I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

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.

28 December 2017

That Sentimental Place, the Past

She dreams of roses. Her father grew them
when she was a child, in all the colours
roses came in then. She remembers him
tending them closely. He would be outdoors
morning and evening, flexing his green thumb
(he hoped) outside his daily working hours,
and longer on weekends. The hues and scents
he revelled in, she treasures … and laments.

Yet another ottava rima for the Poetic Asides form challenge

Also shared with Poets United's Poetry Pantry #387

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23 comments:

  1. Sherry Blue Sky20 January 2018 at 12:09

    So beautiful, and takes me back to my grandmother's garden which she tended so lovingly...........sigh. I really loved this one, Rosemary. I can see your father, with his green thumb. And I remember the swing he made for you.

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  2. Sumana Roy20 January 2018 at 22:55

    So sweet. And how lovely to get on a daily basis beautiful roses from you on FB:)

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  3. Thotpurge21 January 2018 at 18:39

    The way that memory is welded to those roses... !!!

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  4. Jae Rose21 January 2018 at 19:11

    Such a touching tribute - long may you smell those glorious roses

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  5. Old Egg21 January 2018 at 19:32

    Memories, and the love for others hurt when they have gone. How beautiful this is Rosemary.

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  6. Sanaa Rizvi21 January 2018 at 21:33

    This is so beautiful, Rosemary. I can picture your father outside in his daily working hours.

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  7. Kim M. Russell21 January 2018 at 21:36

    I'm with Sherry - your poem takes me back to my grandfather's garden and the overwhelming scent and buzzing of bees in the summer. However, it wasn't all roses; I had a bad experience with thorns!

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  8. dsnake122 January 2018 at 01:32

    memories can be bittersweet.
    ah, your blog header photo is a rose. :)

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    1. Rosemary Nissen-Wade23 January 2018 at 00:32

      I don't grow them, but I do love to photograph them.

      Delete
  9. brudberg22 January 2018 at 03:19

    Love it... such a great memory, not just roses but how they are tended which is maybe the more important part.

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  10. Gillena Cox22 January 2018 at 03:26

    A beautiful fragrant poem
    Happy Sunday Rosemary

    much love...

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  11. annell422 January 2018 at 03:43

    The rose was my Father's favorite. Thanks for the lovely write.

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  12. Susan22 January 2018 at 04:17

    It's impossible for me to read this poem without thinking of the daily roses with which you give your daily prayer for us on FB. You have taken this wonderful memory and paid it forward in poem and action.

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  13. ZQ22 January 2018 at 05:25

    ...yes the scent is ever present. I will take a moment with my past. Thank you for this wonderful piece and its invitation.
    ZQ

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  14. Namratha22 January 2018 at 05:54

    Beautiful and touching.

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  15. Rob Jackson22 January 2018 at 07:50

    Bittersweet memories...

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  16. Bekkie Sanchez22 January 2018 at 08:30

    I never told you this before, but you look just like my mother-in-law. (X, now.) Lol! I like you much better!

    Roses need loving care when grown, after they're picked and given to a person they portray all of that care. Our poems are also tended that way aren't they? I also thank you for the sweet roses you give so lovingly. You are such a special woman I am lucky to call friend.

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    1. Rosemary Nissen-Wade22 January 2018 at 22:27

      I love your comparison between roses and poems. (And I'm glad you like me better than the ex-mother-in-law!)

      Delete
  17. Susie Clevenger22 January 2018 at 09:36

    For years my rose memories were connected to my grandmother's funeral. I couldn't stand the scent because it took me back to being nine years old standing by her casket in a rose filled room. I much prefer your beautiful memories of the flower.

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  18. kaykuala22 January 2018 at 10:12

    A father's dedication can go a long way to his other loved ones who will always remember him with love and a tinge of sadness! Thanks for sharing Rosemary!

    Hank

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  19. Wendy Bourke22 January 2018 at 11:11

    You have captured the essence of bitter-sweet, here. Lovely.

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  20. Myrna R.22 January 2018 at 13:05

    I love the sensitivity in this and the subtle yet unmistakable sentiment. What a lovely poem.

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  21. Magical Mystical Teacher25 January 2018 at 08:00

    The past and present intermingle, sometimes causing laments--or delights.

    ReplyDelete

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