One of my favorite poems from Riding in Boxcars (Snap Screen Press, 2006) is Rose.
It is about the beauty that youth and innocence bring to our world.
Most of us become infected with cynicism at too early an
age. We suffer the indignities of life that lead us to erect shells around
ourselves. It is a joy to see someone or something that has not yet been broken
down by the sheer weight of existence.
Rose is an unusual poem. I began it in free verse to reflect
the innocence, the emerging beauty of the subject. I use rhyme in the second
verse to sing of the soul, the danger of risking love, the giving of part of
oneself, and the hope of fulfillment that rests in the waking heart.
And it is about that part of each of us that can inhale the
incense of rose and for just an instant, recapture that first golden moment
when we felt we were fresh and new and anything was possible.
Glenn K. Currie
Rose
Slowly shedding
wrappings.
Naked. Blushing.
Soft layers opening
To gentle touch.
Beauty begging,
To be inhaled.
Incense from a
smoldering fire,
Glowing red.
Red as the budding
flower,
First bursting free.
Red as the trickling
blood,
From thorns green
panoply.
Red as delicate
petals,
Strewn on forest
floors.
Red as the secret
place,
Where love’s sweet
rose
Endures.
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