I find there’s something enormously powerful about flowers if one takes time to look at them closely.
“Tulips shyly smiling, greet the spring
Tightly closed when at
First we meet
Tulips slowly opening, begin to sing
No longer shy, as days grow longer,
Raising their heads
They begin to flirt
Tulips dressed in many a color
Each floral skirt
Tulips, brazen painted hussies,
Part their bright lips trying to seduce
The busy buzzing bees
Far too bold for dainty tussies
Vibrant Tulip flowers produce
Visions certain to please “
Let’s start with a formal portrait of a young man who calls himself Odz Nens. He has set up his typewriter and chair near Boston’s Frog Pond.
He creates poems for passersby on any subject of their choosing. Currently his entire income comes from this endeavor.
He’s a gentle, pensive guy. He told me many cities have street poets. Boston has a few. New Orleans has the most.
I asked him for a poem about street photography.
Here It Is:
what eye wants. I’d like to say the story’s on the street,
though I’ve turned down
many a blind alley.
Industry anoints the street with oil.
anoints the street with
a halo unseen.
When the puddles froze over
in New Orleans
passersby took pictures
as if they were the moon.
“The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate Of minted Holiness”