When metaphor richness, e.g., thistle encroachment on the daisies, once again allows us to see through your writing that one cannot truly appreciate the fearless determination of innocence, without accepting and understanding beings live with threats of all degrees. From your inventive use of metaphor, we are given an identity with the reach your body of work gives us. We are the grateful recipients of another universal identity that this short, but thesis-like take on the simple reality of life's struggle, graces our reading preferences. Makes one wonder why anyone would wait their reading time with so much that passes and fails as Hallmark Card sentimental trite. Bravo.
The title is appropriate for the thoughts expressed. I sense that something terribly wrong is taking place that you can't deal with logically and are expressing in a poem the nature of your plight.
Yes, the beauty of the daisies cannot exist without the prick of the thistle. Life is like that. Even the beauty sometimes comes with pain.
You reminded me of the Canadian Thistle. The only plant that survived foraging dairy cows in the pastures of my youth. In fact, the four prominent features of the pastures were the cow pies, dandelions, puff balls that we enjoyed stomping on to release the spawn. And the 3 to 4 fit high thistles with purple blooms that attracted butterflies and bees. Why farmers hated thistles so much, I'll never know. Perhaps it is because when thistles were in the hay, cows would not eat it.
Getting totally involved with your inner self here, Danae. Wonderful passages and thoughtful verses you give the reader some absolute reality to govern your (our) life by. Excellent!
I think reality will always be disjointed, and is what it is. We live in our own reality. I don't know if I missed the mark or not, but I read this as a cry for innocence lost.
This is very touching, caring, and compassionate. It could only have been written by someone with a deep and abiding love for life apart from her own. That is one characteristic that separates you from the madding crowd, and it endears you to those of us who can sense it from afar. But it's only one. You have many more. Ed
Sixty-seven days after departing Flores Island in Europe’s westernmost waters, the schooner Heimdall and her stalwart crew has finally arrived at the mysterious Isla Socorro in the Revillagigedo Archipelagoes. The discoveries they make are astounding
She was quite capable of taking care of herself...She appreciated everything he was doing for her and the Grandmothers Four, but she needed his help, not for him to take over.
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poignant read, well said
Never Stop Writing!!
m
Yes, the beauty of the daisies cannot exist without the prick of the thistle. Life is like that. Even the beauty sometimes comes with pain.
You reminded me of the Canadian Thistle. The only plant that survived foraging dairy cows in the pastures of my youth. In fact, the four prominent features of the pastures were the cow pies, dandelions, puff balls that we enjoyed stomping on to release the spawn. And the 3 to 4 fit high thistles with purple blooms that attracted butterflies and bees. Why farmers hated thistles so much, I'll never know. Perhaps it is because when thistles were in the hay, cows would not eat it.
Ron