Write me a poem
of love and hate,
of ugly things
that glow within
the hot coal grate
of empathy,
breathtaking beauty,
nurtured in a furnace
of self respect
and mutual regard,
nothing twisted
or circumspect,
cast, sincere intent,
forged true and pure
on an anvil of stone,
a rock of ages
to withstand the blows
of life’s misfortunes,
fate and foes,
aligned, combined
to blight the rose
that blooms with hope
‘fore winter froze
aspiration’s bulb
in comfort grows
earth cocooned,
to blossom, sown.

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3 thoughts on “Bloom

  1. Hi Dermott, I like the rhythm and the pace. The “anvil of rock” not so much. Rocks crack and break and are unsuited to the forge. I’m not trying to be a pedant, just commenting on what jarred a little with me. Real criticism I reserve for myself, as in, I’m not writing at present. Please give me a fat kick in the bum as I MUST get cracking again. Thanks for sharing and keep it coming. I enjoy your writing. A Lot! P

    • Funny you should say that. I try to be as careful as I can with words, all poets do. So I found a website, a Blacksmiths Glossary (http://blacksmiths.mygenwebs.com/_glossary.php) which states, under anvil, A heavy metal working piece on which metal objects are hammered or forged. In ancient times anvils were made of stone. So I chose ‘stone’ for it’s rhyming quality but also to give the image a greater sense of permanence and age. Thanks for reading it and I hope that answers your question. There are more words from the Blacksmiths Glossary in the poem.

      • Thanks for clearing that up for me, Dermott. Now I’ve achieved something that I set out for every day and that is to learn something new. I’m very impressed by the lengths to which you go to ensure context. Thanks too for the link. I’m going off there today. Stay well, Peter

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