Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Blooms (noun)

Forget-me-not, September birth flower

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn 
Should never crave the rose.” 
― Anne Brontë

“If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for a moment.” 

― Georgia O'Keeffe

Oriental Poppies by O'Keefe (1928)

“Chrysanthemum

Silence - monk 

Sips his morning tea.” 

― Matsuo Bashō, Lips Too Chilled

“...Swann had, as he shook the Marquise's hand, seen her bosom from close to and from above, he plunged an attentive, serious, absorbed, almost anxious, gaze into the depths of her corsage, and his nostrils, intoxicated by the woman's perfume, quivered like a butterfly ready to go and settle on the half-glimpsed flower.” 
― Marcel Proust, Sodom and Gomorrah

Midweek Motif ~ Blooms 

A bloom is one or more flowers on a flowering plant. How many times and in how many ways has a single flower or a corsage or a bouquet had a precious meaning to me!

The word has other meanings, but let's try to create a bouquet of flowers today.  

Your challenge: In your new poem, add a bloom to our bouquet.

On Instagram, by Sarah Elle Emm, used with permission

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

Related Poem Content Details

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTHUse Up/Down Arrow keys to increase or decrease volume.I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host, of golden daffodils; 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the milky way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 

Along the margin of a bay: 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 

A poet could not but be gay, 

In such a jocund company: 

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 

They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils. 

Blooms Dwell Not In The Green

              
by RabindranathTagore

               translated by Sumana Roy 

Blooms dwell not in the green, but within.

Into the heart I wonder, who beguiled spring.

Wilted stalks sprout and beam,  mute birds merrily sing,

In dry desert flows delight in stream.

I fear grief no more, parting pain is my home,  

In mind’s arbor bees still buzz and roam.

Glee nestles within, sends forth hopes undying,

Love in this life cage is forever confined.

The Farm

Related Poem Content Details

BY JOYCE SUTPHEN

My father’s farm is an apple blossomer. 

He keeps his hills in dandelion carpet 

and weaves a lane of lilacs between the rose 

and the jack-in-the-pulpits. 

His sleek cows ripple in the pastures. 

The dog and purple iris 

keep watch at the garden’s end. 

. . . .

(Read the rest HERE)

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community.

(Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be ~ Appreciation)