by Maria2394
I just picked up on the sunflower aspect. This is actually very, very good. I have just become a fan.
we had an early snowstorm this year - the wind conspired with the snow to snap even the mightiest trees. now - in the dead of winter - the lesser siblings, who suffered worse, are the only remaining still dressed in leaves. nature discards the dead to protect the living. thank you for showing the dying as a protective mother.
s-u-n-f-l-o-w-e-r/ way cool Maria, sneaking in an acrosstic.
One in the same struggles that all living organisms must cope with.
Thank you for the privilege of reading your intuitive expression of the evolutionary and emotional connectivity .of nature and the human species… specifically procreation and/or motherhood.
Sincerely,
Jes_da_man
There's a feeling of coolness, spareness about this which gives it a feel of an end or of winter as a metaphor, but I think it might even be better if gently pruned, particularly in the first few lines.
The light lingers,an understanding, between night and day... maybe but maybe not.
Ishtat (sorry can't register for some reason)
This is a good poem but it didn't quite hit it for me and I think this is a matter of taste, nothing to do with your talent.
continuing exploration of womanhood. This is lovely and, for a man, both enlightening and disquieting.
your poetry wings here and you still have the gift, you always will. And of course you write about your garden and it becomes a metaphor for so many things. I'm waiting for one of your more narrative pieces because I love when you tell stories in your poems. But this is a lovely image of a poem and filled with emotion. :-)
this one is beautiful from start to stop. Not too much, mixing emotions with the arrival of Spring. It sings to me when I read it aloud, and sounds of poetry is something that personally moves me.
It's beautiful how your garden grows Maria. I love how nature plays a part in creating a wonderful poem such as this.
.....again! I love the image of the last rose holding out until the bitter end. Hope doesn't die - to be continued by "her seeds". Nice sentiment, Maria,
Tess