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Posts Tagged ‘lilac’

On the Night I Learn (Again) We Are Doomed

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on May 30, 2023| 18 Comments »


 
 
And if it isn’t deep sea mining
it is drought, and if not drought,
it will be mobs incited by memes,
and if it’s not mobs it will be
our own fear. And
the lilacs that have been here
for a hundred years are blooming
more beautifully tonight
than I have ever seen them,
every branch heavy
with sweet purple blooms.
It is all falling apart, love.
That’s what the river sings
as it carves the canyon,
as it breaks down the boulders,
as it carries the detritus, the logs.
Just tonight I heard an estimated
eighty years left for humanity.
Still, tonight the scent of lilacs
meets us with faithful beauty
and an old song of spring
rises on the lips.
How is it, despite the trouble,
I feel so much love
for this disappearing world,
so much love for this doomed race
as I begin to sing.
 

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One Hopeful

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 17, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

late-blooming lilac—

perhaps we, too, have something

marvelous about to flourish

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Oh This Anger

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 3, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

 

On the hill,

the lilacs bloom each spring,

a fleeting purple offering.

 

Why do I walk to them

with a question

about anger?

 

Their perfume pulls me closer,

bids me step in, bids me

breathe more deeply,

 

and I do. For a while,

I forget my seething, forget everything

except the many flowered blooms.

 

For a while, all that matters

is that I am one who stands beside lilacs,

steeped in the lilac world.

 

It becomes who I am,

though I know it won’t last.

There, says the lilac.

 

There is your answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One Deep Purple

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 2, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

old lilac bush

beside the highway

scent of one hundred springs

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Looking Back

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on May 13, 2012| 2 Comments »

When I think
of all that had to happen
to constellate this moment

in which I stand
beside the road
with my whole face

buried in the lilac bush
I almost weep
overcome by the pure

purple sweet of it all,
how perfect, how
unlikely it all is—

from the star exploding
to the first simple creature
pulling itself out of the sea

to the seed being planted
before my parents met
to the woman who is me

finding her way
to the shoulder of highway 145
where the sun has just set

and the bushes are heavy
with good perfume
and the air is still warm

and the stars are just
beginning to show
their old light.

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