The Voyage Of A Flower

She pressed a flower between the pages
of a book and it soon became dry, lacking
color…or candor.

Then like all mysteries it began to rain,
not a weak or lazy rain, but the rain of

Water dripped everywhere – canoes and
boats appeared – laden with living rooms
and kitchens.

And she pressed this book tighter,
wanting the passion of her breast to be
understood by a lover.

On this voyage nothing remained dry;
everything gathered a pool of moisture
and this book and flower were no different.

But after 40 days she cursed that book and
its flower – tossed them into the waters, and
never touched wetness, mercy, or love again.


4 responses to “The Voyage Of A Flower

  1. good poem, my friend…

    linked you to my blogroll, hope you don’t mind.


  2. get outta mah diary!

  3. chrisfiore
    Thank you for your comment and thanks for the link.
    Is it possible for you to list my blog name as 1poet4man or even Poetman?
    Whatever you decide is fine…

    Once upon a time I wrote to you that my blog was like a quantum answer to your blog – the cats out of the bag…now you know how I do it…


  4. you fabulous voyeur, you!

    thanks for substantiating that ‘it’s all about me’.

    my job here is done.

    i can finally be laid to rest. (or something like that)

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