Lily

March 16, 2013 at 5:53 pm (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

From this stricken bridge, our pickled Lily
is a ragged and a snarling twig
stuck fast between grey stones.
Whilst all around
cross Eddies feud and weave,
she brooks her gall, suspended.
.
Who knows, should snagged forgiveness
truly rip and run again,
the river, reprieved, may turn to smile,
and Lily’s spoiled white lips
would twist and split: a pretty boat.
.
Her veil, pulled low to save that petalled face,
could raise into a hopeful sail
and pistilled spirit bend and dip
to fast row Lily, blemished but aglow,
to steep her days without bondage and regret
in turbulent regatta.

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9 Comments

  1. unfetteredbs said,

    nature, the embodiment of struggle– complexly written, beautifully expressed

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Thank you Audra. Glad you came by. My poetry time has taken a dive lately – enjoyed spending the afternoon with Lily.

  2. john said,

    ‘our pickled Lily’…hmmm…might have to steal that one. Another beautiful poem!

  3. surfillinois said,

    Enjoyed this very much, and your other poems, too. You have a definite way of drawing attention to the texture of specific words within lines, like objects placed thoughtfully on a shelf. .

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Thank you, I like the shelf analogy. I seem to have spent my life scratching at the edges of things, always concerned with what might be underneath. It is a joy to lay out the treasures I continue to discover.

  4. julespaige said,

    The words are always simmering. Sometimes the pickling tickles…
    Write even when you don’t feel like it. Just for your eyes. Writing the words down…lets them go. A kind of forgiveness…

    Thanks for your visit.

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      I’m interested in the different interpretations I’m getting. the journey of words continues long after they have been written.

      • julespaige said,

        I think that depends on who reads them, the words. If they are bound and forgotten. Or gifted. Sometimes even if not shared there is a type of cleansing I think by just having written them (words that is) even if they never see the light of day ever again.

        I once told someone that interpretation is left up to the reader. I was being accused of some intention that I refuse to be baited for. We all come from different directions and sometimes we are lucky enough to meet before heading off again.

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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