[Somehow I have been almost completely unable to respond in a timely manner to prompts of late. So this is my contribution to Read Write Poem even though it has nothing to do with the Sci Fi prompt, even though I've read more than my fair share of Sci Fi and Fantasy novels. Go figure.]
Poppies
He knew I liked poppies,
their big bright orange petals
crinkled like crepe paper.
It took me forever
to learn that they didn't
like to be picked or cut –
they withered right away.
So he tried to surprise
me by sowing seeds in
the garden out back when
he thought I didn't see.
Then he waited for me
to tell him how much I
liked them. But they never
sprouted – I imagine
them devoured by a
hungry chipmunk. Yet on
some warm June days, I look
at that bed, and I see
bright orange poppies waving
to me, and daring me
to pick them.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
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9 comments:
Cool! I like the poopies daring you pick them up!
poppies!
Never turn down a dare - especially from flowers! Pick those poppies :)
Hi, Gautami. I'm glad you like it.
Hello, Cassandra. Since they aren't really there, I'll be happy to! It means I can imagine they won't wilt like real ones would.
Poppies are such wonderful flowers. I am impressed with your ability to weave emotion into the snapshots within your poem.
beautiful... poppies are just starting here in the inland northwest of idaho... i shall think of yr lovely poem when they bloom...
Thanks, Pam.
Hi, believer. The few poppies we get up here are a bit away yet. But where I grew up, they are probably in prime time now.
I love poppies too, and this poem is beautiful, specially the ending, very moving
Thanks, Juliet. But I'm beginning to think you're just a push-over for flower poems!
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