Rose water

Photo ©Hamed Tahamtan

Picking_rose_to_make_Golab_in_Fars_20.jpg

How did the heat shrink

and blow away in green torrents

of sea-wash, cloud-borne

on thrashing horse winds?

Fissures in the cracked skin

of the earth riffle with downy

bristles, the shrivelled flowers

of summer, filled now, running

with dry dust after the soaking rain.

Earth sighs and sings beneath

the plucked chords of rain strings

yet the music runs through open

fingers, soaking into gaping heat-wounds,

water in a desert of weeping

roses d’Ispahan.

August rain

The Oracle gave me the theme for this one. I think it shows.

 

Rain beats its persistent music

on roof and rippling grass,

misting the meadow,

smearing the window glass.

Light stretches unchanging,

uncontrasted, dull as the sky.

So hard to recall the brilliance of summer sun,

the deep green shade of panting leaves,

the dreams of roses.

Haiku challenge: Time & Grow

This is for Ronovan’s haiku challenge. You can join in here.

The first haiku has ‘bloom’ instead of ‘grow’—not really a synonym, but I prefer it. So, I’ve added a second haiku with both suggested words.

 

Your time will come, rose

to fall in a cloud of scent.

Bloom, now, in beauty.

1024px-WiltedRose

Once upon a time,

the green grass grew all around,

now grey concrete sprouts.

In the long grass

Painting by Maria Oakey Dewing

Maria Oakey Dewing

In the long grass poppies blow,
Glowing embers of summer heat.
Fleet, the failing, fading day,
Stay, the evening star,
Far and bright,
Light in the turquoise sky.
Fly, the southbound birds,
Words in the gusting wind,
Thinned, the leaves in the poplar trees,
Lees of summer wine,
Mine, the last of the nectar sweet.
Fleet the failing, shortened days,
Stays the cold of early morning,
Dawning red where the poppies blow,
Glowing in the late autumn grass.

Summer’s ending

Summer_day-Carl_Aagaard

In these end of summer days
The noonday sun is just as fierce
And burns the evening sky with August’s ardent flames.
The sky’s a sheet of burnished blue
And leaves hang limp and weary as the twilight falls.
But the mornings of these end of summer days
Are brisk with breezes from the cooling sea
And dew hangs cold and heavy on the grass
Where long shadows linger waiting for the sun.
The blackbird has no more heart to sing
Mindful of the dearth and coming cold
And fruit falls to the leaf-strewn ground
To rot into the mould of fallen blooms.
A sadness settles on my heart
Like shadows falling on a mountain side
At so much fading from the world
That was so vibrant only days before.
But you cup my face and set your eyes in mine
I feel the warmth that comes from your familiar hands
And in those eyes as green as any mountain side
I see reflected our shared summers past
All their sweetness stored like ripened fruit
To be savoured when our days are short and dark.

Stillness at the turning of the year

Paál_László_-_1871(körül)_-_Vihar_után_(Beileni_táj)

 

End of summer hush

Falls on the morning garden

Where the ground is damp with night rain.

Clouds sailor-roll in the turbulent sky,

Billows of pent up heat that August never shared.

Even the fussing of the blackbirds

Mutes to a sad soft sigh

For the soft times of summer are over

And the fat silly chicks have left the nest

Blundering their way in the world

Beneath the watchful eye of the cats

And mocked by the cold breath of the north wind

Gathering in the snowy wastes of winter.