its portentousness and puns and indented semi-quotations which seem to have some reference to the Music (Boethius? Joyce? Jeez, me just semi-heducated filthpiece) but damnyou, they always seem to sing out, Claire-like, above it all, on that gorgeous threshold of comprehensibility where things dissolve a little and become quite lovely.
But enough of Claire, this is an OK pome, I suppose.
Happy O-Fives
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I like the backwards order of the poem -- begining with dead and old, and then sprouting from the earth and then bravely tackling one's short stint on that ground.
Beautiful, Lute. -
Youth is impatient in all things. Age brings us to either stare from the stairs or a rocking chair.
Val -
Hang about, I thought that puppies was what people in That America called boobies?
Lots of vile teachers would call this a "rite of passage poem thingy" because kind of about starting all small and bare and ending up rather brave. Baby dogs look like bouncy clouds sometimes.
"You might work on flow and spelling/punctuation" - what the buggery does that mean when it's at home? You might. Might not.
What is this bit / ? Does it mean you should only do one?
Stupid idiot they never even said well done for having a big M on Music. Now I'm very cross.
The poems too beautiful for punctuation police, stuff like that just makes me so cross - people like that, stuff like that is too boring.
Edited on Dec 31, 11:01 because ''. -
to me this poem seemed to be about the briefness of life- how fast puppies grow up, how quickly the flowers die. sad, really, if you think about it that way. I really liked the poem, though. It was very eloquent; nicely written.
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This was goood. I was a great work. Very impressive. You might work on flow and spelling/punctuation.
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And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.
I still haven't got the book. And cannot - simply cannot bring myself to read it from google .. because that would simply not be right.
must go. late for lunch.
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thank you. if you take proper care of your impatiens they can last all summer - shade (under trees etc. and keep moist but not overly. though they do get leggy by august. i prefer only one or two hanging pots of the pink, double near the hammock.
how come poet isn't Poet today? i'm lost. but give me time. uh oh i said TIME.
hey ya know what my mom used to say and still does "you are tangling like a bunch of puppies" .. whenever we were fighting or just annoying each other.
this book i have Good Poems selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor has an entire section of Yellow Poems. I guess I now need to investigate the symbolism of Yellow in Poem Art. Always such work, work, work, work when I come here.
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