We Wait for Guests to Arrive with Profane Chatter

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The peonies are still and not quite still.

The lack of sunlight breath of breeze gives blush

To beauty.  Slightest petal pinkish frill

Is left unmoved.  This springtime day spreads flush

With moveless hush.  These brides of silence move

The eye because they do not move.  They rest without

Desire to move.  Their silences disprove

The need for music.  Silences can shout.

The blossoms wait in patience, need no groom

Disturbance.  They are perfect in their place.

They show a noteless quietness may bloom

In silent symphonies of silent grace.

  They grow so slowly that we cannot hear

    Their —  swelling — and —  no dewdrop is a tear.

©  Phillip Whidden