Magnolia

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words by Russ Daum images by Abbie Foxton

 

Will the revolving, transformative patterns of life

reassure us the mystery rhythms of flowers still exist?

If one finds herself within a flow

of white, pink and purple circles,

intoxicating aromas all around,

will she, instead, distrust what she finds?

Walk away from what is pleasant?

Break the line?

Choose to resist and be broken?

Bees remind us to hover.

To buzz among stained glass hours

and relish existence.

Land in proper spaces.

Find what is needed and transition to better.

 

I wonder…

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Can you not hear the natural colors of chimes ring in the air?

Can you not feel vibrations

of layered loops of musical blossom’s flow?

Or are you deaf and minus the sense of touch?

These white, pink and purple accordions

will soon lie spent upon the earth,

detached in 3/4 time.

A hidden spell broken with a rhyme.

An enchanted waltz today.

Cactus Garden

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Whenever I am at the Botanical Gardens, I cannot pass by the succulent garden without popping in. They are family, a place I have walked with new lovers, old friends, my place of solace, meeting and reflection, to soak in the extra terrestrial landscape, to be transported. Each cacti takes it in turn to impress. A colour burst, the throws of death, newborns slow growth, the families get bigger and spread through the red gravel. Birds visit, death defying swoops through the needles and thorns. Giant Orb spiders build labyrinths of silk, eight dimensions of entrapment. The place has grown with me, it doesn’t really change, just feels more experienced in its surroundings. Some look dry, large exposed roots, holes and barnacles, it is out of time, a comfort that ages with me.