This is the blog for the poetry journal O Sweet Flowery Roses. Russell Jaffe writes it the way he is writing this 3rd person right now. The journal is osweetfloweryroses.com
Monday, February 23, 2009
Featured Poet: James Dye
The woman is a beautiful virgin,
the loneliest in all of the land.
Her hair flows down the mountain
reaches the beaches and the sand.
Her cheeks are ornaments, her neck a string.
For the director; the song "Lilies" she'll sing.
Like jewels, eyes veiled like doves in the skies.
A full moon shines off the brightness of her eyes.
Sandaled feet travel down the path from Village. She
fills jugs with precious water pillaged from an earthen tower.
Beloved turns, tends to a fig tree, waters it and returns
to the heart of a dying valley, waters and returns.
Evil Eyes tend to her lovely figure.
Jealous woman despise to disfigure,
her gemstone thighs, put a blemish in her eyes.
And how lovely, O love, that men will kill to steal
for a look behind the silken veil at her will.
Why is she any better? The fig tree blossoms
give off her fragrance. The flowers wither as
she's picked quickly, swallowed, overcome with wine.
The land is invaded by Pagans and ring-nosed swine.
She is wise but they are harsh,
evil. Silver and gold acquires
her sensual delight, a slave in
harem, a concubine, in plight.
Beloved turns and tosses day at night.
They make pinnacles out of her gems,
gateways out of her beryl and her stones
become a wall, the most beautiful
property in the land of them all.
"Arise and come away with me!" says Knight.
She gives herself into his hands, stripped.
Becomes the King's nurse and serves him.
Follows the path of flocks, and herds men.
For the director; she sings the tune of,
"Lilies" a love song. A heart is stirred.
She is given Zion, the most beautiful of words.
A fair garland; crowned, as awe inspiring as armies.
Men from all around come to see her, a diadem of remnants,
and they feast on the finest flour, silken honey, every hour
adorned in gold, clothed in the embroidery of royalty.
“Wake up! Wake up! Zion is doomed to destruction.
The dress, the jewels, the gold, eye shadow, nothing,”
someone told her. The lover spurns her, wants to kill her.
The tree is set on fire. It blazes with a mighty roar.
The branches are good for nothing. The land is ruined.
Trampled into desolate wastes, swarmed by stinging flies,
her chambers are destroyed, pavilions tore down, her eyes.
Her tears say, "I am perfectly beautiful." Her roots dig deeply
down to plentiful waters. Her branches are a forest of shade.
Top reaches the clouds. The trees envy; hear but don't listen
