Orchids captured in the Conservatory of Flowers, San Francisco
Showing posts with label orchids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label orchids. Show all posts
Thursday, December 27, 2018
The return of light is a perfect time said Princess Haiku
The earth is silent and sleeping said, Princess Haiku but its days are growing longer. December light is everywhere and frozen into snow crystals, clouds, and far memories. If you thought I had disappeared forever; well not yet. -Although surely that day will come. The return of light is the perfect time to awaken my sleeping blog. Will you dance with me Winter, she asked swirling into an icy wind.
Thursday, January 05, 2017
Tuesday, December 01, 2015
Annabelle and Eddie by Diane Dehler
Annabelle and Eddie
Annabelle Lee looks for her image in sea water.
A teardrop of blood forms on her full upper lip where she
has bitten it.
She feels the sea churning around her bare feet and legs,
“What am I doing here,” she asks.
A biting wind howls and tears up the edges of her gauzy
black nylon dress.
This dress was an opiate of yours, darling Eddie.
-Black water, black rain, white fingers running up her spine
alongside the crypt.
The grave words- words engraved on the heart.
Eddie, what are we doing out here at night, she asks,
bewildered by fear and wind.
No answer.
Are we awake or asleep?
Eddie, the sepulchre is cold and I have been sleeping in
this black crypt forever.
Yes, I always try to prettify things but still the crypt is
dark and I am cold.
My tears seep onto the floor of the vault.
The pool of water rising at my feet begins to fill the tomb
with tears of ocean that rise and rise.
At high tide this is how we die.
One minute you are alive and the other you have to live in a
tomb forever because a poet
has immortalized you.
And there are no second chances so enjoy it while you can.
You can’t be sorry and you can never go out into the sun
again.
It is just a black night of sea; rows of breakers that churn
and crash against the mind.
The hellish world where there are only tormented thoughts
for company.
Where am I?
Why dead, Annabelle.
I know this by the sound of your crying, Eddie.
You promised nothing would ever separate us, except my white
skin.
My death separated us even though your fingers traced a poem
on the curve of my lower back writing the words; my Annabelle Lee forever.
Skin is still between us and there are days I regret this.
-Bones, fragments, residual thoughts and nerve tissue; the
brain’s repose.
-The erotic breath of love between us.
.
-You lied, Eddie.
We are not one breath.
I am a ghost; a shadow cast by a lunar eclipse.
The prospects of waking up in a tomb and having nowhere to
go are dismaying.
Eddie, you encountered me recently at a séance and your lips
on mine were electrifying.
I remember your black curls and your hands on my breasts on
our way down into the liquid center.
Enter the ocean, the dark angels tell me.
The first thing you do Annabelle... is you just let go.
You used to feed me black poppies for my pain and now in
torment, I long more for your lips.
I long for being loved by night.
Kiss me again that I may die.
That the eyes of my soul will close.
Enter me with sheer magnetic force that creates a poem and
sets the spirit free.
Rows of breakesr churn and crash against my mind in this
hellish crypt where I have only tormented thoughts for company.
Eddie, the crypt is so cold.
Diane Dehler
First published by Cultural Weekly, June, 2014
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Saturday, August 01, 2015
Persephone by Diane Dehler
Persephone
I can be seen
slipping down the dusk
in a thin black boat.
Oars made of my
wooden love, send
chilly notes of reproach
through watery channels.
I pass beneath frozen
rocks that dazzle me
cold black and grey designs.
A solitary bell tolls,
Persephone’s bell
ringing an ancient time.
One moment past tragedy
hours before dawn.
Remembering roses and
sunlight, windy clouds,
Rain on my face.
There are crevices where
my eyes once were.
You who have tasted the
Bitter red fruit
of love, we know one
another you and I.
Diane Dehler
First published in The Taj Mahal Review, Vol 2 Number 12, 2014
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Sunday, June 07, 2015
Sunday, May 03, 2015
Wednesday, April 01, 2015
The Exquisite Hour by Diane Dehler
The
Exquisite Hour,
after
Verlaine
Solitude,
an
angel dresses
in
your perfect
skin. His eyes
capture
footsteps
vanishing
under
a
twilight sky.
You
brim with a
magenta
of marvelous
stars,
at this hour.
Just
one kiss for
solitude,
the angel
ghost
who memorizes
every
moment – every
breath
that any human
Inhales
with love.
Solitude,
who
longs to
lie
a temporal
head
upon flesh,
your
breast
wings
of azure
gold
sky - give
up
his throne,
For
an
exquisite
hour.
Diane
Dehler
First published by Contemporary Literary Horizon, 2012
Reprinted, The
Art of Being Human: The Best Poems of 2013, Brian Wexler Books
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
orchids in my temple of beauty said, Princess Haiku
Late February is a wonderful time to visit the, Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park. All manner of lush orchids are in bloom.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Sunday, January 04, 2015
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Monday, December 09, 2013
lips of carmine said, Princess Haiku
This was one of the orchid photos I took at the Pacific Orchid Expo in San Francisco last February. How time flies and soon enough I will be capturing more startling floral images. There is something particularly captivating about the orchid and hope you enjoy this.
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
Thursday, May 02, 2013
Wednesday, May 01, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
a muse of Orchid said Princess Haiku
I had the pleasure of visiting the SF Conservatory of Flowers on Saturday and captured some orchid photos to share. It was barely fifty degrees and very foggy. Wish I had worn another layer; it was as chilly as a Summer day. Non the less had a magnificent walk through the garden. It is with wonder that I enter the garden, the paradise of April- to explore the gifts of Spring. Princess Haiku various flowers said, "Capture me, no me, I am the epitome of beauty." Perfect moments of life are often the most simple... And as elusive as the passing hour.
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