deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Flower
This is a poem I just unearthed, one I wrote about a year ago for the guidance counselor at my last university to thank her. She believed I am a gifted teen, wanted me to take tests. She was very kind, helping me through my depression, and I told her about my love of words and Sylvia(the copy I gave her came with the pictures). But still, that flower was not enough to help me stay in school...but enough to keep me alive.
Life is life and it happens
It happens
Like a steady stream of water in the river
Rocks thrown in
And other things that live under
Other things that live within
That river
It can be shallow and narrow or wide
Wade in it
Nobody can sink
Nobody can drown
My river is a mad river
Its depth carries on to the darkness
And the queer questions of life
And when I float
The sun above taunts me and tells me
That I am the goddess of my river
I will never sink
I will never drown
I am rarely on solid ground.
I rarely see the flowers up close.
Heat is heat and it happens
Ablaze and lazily angry
And this river of mine
Will start to dry
With my solid ground,
My flowers.
I fall and feel myself hit the rocks, they stab me
The questions enter my lungs and take over my breath
I bleed, I pant
Tell me, ma'am, is this death?
Then something pulls me out
A word
A touch
A whisper
A freshly picked spring flower that reminds me of my power
Of my hope.
You, ma’am, gave me a flower.
And this growing soul is truly grateful.
My words are yours.
Thank you.
CM
Life is life and it happens
It happens
Like a steady stream of water in the river
Rocks thrown in
And other things that live under
Other things that live within
That river
It can be shallow and narrow or wide
Wade in it
Nobody can sink
Nobody can drown
My river is a mad river
Its depth carries on to the darkness
And the queer questions of life
And when I float
The sun above taunts me and tells me
That I am the goddess of my river
I will never sink
I will never drown
I am rarely on solid ground.
I rarely see the flowers up close.
Heat is heat and it happens
Ablaze and lazily angry
And this river of mine
Will start to dry
With my solid ground,
My flowers.
I fall and feel myself hit the rocks, they stab me
The questions enter my lungs and take over my breath
I bleed, I pant
Tell me, ma'am, is this death?
Then something pulls me out
A word
A touch
A whisper
A freshly picked spring flower that reminds me of my power
Of my hope.
You, ma’am, gave me a flower.
And this growing soul is truly grateful.
My words are yours.
Thank you.
CM
Published 30th Aug 2016
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30th Aug 2016 7:06am
30th Aug 2016 7:13am
30th Aug 2016 9:26am
A lovely tribute and such a nice way to say thank you! We should all write a word of thanks to someone who has made a difference in our lives...
JJ
JJ
30th Aug 2016 4:56pm
30th Aug 2016 9:31am
beautiful poetry, we know what your gift is, one of them at least.
we journey many rivers, trying to avoid the rocks,
& we never stop growing...
we journey many rivers, trying to avoid the rocks,
& we never stop growing...
30th Aug 2016 4:58pm
The gift and the curse...
And to you, too, sir John, I say thank you. :)
And to you, too, sir John, I say thank you. :)
Anonymous
30th Aug 2016 11:09am
<< post removed >>
30th Aug 2016 5:02pm
Thank you... And I hope you will no longer be sad; there are a lot of flowers around here. :)
Welcome to DU.
tpd
Welcome to DU.
tpd
30th Aug 2016 5:58pm
30th Aug 2016 10:42pm
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Nov 2018 00:49am
1st Sep 2016 3:27am
<< post removed >>
4th Sep 2016 5:50am
4th Sep 2016 6:51am
5th Sep 2016 7:30am
You have done her such
amazing justice, this was
so manifique and grazing.
I bow unto your pen love.
-Howlings
amazing justice, this was
so manifique and grazing.
I bow unto your pen love.
-Howlings
5th Sep 2016 8:46am
