Weekly Scribblings #5: A Mouthful Of Flowers

 "It is easier to tell a person what life is not, rather than to tell them what it is. A child understands weeds that grow from lack of attention, in a garden. However, it is hard to explain the wild flowers that one gardener calls weeds, and another considers beautiful ground cover." ― Shannon L. Alder

Hello everyone and welcome to another round of Weekly Scribblings! Flowers have continued to inspire poets, writers and artists for generations. From what I gather, one of the many reasons could be that the language of flowers is metaphorical. For example, the children were roses grown in concrete gardens, beautiful and forlorn.

Perhaps due to the reason that they often act as a symbol for certain things. I remember reading John Steinbeck's short story, "The Chrysanthemums," in college where he displays an extraordinary ability to delve deep into the complexities of a woman's consciousness. The story is told in the third person, but the narration is presented almost entirely from Elisa's point of view.

Your challenge today is to write while inspired by flowers. Feel free to associate them with memories, to romanticize, to go dark or sombre, to press them neatly between pages.

We at Poets and Storytellers United accept both poems and prose prose pieces (i.e. stories, essays, articles) you may contribute more than one entry but remember to link before Friday 11 am as Mr.Linky closes at that time. Also, if you opt to write prose then please keep it to 369 words or fewer.

The force that through the green fuse 
drives the flower
by Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees

Is my destroyer.

And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose

My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks

Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams

Turns mine to wax.

And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins

How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool

Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind

Hauls my shroud sail...

A Red Flower
by Claude McKay

Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,

In which the brown bee buries deep its head,

When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.

Your lips betray the secret of your soul,

The dark delicious essence that is you,

A mystery of life, the flaming goal

I seek through mazy pathways strange and new...

Good luck composing your masterpieces. I look forward to reading what you come up with. Please do visit others and remember to comment on their work. Also, enjoy this musical inspiration by Sting. Have fun!💝