Iris

Vincent Van Gogh

Irises

Iris

What is it about irises

in the garden

whether blue flag or yellow,

deep purple, white with red

why do they catch the attention, the imagination

more than lesser blooms?

A certain allure

that Georgia O’Keeffe didn’t taint

a beauty that draws you in

to ponder and marvel on

a delicacy that is real

but a perennial that wears well

the seasons in New England too

bitter cold and short summers

a herald for the Spring

whether in bog or flower bed

~ Raymond A. Foss ~

The garden with its little gate of green

The garden with its little gate of green

The garden with its little gate of green,
Invites you to enter, and view mysteries unseen,
Its vine laden bowers and overhanging trees,
The air filled with sweetness, the hum of the bees,
The flagged walks with Iris galore,
Of most beautiful coloring, unknown before,
Pink, white, purple, yellow, azure blue,
Mixed and mingled of every hue,
You come away wondering, can more beauty be seen
Than in the garden with its little gate of green.

~ Unknown ~

Iris

Christian Schad

Im Irisgarten

Iris

White Iris, how pure, how lovely,

Like a virgin

In her starched lawn fete dress

Iris, pallid blue, gold veined,

And as if coloured from dawn chills,

Or from the yellow-fingered touching

Of curious starlight

Purple Iris,

Streaked with amethystine memories of the night,

Health-glossed and firm are those ripe wings

Of Oriental butterflies

So in my garden

Undulating ranks of Iris,

Slimly holding their broad flat blooms

(Like tripods of incense)

Aloft towards the moist spearing

Of morning sunlight.

~ Michael Strange ~

The Wild Iris

Georgia O’’Keeffe

Black Iris Number Two

Georgia O’’Keeffe

Light Iris

Georgia O’’KeeffeDark

Dark Iris Number Two

The Wild Iris

At the end of my suffering

there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death

I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.

Then nothing. The weak sun

flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive

as consciousness

buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being

a soul and unable

to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth

bending a little. And what I took to be

birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember

passage from the other world

I tell you I could speak again: whatever

returns from oblivion returns

to find a voice:

from the center of my life came

a great fountain, deep blue

shadows on azure sea water.

~ Louise Glück ~