Wow, Holly! This is such a beautiful, moving poem. I just keep thinking: what a wonderful, strange, and incredible mystery we are all participating in. That 'in-between' is such a complex place to be.
Though there is such complexity within our every experience, there are, also, moments of simplicity that bring us to a place of awe. Sometimes what reveals is something which comes in the form of a daisy.
The photo of your daughter and the daisies is incredibly special and fits this poem so nicely!
The poignant textures and tones carried my Mind into the outstretching dimensions where God and Goddess sits contently with one another where they discuss the wisdom and might of dancing until both Life and Death no longer matters .....
What a pretty poem. I like the way it bounces around from childlike wonder into grave perception. I like the use of aster-oids and the question about grief posed. I think you've played a very fine melodic line and the tune came out beautifully! Well done!
Thank you so much for reading and sorry it has taken me so long to respond. I am glad you noticed the juxtaposition of the wonder vs. the more ominous.
Of course, I am always delighted to see the world and the work of others- I enjoy telling them what it is that I see as well in a non-opinionated manner. I hope you continue to enjoy the fragrance your life continues to flower.
If only our summers were endless. Holly, your writing always does a great job at delving into this so called Human Comedy we’re all players in. Wonderful poem!
Holly...the more closely I read this, the more I saw how completely the botanical language carries the grief.
An involucre is the surrounding structure that holds and protects the flower head. So when you describe yourself as “an involucre without the receptacle,” I felt the desolation of retaining the shape of holding after the center that once held everything together is gone.
What affected me most was the tension between preservation and life. You pick the wildflower because you want to keep it always, but once it is removed from the sun and placed inside the heart-shaped pocket, it cannot remain alive. Later, searching for certainty through “he loves me, he loves me not” pulls another flower apart petal by petal. In both moments, the attempt to hold or secure love becomes inseparable from its loss.
And Belide running from the God of the seasons deepens everything. She can become a daisy, but she cannot escape change. There can be no endless summer...however fiercely love wants to freeze what was once alive within it.
Your daughter beneath the poem made me realize this reaches beyond one relationship. To love anything within time is to know that it cannot remain as it is. Children grow. Flowers wither. Summers end. Memory becomes the fragile remnant of what the heart could not preserve.
You ask whether there is a bridge between grief and being free, but you do not force an answer. You leave us in the in-between with you...the involucre asking what will hold it together now.
This is intricate, intelligent, and deeply sorrowful work, Holly. I will be sitting with it for some time.
Holly...to feel seen is one of the greatest gifts writing can give us, and your poem invited that depth of attention. You placed so much meaning within every image. It was an honor to sit with it closely and discover what the flowers were carrying.
Thank you for trusting us with such beautiful and sorrowful work.
Holly, the involucre becomes the poem’s most painful question: what remains to hold a person together when love can no longer preserve what it touches. The recurring heart-shaped pocket, palm, florets, and memory trace a gradual loss of containment, each image carrying less of the beloved and more of the speaker’s exposure. Belide, falling petals, and your daughter among the daisies widen grief across myth, body, and generations without resolving it into release. Thank you for giving impermanence a botanical language precise enough to hold love, disillusionment, and the remnants that refuse to disappear.
Wow, Holly! This is such a beautiful, moving poem. I just keep thinking: what a wonderful, strange, and incredible mystery we are all participating in. That 'in-between' is such a complex place to be.
Though there is such complexity within our every experience, there are, also, moments of simplicity that bring us to a place of awe. Sometimes what reveals is something which comes in the form of a daisy.
The photo of your daughter and the daisies is incredibly special and fits this poem so nicely!
Many blessings and MUCH LOVE! ~Wendy💜
Amazing comment Wendy. Can’t thank you enough for giving me the warm fuzzies. Appreciate you reading. 🤍
The poignant textures and tones carried my Mind into the outstretching dimensions where God and Goddess sits contently with one another where they discuss the wisdom and might of dancing until both Life and Death no longer matters .....
Thank you so much for the beautiful comment, as usual, X23. I really appreciate you reading.
Gorgeous poem. Adorable pic of your daughter too. 💕🌸💕
Thank you, Grace. She is pretty cute.
