...still a rose

It's time to get the roses,
it's safe to plant now,
no danger of frost after
Memorial Day. Oh,
roses can handle frost
but not temperatures
of last winter that
killed them all.

It's time to get the roses
for the house,
the roses represent something --
that I am still in the fight,
that the winter did not kill me.
It's about proving something
when there's nothing
left to prove.

So why do I get the roses
at the garden center?
The selection is meager
really, apparently because
so many got their roses
before Memorial Day without
regard to frost and mixed
emotions about it all.

There are the red roses,
the Lincoln Rose, the
Oklahoma Rose, the Double
Love two tone rose,
red and white,
a few lavender tea roses,
just one a dusty orange,
funereal in their pots.

There is doubt
about this mission,
can't make up my mind
about the two tones,
they remind me of fuzzy
wet toilet paper
surrounded by an eclipsed
red sun in a red tide,

a bit radical for my blood,
but exciting.
The fresh bloom would be
vibrant no doubt.
A rose of any name
is still a rose along with
the prominent Oklahoma Rose
that gushes a red triumph.

OK, one tea rose,
one Double Love and one
Oklahoma Rose will be
the plan along with
three sacks of top soil
stacked on the cart,
pulled into line with the many,
as doubt dissolves into peace.











Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 1107 times
Written on 2014-06-14 at 02:06

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Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
I would send you one of my roses - a few years ago the cinnamon rose that my grandmother had planted had grown rather wild, anyhow - it is thriving now and the scent, well - you don't get that in hot houses and garden centres - I love my roses, I had to cut back the old ramble today, cut away the dead wood - enjoy - they keep life in kilter :-)

Elle x
2014-06-14



You make the selection of roses a celebration of life. A defiance to the reaper himself. I enjoyed this.
2014-06-14