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



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



Like heliotrope,

the eyes of that senile poet

in the nursing home.

I walked up to her bed like Jesus

and called 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


from her shrivelled mouth

called 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;

One thought on “Heliotrope

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