#azalea - Hello Poetry

The red waves of an azalean sea, Foaming in crimson and pink and ruby, Break on the soft green grass shore before me, Behind them / Looming / Snow capped / Mount Fuji, Oh, how much I wish right now to be, Surrounded by these florid waters, To swim into the painted scene and see, To exist as colours—in eternity.

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Nov 9, 2020

Nov 9, 2020 at 9:19 AM UTC

normancrane

Azalea Garden

The red waves of an azalean sea, Foaming in crimson and pink and ruby, Break on the soft green grass shore before me, Behind them / Looming / Snow capped / Mount Fuji, Oh, how much I wish right now to be, Surrounded by these florid waters, To swim into the painted scene and see, To exist as colours—in eternity.

8

The rain is falling, coalescing now Off the roof onto new blooms. Dusk slips in with its indigo shroud And I watch it kiss the purple, Of the Rhododendron’s earliest flower, Plucking away Azalea’s last veil, Hiding her into a bower, Where summer never ends And the rain falls when it will; I would have this all year instead of an end Where these soft mists know nothing of a chill But heat and rain, Sun and shower. I can still hear raindrops drumming On a Chinese rebel’s tin roof, Outside Jakarta and the red guard coming, We could lapse into hypnosis, Rapt senses gently humming. Despite our temperate flowers and leaves That droop under the deluge. Their color seems to strengthen as they grieve, And they cluster, seeking refuge, Yet from our New England loggia, A stream turns them darker, a humid green. And in the slowly deepening dusk, The trees’ heads toss, agitated, Like elegant women whose gowns have cost A tidy sum and now are saturated. Their full, green plumage lost. I love the mockingbirds’ changing cries, Announcing from to squeal to carillon. Cardinals’ song change from pleasure to pain Flashing coats of taupe to vermilion. As the evening slowly dies. It ends and begins with summer, summer, Soundless footsteps in the rain. A prismatic wakening from slumber, A season with no name.

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Sep 5, 2017

Sep 5, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC

sharon-talbot

Summer, Summer

The rain is falling, coalescing now Off the roof onto new blooms. Dusk slips in with its indigo shroud And I watch it kiss the purple, Of the Rhododendron’s earliest flower, Plucking away Azalea’s last veil, Hiding her into a bower, Where summer never ends And the rain falls when it will; I would have this all year instead of an end Where these soft mists know nothing of a chill But heat and rain, Sun and shower. I can still hear raindrops drumming On a Chinese rebel’s tin roof, Outside Jakarta and the red guard coming, We could lapse into hypnosis, Rapt senses gently humming. Despite our temperate flowers and leaves That droop under the deluge. Their color seems to strengthen as they grieve, And they cluster, seeking refuge, Yet from our New England loggia, A stream turns them darker, a humid green. And in the slowly deepening dusk, The trees’ heads toss, agitated, Like elegant women whose gowns have cost A tidy sum and now are saturated. Their full, green plumage lost. I love the mockingbirds’ changing cries, Announcing from to squeal to carillon. Cardinals’ song change from pleasure to pain Flashing coats of taupe to vermilion. As the evening slowly dies. It ends and begins with summer, summer, Soundless footsteps in the rain. A prismatic wakening from slumber, A season with no name.

38

flower whose well fed, which love and happiness was led to dance with the wind with the free mind are either lucky, or unfortunate, as the joy feed by their love ones, could affect them nor normalize it's their choice not to value things, and to accept things as it is you're either a rose or a sunflower, you may be an azalea, but you're still a flower, and it's your choice to be a vigorous flower, or to be a wilted flower

0

Aug 26, 2017

Aug 26, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC

stupiter

a flower

flower whose well fed, which love and happiness was led to dance with the wind with the free mind are either lucky, or unfortunate, as the joy feed by their love ones, could affect them nor normalize it's their choice not to value things, and to accept things as it is you're either a rose or a sunflower, you may be an azalea, but you're still a flower, and it's your choice to be a vigorous flower, or to be a wilted flower

13

The blooming of the Western Azalea is emergence into womanhood! The inevitable burst of color from bud, that once released- cannot endure the contrast, cannot linger in the putrid air between us- a film covers her pink blush. Everything returns to a uniform grey.

0

Nov 6, 2016

Nov 6, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC

markv1

The Western Azalea

The blooming of the Western Azalea is emergence into womanhood! The inevitable burst of color from bud, that once released- cannot endure the contrast, cannot linger in the putrid air between us- a film covers her pink blush. Everything returns to a uniform grey.

13