The Naming of Bulbs

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Tue, 22 Mar 2016
  • 2934 reads
7 comments
 

How impatient they are to be freed – these teardrops
with roots, aching to be rid of their entrapments...
plastic bags or netting.

Each clutch with a name; in twos, threes and fours
and one, all on its own.

How ironic it is that only entombment
will bring life to these shrivelled, brown beings;
some half-naked – stripped of papery raiment,
others – skin intact, yet all with blank faces.

So you dig them graves, bury each deep; summer
a lifetime away, and yet, this chilly, early spring day
soon forgot, as are they.

Out of sight, out of mind; chances are they’ll rot, or
be gorged by rabbits.

Don’t waste your time dreaming of custard-cupped
beauty...the ruched rapture of theirs;
sweep the dirt from the path, call the dog. Go back
inside in the warm, wipe your feet, and light a fire.

Try not to dwell on why your son doesn’t call, and if
his sister were here right now, how old she would be;
she who would have enjoyed this afternoon,
so very much...getting stuck in with trowel and fork

but don’t beat yourself up...don’t give it another thought...
you, who would give anything... even for a small miracle
like the bearded irises pulling through...

every Debrenee, every Florence and just the one
Daughter of Stars.

Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Nature
Love

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Enjoyed all the descriptions of bulbs, and the planting, Tina.

How ironical it is that only entombment
will bring life to these shrivelled, brown beings; so reminiscent of 'unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed' so relevant to Easter's remembrance. John 12:24 – had to go and look up where that was!)

Hope many come up and surprise with much pleasure, making glad that the trouble was taken to get them in now.
Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Rhiannon, for your inspired words...and as to those bulbs, I do hope sosmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

Oh, it's a beauty and emotionally crushing. Love the juxtaposition of the cosy domestic scene against the bulb's tombs, unsettling, stays with you. Holds us far away then some close proximity, a way in at the line about the son and the daughter. So unjust.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Life's a bitch...sometimes, ain't that a fact?

Tina

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

..and having read it through, substituting your suggestions, I found I indeed preferred them. 'Ironic' more clipped and fits much better with 'it is' , and also rythmically. In debted to you for your time, trouble, interest, and skill.

Many thanks.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

loved your description of the bulbs as teardrops that turn into beautiful flowers, reminded me a bit of the ugly duckling that turns into a swan.

How we wait in wonder to view their splendour as a splash of colour, the miracle that meets our eyes. 

It's clever how you go into the family scene. A mother waiting to hear from her son, like waiting to see if the bulb will appear, then the wondering of how old the daughter would be if she were there.

It took the splendour of this poem which for me was a metaphore, that even that ugly looking bulb can transform into magnificence, that within us all is an inner beauty that lies hidden until it's ready to bloom.

Lovely inspiring poem.

Jenny. smiley

 

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Jenny - I'm giving this 'the great feedback' thumbs up...even though my button refuses to register itsmiley

Seriously though, your words are gems in themselves, and you most certainly got everything and more of the feelings I was aiming to evoke with this.  Very many thanks.

Tina