Omss Poems: Aug 18, 2010

Upon the rolling hills of green
� see the California poppies sing.
This flaming orange flower scene
� impels the land of fire to ring.
A white, misted fog since rolled over
� now sunlight sparkles the dew.
Sporadic sights of white owl's clover
� dots of lupine's velvet blue.
Come feel the beauty and the passion
� tears will surely fill the eyes.
And see the splendor of this caption
� but,�take care from hidden lies.
For here amid the stocks of glory
� nestled in nature's flower�bed.
A body soaked in blood, so gory
� a single bullet through the head!
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our�society, are we cancerous�sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?��

Arizona's rugged mountainscapes�stand daily
� to shade the queen of the night.
As the mighty saguaros and cat's claw gaily
� bask within this desert's light.��
The paloverde's smooth green skin
� and the cholla's spiky quills.
Shield the breath of a fiery wind
� as it curls 'round the hills.
Hear the call of the cactus wren
� or the coo of a mourning dove.
Smell the death beneath you when
� the buzzards circle high above.
Clear away the rocks and cast an eye
� past the prince's plume.
A death by murder this child of five
��within the silent gloom.
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, are we cancerous sores?
--Hear�the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!�
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?

When clumps of silver croton give way
� to camphor daisies and railroad vine.
The morning glories call in a new day
� white blossoms reflect a Texas shine.
The silky sand from beaches fly
� across this gulf of turquoise blue.
Let dunes roll�on and never die
� and great blue herons stand up�true.�
See the white fragile gulls against the sky
� as if, suspended on a string so steep.
Circle miles of beach with a watchful eye��
� and listen to evening primrose sleep.
But there upon pristine white and blood soaked red
� laid out beside that sea from God.
A woman raped�and bludgeoned,�then left for dead
� shall see no more the golden rod.
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, are we cancerous sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?

Alabama's sweet tobacco posies show
� the wisdom for more passive ways.
But killers within our society know
� the coming of more darkened days.
A withered tulip reserved for�those who slay us
� remember thou shalt not kill.
For redemption we strive, but our ways betray us
� and the murders happen still.
As children observe and mimic our actions
� and life becomes this sordid game.
We stand apart, divided�in factions
� pointing fingers at those we blame.
We society's blossoms,�must open wide�
� let every color blend.
For if we do not the flowers will die�
� a most unpleasant end!
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, we the cancerous sores?
--Hear the�pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society?� No, we are its' whores!�

��Roses are red, the color of blood
��Open and�shed the whores of flood.
��The flowers are lives we once led
��All shriveled up and laid over...�
�� and most assuredly dead!

http://www.darkpoetry.com/node/work/125743
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What a gentle, powerful poem! Perhaps I'm drawn to it because I love azaleas and the idea of floating in a cloud of their petals sounds like pure bliss . . . perhaps because I remember that feeling of pedaling my bike as hard as I could, sometimes to get to something, sometimes to get away . . . perhaps because we all know what loneliness feels like.

Today's poem is

"The Rider"

by
Naomi Shihab Nye

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Jayne Jaudon Ferrer