|Iris 'Bold Print' 12 May 2023|
Sleeping Flowers- Emily Dickinson
Whose are the little beds," I asked,
"Which in the valleys lie?"
Some shook their heads, and others smiled,
And no one made reply.
"Perhaps they did not hear," I said;
"I will inquire again.
Whose are the beds, the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?"
"'T is daisy in the shortest;
A little farther on,
Nearest the door to wake the first,
"'T is iris, sir, and aster,
Anemone and bell,
Batschia in the blanket red,
And chubby daffodil."
Meanwhile at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied,
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.
"Hush! Epigea wakens! —
The crocus stirs her lids,
Rhodora's cheek is crimson, —
She's dreaming of the woods."
Then, turning from them, reverent,
"Their bed-time 't is," she said;
"The bumble-bees will wake them
When April woods are red."
In our Athlone in Kerrisdale garden my Rosemary banned Iris germanicus (bearded iris) but tolerated the yellow flag iris (Iris pseudacorus growing in our pond. She liked anything blue. So we had lots of blue irises.
This iris bloomed on 12 May 2023 but I have no memory if I bought it after or before Rosemary died.
These days I try to be distracted so as to try not to think of my missing love so I put special emphasis in scanning Iris ‘Bold Print’ in five different ways.
Iris as a person’s name reminds me that I met two women named Iris in my past life and both were in Argentina. I had an aunt Iris Hayward who was married to my father’s youngest brother Freddy. Iris pronounced her name Argentine style “Eerees”. While doing my military service in Argentina I liked to visit Freddy and Iris in their home in Acassuso because Aunt Iris made the best devilled ham I have ever had.
The other Iris (also pronounced the Argentine way was
Iris Moretta. They were from the Philippines and her family was very large. There were 8 of them. The men were named after biblical angels and the women were all flowers.
More Emily Dickinson
November left then clambered up
You cannot make remembrance grow
the maple wears a gayer scarf
Just as green and as white
It's full as opera
I cannot dance upon my Toes
a door just opened on the street
Amber slips away
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue
Linda Melsted - the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash
Water makes many beds
The viola da gamba
But sequence ravelled out of reach
A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
Without the power to die
Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
I took my power in my hand
I find my feet have further goals
I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone!
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red
Me-come! My dazzled face
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts