by Roddy Lumsden .

5.

I’ve more or less finished my second poem on the floral theme, quite a rhymey, musical piece. I’m not sure myself yet how metaphorical it is. It might just be about the hardiness of plants, but I doubt it. I’m moving away from the theme today and planning to spend more time among the make-up and clothes racks, writing something more closely related to the fashion shoot.

Bloom

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You who thrived where the horse trod,
where the apple smashed,
who shot up straight where the river sloshed
and rolled, who rose from blood;
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[pre]
who ran your flag
up from the grifting dune
and pulled a pale sky down,
who budded on a sodden sack or log,
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[pre]
took seed and caught along the track’s edge,
who jinked from crags and where walls slip,
who broached the lip
of lintels, burst on finial and ledge;
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[pre]
you who tested luck and unluck,
thrift-fed, driven by wind and water,
frost ticking each petal,
roping root and stem, the black
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[pre]
of black night lost to hope, you
cast the fine day as your fetch
and when it knocked and brought your wish
and you were found, you grew.
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