‘Metaphors for Marigolds’

"Rising up from a soiled time" - which has multiple meanings - dirtiness, potting soil, ashes to ashes. I have a little trouble with line 11. Can tension bound? Certainly, it can smell. And, as a matter of personal taste, I would prefer a full stop at the end. This theme is close to my heart, too. Your work here, as usual, has brought me pleasure.

I wanted to reply to this yesterday, but I got hijacked into other things, as usual. I love flowers, and the marigold is not my favourite flower, the Bird of Paradise is, along with hyacinth and lily and a few others... the marigold smells unpleasantly and that's why its planted around vegetable gardens... keeping unwanted visitors that have a penchant for eating one's garden. So... was I surprised when a marigold, of all the possible flowers, pictures was selected for my page? No. lol. Thank you for your poems Emarie, and your presence here. Much love to you and yours... http://www.numii.net/word_press/people/anna "All in all, it's just another brick in the wall." Pink Floyd There are no walls except for the ones we build. ~me~

this isn't about your poem. I don't like marigolds, either. The hollyhock is my favorite. But here's an incident about PC gone wild. I once toured a facility and remarked on how nice the cockscombs were. With a look of shock, I was informed they were "roostercombs"! Ok, no more intruding from me.

I really liked the opening stanza, as it was a nice comfortable read. The closing stanza leaves the reader feeling uncomfortable, and shifting in their seat - which I'm sure was intentional. Great write! ~Jess K. ---------------------------------------------------- -"And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication And silent replies that swirl invitation Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea A grim intimation of what is to be" - Pink Floyd

Emarie This is so beautiful my friend. Beauty of the flowers This struggle of nature and the elements and the mystical magical thing called life. I have written on my flowers and their journey the circle of their life as they await below the soft brown earth for the right moment to be drawn towards the warmth of the sky above. This is such an amazing sight this miracle of small beginnings a bud blooming into this beautiful flower each satin petal full of the suns morning glory. I know of a place like this on mama's porch in the noon day sun we sit sip lemon tea after cooking the morning meal. I can smell the apple pie it lingers there tempting us to take the first bite. We walk the garden pick the fruits of our labour walk the fields and back on long summer afternoons sit back on the porch just feeling the gentle breeze coming over the mountains full of day dreams Thank you for bringing the sunshine into this winter's day. Electric blue

yes, I meant that in all caps. Evocative, truly a splash of life in this poem. Honestly, probably the best I've seen from you yet. No hyperbole there. I wonder of you meant window "seat" instead of "seal" or window "sill." Then again, maybe I'm spelling it wrong, lol! Seriously freaking gold here, Emarie! Mark W. "An insult is just someone who hates you making a noise to indicate their hatred, a barking dog. Criticism is someone trying to help you, by telling you something about yourself that you were a little too comfortable not knowing. " ~ David Wong

i missed this one. it would have been catastrophic - such a loss to me. simplicity in symphony.

Superlatives might embarrass this finely made piece - your language is so sparely selected and efficiently presented. However, I must say I enjoyed it so much - metaphors for marigold's ... I wrote a piece called Marigold [not yet posted] and afterwards did a little search [not before since that might distort what I was to write] Marigold [in the language of flowers] - Comforts the heart. The common name marigold probably refers to the Virgin Mary, or its Old Saxon name 'ymbglidegold', which means 'it turns with the sun'. Marigolds are hardy plants that typically bloom quickly (in under two months) in bright yellows, reds, and oranges throughout the summer and well into the fall. It seems to me that like your poem we "turn with the sun" Shine on, poet, I need your warmth in my old age. Mike "not all matterings of mind equal one violet" ~ e e cummings ~