I r i s S o c i e t y o f A u s t i n
Poems by Dana Lovvorn
Musings Before the First Cup of Coffee
Mist lingers over the river today.
Louisiana irises lean across
the edge of the water,
Their deep violet falls somber blots of color
amid limestone and chill gray air.
Do they mourn the passage of a funeral cortege
down the river soon?
Or do they rise in stoic grief
for the passing of the river itself?
Fey visions created by the timeless blooms
Images gone with the brightening of dawn.
Samurai Warrior
An iris seems a beautiful thing,
yet not thing
an organic flaunt
against time, soil, rain,
wind, and temperature.
Its corm dusted in sulphur,
arthritic strings of roots
grip clay tenaciously
on gray days
against gray fences.
It awaits patiently,
sometimes years,
for its revenge
in such a poor place.
Green smooth blades
raise defiantly.
Buds unfurl slowly,
millimeters per day.
When one has almost
despaired, that the bud
will rot–
Blood red in the humid air
Samurai sways in
triumph through time.
9-15-90
Mist lingers over the river today.
Louisiana irises lean across
the edge of the water,
Their deep violet falls somber blots of color
amid limestone and chill gray air.
Do they mourn the passage of a funeral cortege
down the river soon?
Or do they rise in stoic grief
for the passing of the river itself?
Fey visions created by the timeless blooms
Images gone with the brightening of dawn.
Samurai Warrior
An iris seems a beautiful thing,
yet not thing
an organic flaunt
against time, soil, rain,
wind, and temperature.
Its corm dusted in sulphur,
arthritic strings of roots
grip clay tenaciously
on gray days
against gray fences.
It awaits patiently,
sometimes years,
for its revenge
in such a poor place.
Green smooth blades
raise defiantly.
Buds unfurl slowly,
millimeters per day.
When one has almost
despaired, that the bud
will rot–
Blood red in the humid air
Samurai sways in
triumph through time.
9-15-90