What a pretty poem. I like the way it bounces around from childlike wonder into grave perception. I like the use of aster-oids and the question about grief posed. I think you've played a very fine melodic line and the tune came out beautifully! Well done!
Thank you so much for reading and sorry it has taken me so long to respond. I am glad you noticed the juxtaposition of the wonder vs. the more ominous.
Really appreciate you, Awe.
Of course, I am always delighted to see the world and the work of others- I enjoy telling them what it is that I see as well in a non-opinionated manner. I hope you continue to enjoy the fragrance your life continues to flower.
Beautiful poem Holly 💖
Thank you so much for reading, Darcy. :)
This is beautiful, Holly!
Thanks so much for reading ✨✨
If only our summers were endless. Holly, your writing always does a great job at delving into this so called Human Comedy we’re all players in. Wonderful poem!
If only...
Thanks for being here for me, as always, Christopher. Really appreciate it.
Holly...the more closely I read this, the more I saw how completely the botanical language carries the grief.
An involucre is the surrounding structure that holds and protects the flower head. So when you describe yourself as “an involucre without the receptacle,” I felt the desolation of retaining the shape of holding after the center that once held everything together is gone.
What affected me most was the tension between preservation and life. You pick the wildflower because you want to keep it always, but once it is removed from the sun and placed inside the heart-shaped pocket, it cannot remain alive. Later, searching for certainty through “he loves me, he loves me not” pulls another flower apart petal by petal. In both moments, the attempt to hold or secure love becomes inseparable from its loss.
And Belide running from the God of the seasons deepens everything. She can become a daisy, but she cannot escape change. There can be no endless summer...however fiercely love wants to freeze what was once alive within it.
Your daughter beneath the poem made me realize this reaches beyond one relationship. To love anything within time is to know that it cannot remain as it is. Children grow. Flowers wither. Summers end. Memory becomes the fragile remnant of what the heart could not preserve.
You ask whether there is a bridge between grief and being free, but you do not force an answer. You leave us in the in-between with you...the involucre asking what will hold it together now.
This is intricate, intelligent, and deeply sorrowful work, Holly. I will be sitting with it for some time.
You are killing me, Kevin. Thanks so much for the most profound comment and the deepest read.
I feel very seen. The best feeling.
Holly...to feel seen is one of the greatest gifts writing can give us, and your poem invited that depth of attention. You placed so much meaning within every image. It was an honor to sit with it closely and discover what the flowers were carrying.
Thank you for trusting us with such beautiful and sorrowful work.
This is quite soulful, Holly. The photo of your daughter, looked like a little Holly. Thank you for this poem ✨
She is pretty cute, isn't she? She captures the innocence of a daisy. Thank you for reading, Jo-Ann. Always appreciate you.
You’re welcome, Holly. How is Face? I haven’t seen a photo of that cutie pup in awhile
I posted a black and white of him the other day. He’s a cute little menace.
He truly is a cutie!
I absolutely love this poems. The metophors and photos, all of it. Well done as always!
Thanks so much for reading and for being a friend, Jane :)
Beautiful!!!
Thank you so much for reading, Steven. Appreciate you so much!
Powerful and visceral with the images of daisies and freshness coupled with the transient brilliance of the sun.
Thank you for getting it, Hamish. :)
Beautiful thoughts. Time, not waiting for any of us, but memories remain and become ideas for poetry and music. And maybe a painting…
Yes, not waiting for any of us. We must appreciate in the moment.
Thanks for always reading, LS. Appreciate you :)
If we could only freeze time... we cannot. So better to keep working on freeing ourselves so we do not freeze. Love to you today. xo
So true. And thank you for reading and for being here, Danni :)
This is so so beautiful 🤍🤍💛
Thank you for reading, Willow. Appreciate you.
Holly, the involucre becomes the poem’s most painful question: what remains to hold a person together when love can no longer preserve what it touches. The recurring heart-shaped pocket, palm, florets, and memory trace a gradual loss of containment, each image carrying less of the beloved and more of the speaker’s exposure. Belide, falling petals, and your daughter among the daisies widen grief across myth, body, and generations without resolving it into release. Thank you for giving impermanence a botanical language precise enough to hold love, disillusionment, and the remnants that refuse to disappear.
Thanks for the profound comments, as usual, Kevin :) Appreciate you.