Saturday, March 12, 2016

Heath Brougher writes

Ubiquitous Ingrates or, Ultimate Sap

The wild rose grew tall 
and collected drops of dew
that ran down its strong stem 
to the thriving soil below.

And the rose said: 
“Happiness is a purple tulip
growing low, weak and dry 
in a garden far away.”

 Image result for purple tulip images

1 comment:

  1. The cryptic, runic nature of this poem reminds me of much of Stephen Crane's work, as in this one:

    In the desert
    I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
    who, squatting upon the ground,
    Held his heart in his hands,
    And ate of it.
    I said, "Is it good, friend?"
    "It is bitter -- bitter," he answered;
    "But I like it
    Because it is bitter,
    And because it is my heart."


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