Papaver (Wild Poppy), Zürich-Affoltern, Switzerland: photo by Roland zh, 12 June 2011
The hand a halo
does not touch it
it wavers
A wild poppy
shimmers
in the wind
Dust blows in the sun
the wind
stops blowing
We stand by the road
a leaf blows
against a stone
A poppy
the curious
pelted foldedness
Of a poppy
in the wind
its livery
Shimmering
like a candy paper
caught in flame
For a moment
when
the wind stops
Papaver (Wild Poppy), Zürich-Affoltern, Switzerland: photo by Roland zh, 12 June 2011
Wild Poppies, Estonia: photo by Geonarva, 23 June 2008
Wild Poppies in wheat field: photo by Biso, 3 September 2006
Boroujerd, Lorestan Province, Iran, spring: photo by Arman7, 3 March 2010
Poppies in Valdemoro, Community of Madrid, Spain: photo by Manuel M. Vicente, 24 May 2008
Rain clouds over a camomile field with poppy in front of the Veste Otzberg: photo by Reiner Müller, 30 June 2007; edit by Digon 4 July 2007
16 comments:
This is the day's first miracle. A few minutes ago, I encountered the coarsest, most wantonly negative thing I had read in a while, one of those strings of words that makes you want to just close your eyes and give up. Then this, which is like capturing the moving air and balancing it for the lens so that you can remember it and bring the feeling back when you need it. Curtis
Oh, I so, so love the way the hand wavers (like a halo) in the first line ... wonder full poem, Tom, and the photos are so alive, together all as water for a thirsty soul (as Curtis so precisely accounts).
I hope you'll let me share this, just finished the other day, after thinking about it for quite sometime
Today, just letting it be,
the Flower
picks you
Don
Curtis,
The poem was writ in a notebook while waiting (hoping!) for a ride to come along, by the side of a road in Morocco, in June of 1965.
It was a windy day, but otherwise, the countryside looked not unlike this.
The bright red poppy seemed to jump right out of that muted ochre-and-olive landscape.
Don,
Many thanks. That's a small beauty, yours, for sure.
You might say this particular flower, that day, picked me.
Well, I had a hitchhiking partner, so I really should say "us".
Luck can take so many forms and colours.
Nice poem and images, Tom. Brings back memories of hillsides in Spain, covered with poppies.
there is something
magical
about wild flowers
Wild Poppies
Wild Day Lillies
Wild Orchids
Magic as via your piece & in the photos
and
true to as both you and Don "have it"
may I intrude with (a cpl of mine?):
Wild Orchid
playing
with the wind
Some Flower
messing
with my mind
cheered me to the bone your post today.... thanks
I love the poem, esp:
Shimmering
like a candy paper
caught in flame
For a moment
when
the wind stops
And of course the poppies. Beautiful.
Thank you muchly, people.
I don't know, it just seemed the right moment for something bright, a spot of brightness that turned into a sea... on which to float.
I like your poem so much. It floats, the color of color. I want to share it at word pond. May I? Thank you.
Sure, Donna, that would be fine.
Tom,
What a surprise, all those bright reds against tawny brown, against green, below grey, next to blue, all over the world -- "the curious/ pelted foldedness"
11.26
light coming into sky above black plane
of ridge, silver of planet above branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
to be in this way beginning
something, is just as
such a color, in both cases
what is here, thought
grey white clouds against top of ridge,
shadowed green pine on tip of sandspit
Steve,
Ah, the beautiful wordless language of colour --
to be in this way beginning
something, is just as
such a color, in both cases
what is here
-- and everywhere, if we're looking.
(Though perhaps not always quite this bright.)
An
Ανεμώνη--a wind
flower is a waiting--
Αναμονή.
Glad the wind brought it, Tom.
Vassilis,
The red one's for you.
What a delightful and inspiring poem/post and comment thread Tom. I can only say Amen to the entire day's entry and thank you, all.
Thank you, Tom.
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