Whatever the weather gods plan,
flowers always blossom.
Under sunlight, it’s a
lightening blast of colour
crawling through treacle pits.
Under cloud it’s a
slow unfurling of
black and white rain
in perfect silence.
And it’s always beautiful.
It’s a cloudy day
where waves of grey line the sky
and everything seems numbed and dull.
But the flowers still blossom,
but it’s not like the usual exploded
lightening blast of colour rippling through treacle.
It’s more like a slow turning
projector unfurling Buster Keaton’s train ride
on a screen made of cloud grey grass.
And both instances are always beautiful.
Image number one found here: http://vintagechampagnefever.tumblr.com/post/31623568768/buster-keaton-comes-armed-with-flowers
Image number two found here: http://mythicalmonkey.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/silent-oscars-1917.html
I prefer the second poem, if that counts for anything.