A broken vase (Day 87 of 100 -- Poetry challenge)

in poetry •  11 months ago

vase.JPG

What a glorious thing to see on a table,
Or the sill of a window;
Flowers severed and displayed for their beauty,
A transient pleasure,
Indeed.

A vase finely blown
From layers of colour
Curved just so
As to allow stems
To cascade effortlessly.
Oh, how the foliage seemed
To caress the blooms and buds;
An exquisitely formed vase,
Indeed.

What a pity,
What a sad thing to see;
All the beautiful glass
Scattered about,
Shards that catch the light,
Sharp as blades;
How easy they are to clean away,
Yet, the splintered bits can be unseen —
Hidden in crevasses and folds of fabric,
Treacherously buried,
Indeed.

A vase no longer there
But for a prick to the finger or foot.
Oh, what a sting a splinter can bring.
How strangely grotesque
Yesterday’s beauty can be,
Indeed.

Screen Shot 2018-05-30 at 1.09.58 PM.png

  • All pieces are newly crafted and posted shortly after in adherence to the rules of the challenge. All the photos are mine unless otherwise stated.

  • Entry for Day 87 of 100 Days of Poetry Challenge by @d-pend.

  • Join the Steemit School here: https://discord.gg/yZvYjfM organized by @dobartim on Discord.

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I like the zoom in looks at your painting canvas, magnifying the brushwork and paint texture, it shows the detail and focus of the artwork. The symbolism of your poetry executes the mood and theme; shattered silver slivers reflecting mirror flicker flash <3

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Oh JP, you have no idea how it soothes my soul to see your comment here. I've been feeling pretty down in these halls. I have so much to say from all my observations and so little to show for all my efforts, other than more of what I already (hard learned lessons) know to be true about collectives of people.

<3 Thank you for always being true blue, all these many years.

Amazing poetry @mamadini,i like it.

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<3 Thank you kindly.

I have been in a recent love affair with the things we may tend to that grow from the primordial depths...and dirt.

A delicate home grown rose in light pink was recently given to me.

She took a fall, yesterday, and her petals were strewn across my spirit board. (I nearly cried.)

How strangely grotesque
Yesterday’s beauty can be,
Indeed.

Your poem reminds me of how I felt when I saw her collapse, before I could decide what to do about the beauty that is here before me now.

I've put her petals aside in a glass and am going to make tea...