Wild roses bloom pink along the edge of a narrow stream

Wild roses bloom 2

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20 thoughts on “Wild roses bloom pink along the edge of a narrow stream

  1. This poem grips you, pulls you in, makes you ache ache for three people. i can’t get the image of the son beneath bruised tiger-lily skies out of my mind. Your poem engrossed me, Chris.

  2. I’ve read this poem at least several times; it really tugs at me in and such a sad way, right from the beginning with its contrast of wild roses blooming by a stream, to the house. A family’s home is usually, or at least hopefully, a place filled with life (and love) but here gone to seed, nothing but a husk even though there are people living (or at least alive) within it; the abandon, futility, is near palpable. The men seem to me utterly defeated yet the woman powers on, though for what? Dead tree? Lumbering son? She’s working on something already dead and down; isn’t this a fine metaphor for – what?- her life, her marriage?
    This is but one “take” on the scene, but it really does invite – or rather, implore – my pondering. How did they, how do we, get to such places? We’ve all had our fairy tales, our sweet curtained windows, our children. Roses winter and still beautifully bloom; people with their hard lives, maybe not so much. Your language – such as: husk, parted, bruised, looming, dangling, slips, yanks, rips, and so on- is so effective; you’ve created a backdrop of pain and misery beyond that sky. Yes, I hope you continue to write.
    ~ Peri

  3. Thanks very much for your comment Peri, and for returning to the poem to look deeper. You can’t imagine the paragraphs I’ve written in response. Or know quite how much I’ve thought about your interpretation or “take” on the scene. I’ve rambled, edited and deleted about my process and “takes” on the scenes I record. It’s funny, I suppose the reply you don’t see reflects all my writing these days. I go on and on. Think I’ve got something worth sharing… then overwork, edit to death and delete. That said, I am writing and feel close (and then far away). Your comment is encouraging and much appreciated. 
    Chris

  4. “overwork, edit to death and delete” – I completely empathize. As the former Queen of Overedit, likely a perfectionist tendency, I had to throw it off, else even emails were small projects – and with the proliferation of texting, egads, I would’ve driven myself mad. Unfortunately now I ramble instead (as you see), and, heavens, have typos (first line, words out of order: “tugs at me and in such a sad way…” So, we all have our poisons, er … foibles. Also, maybe it goes without saying that *some of us* bring our own luggage and imagination to the poems we read, and for that I apologize; I do not know the backstory of your poem or its people, only that this poem made me feel and think and dwell there; bravo for that, and nevermind me! Carry on, with best wishes ~ Peri

    • Oh… you do know.
      Regarding your luggage and interpretation… how close it was to the mark was – let’s just say… um… “remarkable”… to keep me from searching for the right word as supper approaches.
      And finally… replying to you somehow forced my hand to tweak and publish today… thanks for that!
      Chris

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