Wednesday, January 12, 2011

rose bush in winter

leaves shriveled
    dark and sparse

skeletal mass
    of rattling thorn
    and branch

do not be deceived

it holds deep
    the heat
    and thrum
    of life

for a time

it holds deep

11 comments:

Geeta Singh said...

nice poem!!

jonnia said...

Thanks, Geeta!

Jennifer Jackson said...

Very lovely. Feels like a poem about hope/promises too.

jonnia said...

We hold our hope, as well, waiting for a change of season, don't we? Thank you, Jennifer. ;o)

Woman in a Window said...

yes, sometimes we hold it and don't even know.

i love how you reduce things and yet it is all there if you allow it.

xo
erin

jonnia said...

Thank you, Erin, for always allowing. (slow smile and nod)

David Agnew said...

"thrum of life" - what a wonderful phrase. I had to look thrum up in the dictionary - I may well use it in the future!!

As for me I feel a bit like the rose bush looks at the moment. But I too will emerge!!

Terrific poem

David

jonnia said...

Thank you, sir!

I love "thrum" so much that I tend to overuse it. :o)

~ looking toward spring

The Junkyard Poet said...

simple and sweet. graceful. i love dead flowers. there is so much beauty in those dark, brittle petals. you've captured it quite nicely here.

jonnia said...

Was it you, Tim, that took such compelling photos of dead blossoms not too long ago? Fragile evidence of beauty that was... I mourn a little for every one, even knowing there will be more.

The Junkyard Poet said...

yes. some of my favorite things to shoot are dying flowers. they are so lovely!