The Opened Flower as an Invitation and Painting

In a previous post, I wrote an ode to the unopened flower bud. Standing tall, as if soldiers, I was captivated by the beauty and symbolism of the unopened flower bud. Now, after waiting for a month, some of the late bloomers opened their petals and inviting me, luring me in, with their beauty. Nature is the ultimate painting. Again, I sit on the ground and marvel at their splendor, whispering another poem, another ode.

This time around, though, their limitless potential and vulnerability changed to an invitation and a painting. Opening when the sun shines on them, these white flowers invite and lure me in to write an ode to them. They are pure in their intention, the divine shining through them. They are also a painting, nature’s way of expressing herself. Using the ground and the leaves as canvas, her brush strokes are flowers by the dozens. Housing and luring in not just me, the strange creature with a pen and camera, the flowers hold their palms open as if to welcome the dozens of insects and spiders, birds and snails, humans, and every eye that sees their beauty.

I write an ode to the flowers that opened. The ode has four stages, as the flowers I saw have four stages. Peering through the unopened bud, the tiny white fingers try to escape and open up in the first stage. The fingers grow impatient in the second stage, as if they want to burst through the hands that clasp them shut. Bursting through the clasped hands, in the third stage, the palms open to the sun, shining with divine beauty. In the last stage, the flowers become old and wear the heavy burden of nature’s beauty on their shoulders. Now that their beauty is fading, they contemplate their brief existence.

I use the images as a backdrop for my poetry. Or the other way around as well. Or interchangeably. Please join me in reading the ode to these flowers and looking at these flowers. I tried to capture a moment that few can enjoy, a fleeting moment if you wish. All of the photographs were taken by my Nikon D300 and with either a 50mm lens or 300mm zoom and macro lens. All credit goes to these beautiful flowers that inspired me to write this ode.

An Ode to the Opened Flower

tiny sliver silver-white fingers
peer through the clasped hand
to seduce to lure to invite
come and write about me
they call from below the veiled beauty

tiny sliver silver-white fingers
peer through the veil
to see the world waiting
patiently admiring the unopened bud
from which they will emerge

frozen in time
the sun melts away the clasped hands
to show the impatient fingers
grasping at the rays
grasping at the warmth of the summer

impatiently waiting to burst open
to the eyes that stand waiting
impatiently waiting to burst open
and show the eyes looking their beauty
to seduce to lure to invite the unexpected

impatiently waiting to burst open
the tiny sliver silver-white fingers
emerge evermore
to reveal a veiled beauty
that will captivate the eyes that look

bursting open
as if in a moment
the waiting finished
the clasped hand now
opened palms raised to the sky

burst open beauty
bound to seduce
the words fall short of the painting
that her fingers produce
from underneath the ground

the wind rustling and whispering
through the flowers
papery words fall from the poet’s mouth
onto her white petals
washed away by the fleeting moment

beauty but a fleeting sigh in the wind
the white palms pucker when time ticks by
the once beautiful now teeming with age
beauty but a fleeting sigh in the wind
the eyes now moving away from her painting

heavy the burden
of a once beauty
that now disappeared with the wind
the palms still raised to the sun
but now praying for rejuvenation and not appreciation

her leaves cover the painting
until the next spring
when she paints with new colors
when she paints with new leaves
the wind blows away the fleeting beauty