Heliotrope

Heliotrope

Here’s a poem I wrote about twenty years ago.

Heliotrope

 

Rare purple flower,

blue-eyed miracle,

you have bloomed for me.

 

I have seen you

wind your blind face to the sun,

stretch your thin leaf

in the darkest corner

to the suns voice calling poetry –

a word that your near deafness

hears.

 

Like heliotrope,

the eyes of that senile poet

in the nursing home.

I walked up to her bed like Jesus

and called poetry

poetry

do you live with it?

 

Like winter light

slipping round the corner

into a forgotten room,

like heliotrope to the sun,

her face turned lucid

floodlights

from her shrivelled mouth

called poetry

poetry!

In a great bottomless

woman’s voice.

 

Then, like the sun

sliding behind the hills

on that brief afternoon,

so her eyes

gradually tamed again

into poems of sleep.

 

 

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tame/”>Tame</a&gt;

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