Orchid Poem Quotes

Don't compare her to sunshine and roses when she's clearly orchids and moonlight.

Scatter as a prayer escaping my lips... as orchids blooming in clouds.

I didn't want to wait on my knees In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then Finally toward that ecstatic light. I didn't want to believe What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go, Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Back into our blinding, bright lives.

You're Beautiful Like the green romance of a bud and lily's pink, gentle sway. You: more beautiful than yesterday. Wildflower's blue surprise. Daisy's white, sunny play. You're more beautiful than yesterday. Orchid's purple mystery Mum's bronze ole` You: more beautiful than yesterday. Rose's orange perfume, even tulip's yellow secrets say: You're more beautiful that yesterday. Poppy's red, teasing lips, but YOUR beauty will never fade. You: more lovely than yesterday, You: my dazzling bouquet.

When I had the third breakdown, the mini-breakdown, I was in the late stages of writing this book. Since I could not cope with communication of any kind during that period, I put an auto-response message on my E-mail that said I was temporarily unreachable, and a similar message on my answering machine. Acquaintances who had suffered depression knew what to make of these outgoing messages. They wasted no time. I had dozens and dozens of calls from people offering whatever they could offer and doing it glowingly. “I will come to stay the minute you call,” wrote Laura Anderson, who also sent a wild profusion of orchids, “and I’ll stay as long as it takes you to get better. If you’d prefer, you are of course always welcome here; if you need to move in for a year, I’ll be here for you. I hope you know that I will always be here for you.” Claudia Weaver wrote with questions: “Is it better for you to have someone check in with you every day or are the messages too much of a burden? If they are a burden, you needn’t answer this one, but whatever you need—just call me, anytime, day or night.” Angel Starkey called often from the pay phone at her hospital to see if I was okay. “I don’t know what you need,” she said, “but I’m worrying about you all the time. Please take care of yourself. Come and see me if you’re feeling really bad, anytime. I’d really like to see you. If you need anything, I’ll try to get it for you. Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.” Frank Rusakoff wrote me a remarkable letter and reminded me about the precious quality of hope. “I long for news that you are well and off on another adventure,” he wrote, and signed the letter, “Your friend, Frank.” I had felt committed in many ways to all these people, but the spontaneous outpouring astounded me. Tina Sonego said she’d call in sick for work if I needed her—or that she’d buy me a ticket and take me to someplace relaxing. “I’m a good cook too,” she told me. Janet Benshoof dropped by the house with daffodils and optimistic lines from favorite poems written in her clear hand and a bag so she could come sleep on my sofa, just so I wouldn’t be alone. It was an astonishing responsiveness.

for your fine sense of belonging your soft heart and kind hands will take you home to where you truly belong

when you invite someone in the problem is that not everyone who enters is there to admire but to acquire that’s why cats have claws and why roses grow thorns because sad as it is we live in a world where love does not equal love

i tend to speak as if all i want to do is leave but in truth what i pray for in the night is peace

it matters who holds you who supports you who welcomes you home even when you’ve been gone for too long

if there is a person that makes you want to get up and try again even if the odds are against your very existence stay there and never let go

soft to every loving touch but not as unable to protect itself from those only seeking to possess

sometimes the right place is a person

this is when i realized home is about connection the feeling of being softly held and sometimes you can only find that in a person not a place

Orchids, I gave in the mid Summer, he wished for my poem.

Art is husbandry, I thought. It is an experiment in imaginary kinship. Bring together this mare and this stallion; this marriage and this moon; this sun and this daughter. Poems, paintings, pop songs, choreographies-all are collisions of associations, associations deliberately and also unforeseeably formed. One attempts to manage the consequences. To mitigate the damage. I know that ''moon'' evokes roundness, whiteness, coolness, night. I might not know the way it reminds you of orchids, or miscarriage, or of Victoria, British Columbia. But no, perhaps I could predict orchids. Perhaps ''orchids'' and ''moon'' seem to vibrate on the same frequency to me too, something ineffable and strong. So perhaps I put them in a poem together. Perhaps I put ''roundness'' and ''whiteness'' and ''orchids'' in a poem together, omitting ''moon." Perhaps I let these gravities work on one another, an invisible web catching meanings in it. All of this, any of this: perhaps. I may choose any word to place beside the preceding word; a painter may choose any stroke. I test the water for salinity. I listen for what goes bump with the night.

For mystery hath lordship here, and ye Seem spirit-flowers born to startle man With intimations of eternity And hint of what the flowers of Heaven may be.