.
To a Virginia Bluebell
You nod to me across the trail
That runs before my garden seat.
With clustered bells of blue you greet
My visit with a subtle peal.
You wave your frolic fans of green
So gaily, as if you had met
Some kinsman or awaited yet
A long lost friend to grace the scene.
A friend indeed this scene has graced,
Projecting in his mental sight
A sphere within which Nature’s face
Beams out as with a mirror’s light.
Long lost no more, now recognized,
My roots beside yours in the earth,
Together we unite in mirth—
While botanists but classify.
Some people blow that way and this,
Whichever way the wind doth blow:
Some people fly like April snow,
And say you have no consciousness—
Unlike themselves, whose knowledge glues
Each specimen with abstract frame.
They see things but as things are named:
Myself, I share one Mind with you.
And I to you must nod my head,
Assenting with the voice of Spring
That tinkles from my bells and sings
Blue music in our flower bed!
.
.
Oak Grove Cemetery
I glanced aside as I walked past the graves,
Along the road beside the plotted hill.
A row of mausoleums crowned the ridge,
Where trees concealed the distant evening sun.
Then a red flash of unsuspected light
Leapt through the floral filigrees of a door,
Insisting that I go and peer inside:
A stained glass window at the other end,
Between me and the setting sun, revealed
A Celtic cross within a holly wreath;
And underneath it written were these words:
To live in hearts we leave behind at death,
Is not to die. I turned and walked away,
Then looked backward and murmured: Lazarus,
Come forth. And through the door he came as Light—
All shrouded in the grave clothes of sunset.
.
.
Lee Evans resides in Bath, Maine, and works for the local YMCA. His poetry has been published in The Christendom Review, Mused: The Bella Online Literary Review, The Poetry Porch, and elsewhere. His books of poetry are all available on Lulu.com.
Lee, I think these are really impressive! “Bluebell”, with its personified flowers and “frolic fans of green” (using “frolic” as an adjective here works very well) that wave to an imagined friend, paint a lovely picture. And “Cemetery” really made me sit up and say “Wow!”, especially the last three amazing lines — Lazarus coming forth as light “in the grave clothes of sunset” is absolutely brilliant! Thank you for sending us these.
Cynthia,
Thank you for your kind words!
Lee
Two beautiful poems, crafted with such delicacy! Thank you. I loved “frolic fans of green. “
Rohini,
Well, the “frolic fronds of green” seem to be a hit! Thanks for your comment.
Lee
Great stuff, Lee. My fave line (and a bit) from A Virginia Bluebell was ‘A sphere within which Nature’s face / Beams out… I enjoyed the playfulness of this piece, with all its personification and ‘romantic’ ending.
In Oak Grove Cemetery, I loved the analogy linking Lazarus and the sun, the sun being so ancient and so much a part of life.
Thanks for the reads.
Your conversation with a Virginia bluebell, Lee, comes closer and closer to an intimate sharing of identity. You explicitly discount the impossibility of such a relationship, and firmly claim the same roots. It is an unusual dramatic monologue!
“Oak Grove Cemetery,” on the other hand, presents an actively expanding vision, perhaps a dream, perhaps a deeply felt account of overwhelming moments in an actual scene.
Both poems are, as Cynthia says, impressive in the details of gradual revelation.
Thank you, Margaret (and you, too, Paul!) for your comments. It’s obvious that I was in a rather Wordsworthian mood when I addressed the Bluebell. Oak Grove Cemetery is about a mile from where I live, in the City of Bath, Maine, and I have not been able to resist writing five or six poems about various things I’ve seen there.
Lee