Vox Populi
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Rose Mary Boehm: Summer Trance
Delphinium, maundering borage, yellow lupin,
fat red poppies, hollyhocks, phlox, hedges of white bryony
and rosa canina. Meadowsweet.
Fast-moving shades of flycatchers
flitting among branches. Grass being cut.
Swathe after swathe,
swerving, falling. Smell of fresh hay.
For a short while there will be no change. One day
will follow another imperceptibly, while beauty
approaches without warning, like a thief,
quickly dissolved by a careless breath. Lustrous webs
link small charms, fragile enchantments hide the ordinary.
A gentle breath stirs the surface of the corn.
As large as the hill, I become a green, languid
animal, a soft giant with giant eyes, become
green love. Fat bees buzz in my lavender bushes
and wingless insects crawl with infinite effort
through the flowers of my fountain grass.
The sinking sun bathes the world in wispy luster.
Through the open window enter a redolence of evening stock,
the tinkle of the stars, the cricket’s love song,
and the poplars’ whispered secrets.
Copyright 2024 Rose Mary Boehm
Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru. Her fourth poetry collection, THE RAIN GIRL, was published by Chaffinch Press in 2020.
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A perfect summer ode! Love!
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As I read, my mind wandered my garden, more desert, less green, but the labyrinth laid out in lavender and those wonderful big black bees with their yellow. Monarchs, birds, and me, melting into the warm deck chair, ok dog’s warm head beneath my fingers , scent of rose geranium, and of course, the lavender. Thank you!
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Old dog’s head, sighhh. Forever fumble fingers, forever forgetting to read before sending.
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Thank you for this reverie, Barbara
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Lovely
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” beauty
approaches without warning, like a thief,”
Perfect — just as beauty can be!
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I love the speaker’s transformation into landscape! What a triumph of image!
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I agree, Robbi. It’s a poem about transformation. Thank you!
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Rose Mary: I love your beautiful barrage of sensation in this “Season of great Leisure.” Unlike Spring, there are no sadnesses in this moment, only the laden truck from the florist’s shop you so beautifully filled, heaving toward the horizon.
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Thanks, Sean!
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