Thank you bro!! - there’s something about observing nature and how it genuinely makes you feel that can’t be authentically mimicked by machines, and that’s totally fine by me
There is something wonderfully tactile about this poem. You begin with lushness: “Pom-pom poppies sprawl”and slowly guide us toward decay, not as loss but as transformation. I was especially taken by “time opens, splits, tears loose; countless cycles remain.” It carries the quiet wisdom that endings are rarely endings; they are simply another form of becoming.
And that final image, the seeds spilling in evening light among dancing mosquitoes—felt almost Vedantic to me: form breaking apart, essence continuing its endless journey.
I was reading it from the far side of the flower: the scattering, the continuation. You were writing from the moment of opening itself.
And perhaps that is the quiet miracle of poems. A bud unfolds in the poet’s hand and becomes a seed in the reader’s.
Time does both, I think. It opens us into being and, when the hour comes, loosens our grip on form. Yet something keeps traveling, carried on evening air as lightly as pollen or prayer.
Just delightful! Thank you, Gub!
A pleasure and thanks for reading Nora!
Beautiful meditation.
Thank you Phoenix!
You’re welcome!
It's like an example of how to distinguish ai generated content from what comes out from humans.
Love the choice of words 💛
Thank you bro!! - there’s something about observing nature and how it genuinely makes you feel that can’t be authentically mimicked by machines, and that’s totally fine by me
I felt you being there. I could sense the beauty that hypnotized you during that moment.
That's what matters.
❤️
“Plump satisfaction, against regret” - incredible line x
Yess nice thank you
There is something wonderfully tactile about this poem. You begin with lushness: “Pom-pom poppies sprawl”and slowly guide us toward decay, not as loss but as transformation. I was especially taken by “time opens, splits, tears loose; countless cycles remain.” It carries the quiet wisdom that endings are rarely endings; they are simply another form of becoming.
And that final image, the seeds spilling in evening light among dancing mosquitoes—felt almost Vedantic to me: form breaking apart, essence continuing its endless journey.
Thanks so much Dipti for another generous comment.
It’s true to me what you say about the endings being a form of transformation and Vedantic energy of the seeds spreading.
I was thinking of the bud opening in the line about time.
Ah, Gabi, that makes me love the line even more.
I was reading it from the far side of the flower: the scattering, the continuation. You were writing from the moment of opening itself.
And perhaps that is the quiet miracle of poems. A bud unfolds in the poet’s hand and becomes a seed in the reader’s.
Time does both, I think. It opens us into being and, when the hour comes, loosens our grip on form. Yet something keeps traveling, carried on evening air as lightly as pollen or prayer.
Your poem reminded me of that.
Ohh! It’s so nice to see this connection and how observing nature, how it makes you feel, can create understanding or meaning.
Just stunning:
“perhaps that is the quiet miracle of poems. A bud unfolds in the poet’s hand and becomes a seed in the reader’s“
What a wonderful gift for my Friday! Great poem!
Thank you Nick! Inspired from the poetry I read this week and, well working with flowers. Have a great weekend!
Gorgeous 🙌 I especially loved the ‘plump satisfaction’ line I read it like six times lol
Ah thank you ! Rolls off the tongue ❤️
Oh this is delicious 💕
Thank you 😊