Saturday, April 21, 2012



a blowsy rose
to pleasure the nose,
bent head tousled from
the rough loving of the storm,
wearing silver

rain beads tiny
but luminous,
skirt of brown leaves
round her ankles,
a winter’s worth of death

out of cover,
a spooked rabbit heading
down the memory hole,
running from the fox
 of your smile.

April 2012

Image: Rosa 'Pat Austin,'  May, 2010
© joy ann jones


  1. ah made my morning with this...esp. love the..head tousled from the rough loving of the storm...the storm's love is sometimes so much more honest and immediate than that of the sun..right...

  2. You made my morning, too! I am going to, in honor of this perfection, commit to my rose bushes on Earth Day. Many thanks.

  3. This is quite a vision of loveliness. The photograph, the rose, just stunning. But the poem is even more so. Seeing that lover after rough loving in the bent head of the rose is inspired, as is the rest of your clever verse.

  4. oo very nice how you personify or animalify the feelings...sorrow being my fav of these (in your words, not life) down the memory hole....very nice...

  5. What a beautiful rose! I love the idea of death undressed, and the final metaphor is just inspired.

    1. Can't help but give a fox's smile to this verse. I love how the words tumble so easily, bringing delight, both visually and aurally, as we chase down the page.
      Is that a Westerland Rose? I love them so.

    2. Thanks Kerry, and Miss Jane. I love this rose,also. She is one of the so-called 'new' English roses bred by David Austin and named after his wife. ('Pat Austin') She is quite variable, some years not much liking our climate and denuded by black spot she shows just a few blooms, but this year she is wildly floriferous and gorgeous.

  6. Just plain pretty. I don't mean that in any insulting way--you've also got a fair amount of profundity going on here, but it's just such pretty writing--the images, flow, the music. Well done. K.

  7. "running from the fox of your smile". I love it, and the "tiny beads" of rain........heavenly.

  8. The synecdoche of flower and paramour unfurls wider and wilder with each stanza, balming every bane with the simplest of kisses. The rose, Love, the Dude, all endure. -Brendan

    1. Indeed they dude. This is my favorite of all my roses, and she's the very hardest to get started blooming, but man, once she starts...well, the synecdoche continues, shall we say. Thanks for reading B.


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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