The amaryllis catches light
in petal prisms, fancy’s sleight;
look to science if you must
but I will call it pixie dust.
I do realize, dear reader, that not all of you are old enough to remember Walt Disney’s version of “Peter Pan,” featuring Tinkerbell and her pixie dust. But you can imagine. It’s hard not to be drawn to Neverland; that second star to the right was beautiful. And who, after all, wants to grow up?
What gardening sage
will I have to be
to fathom the how
of this galaxy?
I can fathom the why:
to make our lives livable.
That is an axiom
I hold is unquibabble.
It grew from a blob
aesthetically dubious,
like tentacled shmoo
squatly lugubrious.
I can’t figure how
such blithe transformation
from dowdy drab bulb
to winged constellation.
With thanks to my dear friend Donna,
who sent these winter wings.
Stemmed swan,
wings of snow,
winter daydream’s
furbelow.
With thanks to my dear friend Donna for the elegance of this white amaryllis,
which has bloomed manically and isn’t done yet.
Beauty shocks, and steals our breath,
makes our neurons fizz,
forces us to contemplate
what can’t be real
is.
Of white it can be said
that breath is lost,
a waxen hour
on air embossed.
With thanks to my dear friend Donna for this gorgeous amaryllis.
A cold sun in the sky
twins itself on ice;
the amaryllis roisters:
it too can ignite twice.
You don’t need a fireplace
to have a crackling blaze
there are other fires
that warm our winter days.
Botanical high-rise
so long my wait!
your Christmas bloom
is a little late
but maybe you knew
you had my plan bettered:
to open with new year
in your own time unfettered.
The tulips languish, sodden,
(those not by rabbit eaten)
jonquils merely leaf
cold-weary, winter-beaten.
A miser’s hand apportions
the flowering of this spring
there’s scant delight in the meadow
and nary a daffy-down-dilling.
But from windless cozy house
a trumpeting four-in-one
sings out to the colorless garden:
“I’ll show you how it’s done!”
It quadruple megaphones
“You can be like me, yay, verily!”
the concerted garden response
comes back somewhat raspberrily.
With thanks and apologies to Shakespeare.
Oddments 