, , ,

I turned 33 last New Year’s Eve. Among the greetings and well-wishes I received was this poem by friend and fellow blogger, the beautiful Ashley Laframboise. It was such an honor to see my life passions described by someone with such an amazing relationship with words, and more so, by someone whom I know to live so intensely and freely.

I have reproduced the poem here with her permission.

Beautiful Iris. I wanted to send you flowers for your birthday… consider this poem a bunch of wild ones…

Bouquet of balladry, potted poetry, your heart
in a stained glass vase, and all of your
wildness, your untameable soul
radiates all the way across the border,
settles like snow on midnight woods,
and all of your shooting words
skate on the icy rings around the moon,
wrapping heavy white pines in the warmth
of exhaling.
Eyelashes thaw in this kind of cold,
leaving frosty patterns all over your pupils:
the colour of piercing through the flimsy veils and
half-concealed brave faces, all that vulnerability
people pretend not to exude–you
are drawn to it like nectar,
finding the words that fit.
Weaver of rhythm and new ways
of pairing syllables and syntax, rearranged lines,
your endings always leave me
with a trowel through my chest–
digging up and planting perennials
before even the Hunger Moon strikes,
or the sun returns, or the last of the blowing snows fall.

(You can find more poems by Ashley at her WordPress blog.
She also has a book of compiled poems on Amazon.)

“The Writer” by photographer Laurent Dufour