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Poem for the Magnolias
Magnolia flowers are opening their raw and awkward hearts as if they
are about to confess to
Before magnolia flowers, it was the time of fat, bruised buds; all the
cats in Hove Park Road
It’s raining. I’m lat for work, frustrated. I must be more
like the magnolia.
The way their petals swell all-at-once, then over-extended for life.
Is it the curve on magnolia petals that makes the notes of ring doves
so round, or vice-versa?
Every day, on my way to the wine store, I see the magnolias; pleasure
more exquisite than
tea-break, or stealing a pack of Marlboros.
A magnolia blooms. The sea is calmed: fish throw themselves onto hooks.
When a magnolia flower unfurls it lets go a cry inaudible to humans.
There should be wine made from magnolia petals, to be drunk chilled
with quail’seggs &
salmon, or duck à la pêche with waterchestnuts.
The rain-smudged bark of the magnolia, petals scattered like bulb-lit
windows in a dark street.
Today, both the sun & moon tried to imitate a magnolia flower.
Now the magnolias have blossomed, summer can continue. Dr. Dossiter
may go on vacation,
White can quite worrying about squash.
A magnolia flower opens in the middle of the evening; electricity flickers
on & off.
On my way to work I remember to take the magnolias. That evening I’m
£up on my till.
Steel-black woodlice gathering on a magnolia branch, & the roseate
moonlight shining on
Magnolia petals say white, but they mean pink.
The Botanical History of Sussex by Gerald Legg does not include
the cultivation of magnolias;
do not mind, confident of the influence they have.
I can hear laughter coming from the magnolias.
A magnolia flower awakens, taking stock of its whereabouts, careful
not to speak too harshly.
These four trees have bloomed together, democratically. When they vote,
they all vote for
A magnolia bud, its aperture of petals unwinding.
The petals of the magnolia are simple, lucid, spontaneous, occurring.
Intent on crushing the cabbage butterfly, I thought of a magnolia petal
come alive, & let it go.