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HomeOpening PoemOpening Poem: Phragmites

Opening Poem: Phragmites

Orenaug Admin January 20, 2024


 

Opening Poem
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  1. Orenaug AdminJanuary 22, 2024 at 5:43 PM

    No Place for Roses

    Who worries about the roses gone wild?
    Once caught on a breeze, they never looked back,
    Never regretting the domestic beds
    They left for wild nights of rockside living,
    The moss softening their root-reach inward
    Toward the stream-softened richness of woodland
    History told in the glacial lines of rock faces,
    Walls in winter shadows awaiting snow.
    Romping through the hillside, wild roses wrap
    Themselves around shagbark and birch, leaning
    Into strength that knows time and will bide time,
    The plain truth that even roses will pass.
    I see them; in love, I will claim their lives,
    My wild bed has no place for sister wives.

    Sandy Lee Carlson

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    1. JulieJanuary 27, 2024 at 1:22 PM

      Sandy, I love this examination of the wild Roses that left their domestic beds for wild nights. That last line "my wild bed has no place for Sister wives." Is original and amusing. You write about nature with a voice that is knowledgeable about the specifics and deeper than the surface view.

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    2. Sandy CarlsonJanuary 28, 2024 at 6:28 PM

      Thanks, Julie. The "Phragmites" poem troubled me. The image of passing through a phalanx of this invasive monster to get to a place that offered neither comfort nor sense of acceptance and belonging only to not find it is very sad, to say the least. The invasive plant as title and setting of this poem speaks to the isolation the speaker feels. In my poem, I was hoping to capture the effects of the devil-may-care mindset of the geniuses who bring in plants from far away to manage local problems. The legacy is devastating.

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  2. Sandy CarlsonFebruary 1, 2024 at 7:39 PM

    Spanning the Gap

    There are bridges that lead to nowhere
    and bridges that span the gap over
    a stream, a river or part of an ocean
    carrying us safely to the other side.

    And there's the bridge of a song that deftly
    escorts us from Part A to the deeper terrain
    of Part B where we learn why a heart hesitates
    or is breaking with the stress of loving you
    before we return to the safe shore of home.

    And what about the bridges I have built to get to you:
    the fragile rope connector that swings
    over a deep canyon, holding the weight
    of my careful steps as you wait on the other side,

    or the one made of brittle twigs snapping smartly
    under my foot falls, and the sturdy one made of iron
    scorching hot under the bright sun—but it's

    the single filament cast over a river
    like the dancing line of a fly fisherman
    that snags your attention with its careless beauty,
    latches onto your heart and finally
    brings you home to me.

    – Julie Cook

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    1. Sandy CarlsonFebruary 1, 2024 at 7:41 PM

      Julie, I am not sure why this didn't post, but here it is. The theme of spanning distances in these three poem fascinates me. So does the ways in which we span those distances.

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