20 May 2014

Green Green


Where the grass is greener, it’s painted on,
when flowers last longer, they drank poison
but you can’t tell him anything, he’s got
to go and make his own discoveries.
He leaves heaven or hell, depending on
who’s friend or boss or bully of moment.

You prepare a feast made of ripe clover, key
lime pie and gumdrops, salad and mint teas
and pray he is the prodigal return
like seasons, sun, delight and Christ, the fruits
of harvest seeds forever sacrificed
to rise and fall again, both green and brown.

First town then city, sea and outer space
migrate with birds, come home to this your place.




Posted for my prompt Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Green which will open Wednesday at 7 AM EST.

Copyright © 2014  S.L.Chast



19 comments:

Kay L. Davies said...

"but you can’t tell him anything, he’s got
to go and make his own discoveries"
These are the lines to which I relate today, having failed to get my point across to my newly-widowed niece last night. Her wedding anniversary is this week, and she planned to scatter his ashes on that day. Last night the horror of it all hit her, hard, and she wants to run away from everything. She has stopped seeing her grief counsellor, even though he was very helpful, and now she has no anchor except Auntie Kay the width of two provinces away.
And today Dick and I should be celebrating our wedding anniversary, which I had managed to forget simply by not remembering when and where we are (jet lag).
Fortunately, my sister-in-law remembers all birthdays and anniversaries. And my young sister-in-law, her mother, and my soon-to-be-13 niece return from France tomorrow.
Life goes on for my youngest niece, but it doesn't seem that way to the eldest one.
Sigh.
So...you asked for responses, associations, etc. Poor Susan to get one from me!
Love, K

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Poor girl, Kay, poor girl. Thank God she has an Auntie Kay. Susan, this poem is full of truths. I love the meter and the "come home to this your place". Cool!

Victoria said...

This is a heart-rending letting-go that so many go through as their children move on, make poor decisions. You put in in the mind of the Father...

Sumana Roy said...

the call doesn't reach the ear that's got to go and make his own discoveries...love the comparisons in the second stanza...

Jae Rose said...

I love the imagery..almost like a fairy tale..although hopefully not a grim(m) ending..one where wings are spread and loved ones come safely home to that green green grass..

Kathryn Dyche said...

The letting go, letting them make their own mistakes and the waiting to see them come home. Beautiful write.

avalon said...

multi-coloured emotions tripping off your pen
mystery and no need to share more, the feelings are raw and brave and wise.
the structure is so....so grown up. I mean accomplished. Like poetry for real as it should be. Not just playing at it. Like mine mostly. And I can't even put my finger on it what gives it that air.

Laurie Kolp said...

It's sad watching others make that discovery, that the grass is not greener on the other side. I love this poem, Susan (and my favorite dessert is Key Lime Pie).

Brian Miller said...

i love key lime pie
its hard to let them go, to let them learn on their own
but they have to if they are going to survive...we can not save
them from everything...

alan1704 said...

There is more to heaven and earth than what we see and feel. I love the way you create a vivid world with your words,

Mary said...

Whew, Susan.....strong message in your words here. When grass is greener, it is painted on. I fear you are correct in that assumption. So much green these days is fakery. Also sad about the flowers....living longer because of unnatural substances ingested. So much is green is a false kind of green... But then we all hope that the prodigal will return; and sometimes he does.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Beautifully written and poignant.

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...

Susan,

Love the arrogance of the 'one who knows all,' but sadly in his tracks, he is destroying everything he touches. Those who need not be told; indeed, a prodigal son, of varying types.
Love this reality Susan, so well impressed by your poem.

Eileen

Nicholas said...

Susan, this to me is a mystical piece and what I could get from it is a mom preparing a meal for her son. She loves her son and reveres him as a prodigy like the Christ. hahaha...your piece is a mystery. But I love the words you used: a religious delight!

Anonymous said...

Oh, I like the description of the feast. Actually...all of it. It's hard to say a favorite line. So well done!

Anonymous said...

Oh, not sure my commenting is working...I tried and it disappeared. I do run into that occasionally. :( Anyway...LOVED this. So many well-written lines I can't pick a favorite!

humbird said...

Ah, this killing truth of first lines, especially the second one...nothing lasts forever...if we're longing for someone's return...there has to be marked invisible spiritual journey pleasant for both ahead....~ thanks for your inspiring poem full of air...

Gabriella said...

Interesting contrast between the first two stanzas. I like the hopeful tone of the second one.

Anonymous said...

Well said, with the hint of a fable.