Daisies

The person sitting next to me is doodling.  Small little flowers.  Each with five petals and a small circle in the middle.  They are begging for color. Yellow.  Or a shade of bright pink.  The flowers--are they daisies?--are asking to be freed from the page, to grow wild, fall to the floor and replace the carpet with hundreds of petals.  They long to push toward the horizon and relieve the lack of concentration, the boredom that comes from meetings like these.  Where can I find such flora, life that consumes the observer and settles things?

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: Poem Fix

Consider the Bougainvillea

Consider the bougainvillea's
Unrivaled ironic beauty.
The thorny vine bursts with green leaves and
Wafer thin purple blossoms.
Lovely, splashed from palette,
Growing tall and too heavy,
Weighted, arcing over trellis and
Invading neighbors.
But the paper flowers,
Gentle, baroque,
Do not cling long or tightly to their woody hosts.
A slight wind or brush will loosen them,
Snapping silently,
Twirling to the ground,
Blown about into families of magenta,
Skipping into waiting water and pools,
Floating like lilies.
Absorbing chemicals,
The colorful bracts bleed their pigment,
Turning pale white,
Invisible,
Invading skimmers and filters,
Sticking to tiles,
Causing unceasing
Ugliness and havoc.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo by User:Mattes