Flowers Drifting by the Minute by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art

Flowers Drifting by the Minute by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art

flowers of length,
flowers of breadth,
flowers of importance.
where are the ants
and the ocean
to march against time
and the waves and water trenches.
Ending and beginning on that expensive dime.
Which dime?
The one for the payphone
and the radio
that used to be.
That was the situation
of arbitration
and the expedition.
that is what was used
and we paid for those with those barrels.
Those are not folklore.
Remember our walks to get to one?
That yellow button.
No matter the direction or position of the sun
one could depend on those
to show up on the shore of rocks
for the communication.
It was not a hose or the banana telephone
that said nothing but static
from ear to ear,
person to person but it was hard to hear.
We always had to listen for the end result
that was completely wrong,
but was expected and condoned
for the next rodeo and time slot.
What is the next flower?
Drifting away each minute
through the spinning, cold dust,
Walking in the neighborhood
and at the park.
Haircuts of sabotage.
Shopping trips for cans and ice melt.
Pumpkin pie with no sugar or oven.
Is that a stye in your eye?
Actually, it is in mine, next to the ice sickle
Oh, that car! Please make it shine.
Oh, that garage door!
Now its automatic,
just unlike the ship door that opened manually with that crank, blue.
Now we cannot be sick.
Oh, this ring
to make it sing,
and that shawl of compassion that was frozen.
Didn’t we have a ball under that tree?
It was soon to be
that whale mountain
torn down and lifted out
so that the country could have a spout.
Since it never would rain
we tossed it out, along with
the baleen mesh.
All of those flowers drifting by
one by one through that fat oil.
Is that someone’s sun?
Yes, just a different version of waves down under.
Well, it’s all told on the television
about all of the woes and shoes that tap,
and too much false ecstasy that never brought us a meat stick.
Is that a flower?
No, a situation of confusion about the color of oil…
that needs arbitration.
When or where is the question of the ocean.

I wrote this thinking of the art that I had done with my dog, Baby. I had originally called it Leaf Head because I had added leaves to the top of her head, but I realized after that, that name had already been taken, and I had forgotten to check on that. So, I added some flowers instead and renamed it Flowers Drifting by the minute. I wrote this poem reflecting on past situations of myself or others could have been in, and how sometimes we can wish that we were out of those situations, but one can never know how long they will last and then they are gone forever. Yesterday is gone forever, we will never get it back. Flowers Drifting by the Minute by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art