Rose Garden

The world is a rose garden
full of hues of fuchsia and coral,
of cream and ruby,
and we can do nothing but
stand in the midst of it,
letting it wrap us in its
painter’s palette
and confuse our senses.

A gust of magenta and emerald scent–
that sweet, earthy aroma–
breezes by
and we breathe in deep,
letting that petal-and-leaf air
color our lungs,
so that we may be
vibrant, too.

That wind whooshes
in sounds of
scarlet and sage and pearl,
its voice
loud and piercing and haunting,
lush and rich and deep,
light and tinkling and mellow,
calling us to stoop
and pluck one of the flowers
to gain a closer look.

We reach and grab one
and hold it near to us,
knowing that the stem
tastes of green bitterness,
of growth and newness and vitality
and of loam and apathy.

We know what the thorns feel like, too,
but just to test,
we press one firmly against our skin,
feel the crimson spilling from our wound,
and smile.


Photo by Adrianna Calvo from Pexels

This poem was inspired by/written for the theme of colors and senses for this week’s Thursday Poetry Competition at Penable!

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The Screen

With his focus on a robin
in the bushes
just outside our open window,
my roommate’s cat presses his weight
into the screen.
It pops out of its frame
in the blink of an eye,
sending the cat tumbling onto the mulch
just a foot below.
He is now closer to the bird
he was intently watching
than he ever imagined
he could be.
The robin, surprised by the cat’s presence,
immediately flits away.
The cat does not give chase.
Instead, he sits, stunned,
amazed to be face-to-face
with the nature
he so admires,
until I race outside
to retrieve him.

That evening, I press my fingertips
to the screen in front of me,
the one I am are using
to videochat with you.
I wish that I could fall through it
just like the cat did,
but I can’t.
So texts and phone calls and FaceTime
will have to do
until I can be next to you
again.

Photo by Mugurel Photo from Pexels

This poem was inspired by this week’s Penable Thursday Poetry Competition with the theme of friendship. (It was also inspired by a recent true, momentarily frightening story.) If you would like to enter the contest (and I highly suggest you do), you can find out more here.

Galaxies, Or Regarding Poor Prufrock

Image by FelixMittermeier from Pixabay

When I saw that this week’s Penable poetry competition had the theme of “galaxy,” my first thought was of the poem “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot.

Update: I won! Thank you to everyone for your support! Thank you H. R. Phoenix for hosting the contest and thank you Saania for selecting my poem!

The original “Prufrock” begins with the lines “Let us go then, you and I,/When the evening is spread out against the sky/Like a patient etherized upon a table.” If you want to read that entire poem, you can find it here.

My poem isn’t meant to be a response to “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock.” My poem is simply what I thought about while I reread that poem and reflected on galaxies.

Galaxies, Or Regarding Poor Prufrock

In a lush field upon our backs we lie
with our palms spread out flat against the sky,
like a perfect frame for the gleaming stars.

Around us we hear the swift-moving cars,
racing to their destinations, but ours
is simply here under the summer heat,

For we don’t want to roam the busy streets,
we desire to just wait in peace and meet
constellations, greeting them one by one.

Soon, though, even without illumination from the sun,
our gentle quietude becomes undone,
reminded of life’s chaos by the overwhelming vastness of space.

A disheartening question now we face:
Among the cosmos, what is our place?
It ravages, rages, consumes our brains

until it is the only thought that remains.
Though to the tranquil darkness, it does not pertain,
so we wonder if it needs answered at all.

The beaming starlight once more does call,
and though we may feel stuck and small,
held in by the pointillated dark sheet above,

we notice the heavens surround us with love.
That inquiry flies off like a dove
as we feel safe beneath the galaxies.

We will return to questions of mortality,
morality, reality, and unreality,
but for now, we focus on the view. How pretty!

For this moment,
we ignore memories of the city,
the hustle and bustle, the anxiety,
that simultaneous crowded, lonely curse.

Those thoughts are for another poet’s verse–
We do not dare disturb the universe.