Myrtle

Myrtle stood proudly
Exhibiting her personal collection
Of a variety of sub-speacies
Of the Fuchsia plants
That made up nearly a third
Of the Annual Puget Sound's Fuchsia Guild's
Display and tea tasting Sunday

It had been her passion 30 years ago
The colorful plant whose distinguishing characteristic
Are the blossoms generally fuchsia in color
That tended to look in shape
Like those tiny Christmas Tree lighting faerie bulbs
Not the large gawky kind but the tiny kind
That hung as they did at the end of droopy stems
Not unlike the droop of a willow tree

The Fuchsia plants blossom tended to be like a firework's blossom
Just seconds after high above the crowd
The explosion sends shards of colored light
Off in a sphere shape at nearly uniform distance
Creating a round that lasts for seconds
And then disappears into the memory only

What Myrtle loved best about these plants
Was that the beauty that lasted just seconds in the fireworks
Was captured for days in the plants
Really for as long as they blossom

And on this day Myrtle stood proudly
Exhibiting her personal collection
Of a variety of sub-species
Of the Fuchsia plant
That made up nearly a third
Of the Annual Puget Sound's Fuchsia Guild's
Annual display and tea tasting Sunday


For Sketches
Denis J. Kelly
March 28, 2012

Quiet Stillness Flows

Quiet stillness flows
Like milk coating messy
Spilling over marble cool viscous
Revealing from out the stone
Soft skin and a smile
An outreached hand
Oh Mother Oh Sister
Beckoning individually
Penerating deep within the soul
To touch the sanguine spirit
The pulsating rhythm of human beings
Given over to service
Given up as offering
Given hope and salve
Given sweet harmonies
The Diety Herself inviting mere mortals
To sing a duet with pure love
Faith burning warm and nourishing
Like a fine sherry
Like a whiskey-laced coffee
Like a bees wax scented pleasuring with vanillas
And sweet berries
And ocean spray hints
Floral aromatic throws
Like the clergy anointing the crowd
With holy water-soaked fresh-picked evergreen branches
A babbling brook-like freshness aerated
Before landing as grace on the forehead
There spread by cross-drawing thumb tips
On brow on lips on heart
Oh sprinkle this blessing on me
Quiet stillness flowing
Like milk coating messy
Spilling over marble cool viscous
Revealing from out of stone
Soft skin and a smile
An outreached hand
Oh Brother Oh Father
Beckoning individually
Penetrating deep within the soul
To touch the sanguine spirit


For Sketches
Denis J. Kelly
March 7, 2012