These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.
9 April 2008
I want to mention how people can be flowers,
and I am led to this thought by the many times I see
the words 'Dalia Lama'. Note the spelling. My mind supplies
an 'h' and there he is, I see him, his bald Buddhist head
sticking out of a circle of bright yellow petals, his spectacles
reflecting their golden light, and of course he is smiling.
Who wouldn't be smiling, at the centre of one's flower self?
And I too am a flower. 'Rambling Rose,' the man sang
on the radio when I was growing up. My name was Rose.
Not really, but everyone called me that, shortening the full name
my mother gave me because it was so beautiful. 'I wish
they wouldn't call you Rose,' she said, but in those days they all did.
Rambling Rose was glamorous, forbidden. This I understood,
though not why. I was young. Tibet hadn't happened yet, nor my life.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
Linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #303 (22/5/16)