My daffodils
have made a poor choice.
By ignoring the bird bath
low to their heads
they have invited death.
Inch by stubborn inch
the stems push upward
smashing golden heads.
Bridget Harwell
1 comment:
Aileen
said...
What a whooossshh of energy I felt on reading the last line -- the combination of smashing and golden and heads -- I don't think you could pack more into a single line. I love the short terse sentences. And the word "invited" -- not certain, but possible -- and the words "stubborn" and "push". I feel an energy moving forward through the whole poem, and it would all be about some general situation except for your title. Bam. Suddenly the meaning falls into place, and the word golden echoes back. I call this poem pure perfection.
1 comment:
What a whooossshh of energy I felt on reading the last line -- the combination of smashing and golden and heads -- I don't think you could pack more into a single line. I love the short terse sentences. And the word "invited" -- not certain, but possible -- and the words "stubborn" and "push". I feel an energy moving forward through the whole poem, and it would all be about some general situation except for your title. Bam. Suddenly the meaning falls into place, and the word golden echoes back. I call this poem pure perfection.
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