Here among the sacrificed
The beautiful and the yellowed
Still grow the roses
They are growing alright,
In back alleys and down railroad ballast
Forget-me-nots, there are forget-me-nots
Growing behind red brick walled dive bars
Wilting over late autumn versions of the blues
Here among the abandoned
The lonely and the blue eyes
Still grow the roses
There are roses in Old Weller bottles
Daffodils in bar pint glasses
There are cracked seeds
Caked on the bottoms of hiking boots
Pacing downtown streets looking for
Forget-me-nots and roses
Primroses
In smiles and chapped lips….
It’s a sad one, a bittersweet poem… loneliness and
forget-me-nots… I think it might have been a poem to Denver as much as it was
to anyone in particular. I just
finished revising it. Its one of
those I revisit again and again, at least the first stanza is something I have
used and abused again and again, its one of my favorite beginnings to a poem I
have come up with… one I will always come back to. I like this version, there are other versions that are up
there, but this one I keep revising hoping to one day reach perfection, maybe
my place in the breath of poetry’s influence on peoples imagination and
ears. Who knows…
Solidarity fellow workers, ride free, ride fast, live slowly
and with purpose.
Your faithful Muskrat.