Published in Coffee Press Journal in 2006, copyright to J. Donald Coonrod.
Yellow bearded life rises up,
wise in the ways of skittish Spring;
past burrowing worms,
wet corruption and tombs
and the smell of sweet incense.
Sacred in Egypt, irises
surge up from rich Nile earth,
celebrating death followed
by life eternal.
I fly over their fields of
rippling yellow and purple,
my soul a frothing stallion
straining in a race against time—
shrouded by an ancient magic
and dark riddles, on my way
to a golden sun.
An engaging, lilting paean to one of my/our favorite spring flowers, Donald, with age rearing its continuing hold on Past. Your symbolism, sweet. Reasoning overcoming past, with love and vision, illuminates the reader. I think it's the fragileness of iris flowers, blooming from stalks of spears, kissed by early sunshine and tears of cool rains, which, um, 'refresh' us. So gorgeous, the blooms, so tough and guarding, it's form of leaves.
O.K., despite the lyrics, I'm still here on earth, a poet with a German name (they came over before the War of the American Revolution), but I'm 75% Celtic by documented heritage. That probably explains the poem, Irises. All the best, Don.
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Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen