“All Too Short a Date”: A Sonnet Sequence about Peonies

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1  Peonies, Agamemnon, and the Iliad

The peonies hold on in night-time dark.

They fade and slacken to another kind

Of loveliness.  They do not know the stark

Fate bearing down on them.  Their pinks are blind,

As blind as Homer in the palace of

A king condemned by earthquake, singing still.

What matter death and blindness?  Still above

Them are the song and petals with a frill.

A night or tremor will destroy the king,

His royal keep, and petals.  They all fall.

Yet now, just now, the petals will not wing

Their way to dirt.  Death’s silence won’t appall

The song yet.  It lives on across the years,

Allied with life and music of the spheres.

………………………………Dying peony

2              Easter Peonies

Pink peonies are dying.  Only those
Most hidden in the shades from one near bush
Hold on to sturdy hope, to lingering rose
Determination not to wilt. These push
With frilled resistance, blowse-like guimpes, against
That insubstantial thing called death.  They take
The final stand, their beauty more condensed
Than ever now that they, frills and all, make
Ultimate decisions not to die.  Yet
They will.  And, yes, their flimsiness full well
Discerns their fate and this is why they get
Their seed pods ready near their hearts to swell
Up later into life, hearts darker pink,
So dark, so deep that it can never sink.

3            Sheer Vanity

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It isn’t just a little happy face,

This flower, though fat and happy this one is.

Because of gorgeousness and grinning grace,

It glories in its cheerfulness.  “Gee Whiz!”

It gurgles with its prettiness.  “Ain’t I

The sauciest girl your garden’s ever seen?

There isn’t any room for you to sigh

Like some pathetic poet.  I’m the queen

Of frilly fun!  Come on!  Don’t you agree?”

He finds that he can only laugh and smirk

At cheekiness’s silly filigree,

“She’s such an egocentric piece of work!”

..He has a troubled thought, but,  with a pause,

….He snips with sheers and puts her in a vase.

4  Embracing Dooms for His Regret

The peonies’ white petals fallen on

The garden ground instruct these two

To part.  The period for their love has gone.

Just one of them attempts a passage through

The muted condemnation of the flowers.

The other turns his face away and turns

Toward a gate they did not enter.  Powers

Above  them hinder.  Still the other yearns.

The one walks through the passage to a yet

More troubled maze with foreign mountain heights

And walls like cliffs.  The alpine paths regret

No losses left, diverting from love’s rites.

..These other highlands and their city hide

….The sobbing arms.  Snares open to his stride.

5  Red Peony Petals Fallen on a White Windowsill

The fallen red lies still as it is weak

And strong.  The petals lie as still as prayer

By Buddha in serenity.  A Greek

Simplicity is called to mind.  An air

Of Classicism rules the scene, restrained.

Yet scarlet does not lend itself to calm.

Romanticism enters hotly stained.

We sense a spiritual upraised palm

Containing both Nirvana in the Buddha’s hand

And nail holes bleeding from a cross.  At peace

The petals of the peony are bland,

Because of death, but not. Divisions cease.

..A marble statue wearing only white

….Contains inside it carmine candlelight.

6  Rectitude and Beauty

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Matthew 6:28

The ant, a Puritan in black, moves right

Across the petal’s purity.  The black

One works, works, works.  The righteous worker, quite

The upright activist, upholds the knack

To do good stuff.  The peony instead

Toils not nor spins.  It meditates in white

And gold, both gold and white its peaceful spread,

Its innocence mild white, lacking-sin white.

The petals do not know what wrong is and

Surround a heart of gold.  The white and gold

Are rich and everything of good.  Bland

Black uprightness shouts righteousness like mold.

..No righteousness composed of work can place

….Itself as right against white works of grace.

7      Milele in His Temple

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The Beijing cat, a silvery chevron on

His head, between his ears, in fur as white

As whitest peony, the chevron drawn

As Chinese artists with a flourish might

Produce with conjuring brush, paraded round

His Beijing flat.  His white-furred tail brushed past

Bouquets of blossoms not as quite profound

As whitest lilies and carnations massed

In decorated vases with designs

Of beauty such as peonies.  The screens

Were gold and orange.  They  made the perfect shrines

For him, Milele.  One of them had scenes

With long-legged cranes to give him longer time

In life.  Their several lovelinesses rhyme.

8  Ten   Nine   Eight   Seven   Six   Five   Four   Three   Two   One   Ignition        Blast Up

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The cushion launch pads of the leaves and stems

Of bushes’ light up buds and buds—and each

Desires to open out its petaled gems.

This one is in its count down now to reach

Out, up, and full…and when it does, the skies

Will envy it because it aims to send

Out highest colors larger than its size.

It wants to send out auras and to spend

Them like auroras borealis wide

And waving, holy; also like the arc

Of rainbow bands  aspiring in their stride

Pastel but powering on to make their mark.

..Pale gorgeousness transparent is the aim

….Like pride’s perfume.  Young blossoms lay their claim.

9     Unfathomable in Meditation

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The peony made

Him measure it with his fan,

The daimyo’s fan.

~ Issa

[A haiku expanded by Phillip Whidden]

Some things are large.  Some things are larger yet.

One peony is glorious yet small.

Arrange it in a vase, in a duet,

With yet another flawless one, a tall

One on a longer stem, perfection grows.

Another is so huge it strains belief

Until an Oriental fan’s length shows

No doubt of doubled elegance.  A sheaf

Of blossoms magnifies perfection still

Again.  Above them through a window frame

The Milky Way sends out a starry frill

Across a vaster sky, a star-strewn flame.

..Beyond the peonies and stars aligned

…..Are depths and heights too large for all but mind.

10                    Insights

The pint-sized Jamie held his arms out wide

To show how big the peony had spread

Those petals.  “Big like this!” he smiled.  He tried

Hyperbole the first time.  He had shed

Mere factuality for larger truth.

Young Yank, he aimed for optimism’s strength.

He opted not to settle for uncouth

Litote.  Jamie used the largest length

His arms could muster to imply what hearts

Knew better than a ruler ever could.

He knew what all the bestest sober charts

Could never do.  He bestest understood.

..He opened arms.  He wanted to embrace

….The longest truths, as grinning as his face.

11    White Petals and Yellow Pollen

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This, then, the open face we wish that we

Could see throughout the universe, the pure,

The innocence are utter.  We would see

These everywhere, and use them as the cure

To threat of evil and of suffering.

The cleanest white of whites, a yellow, clear

As new cut diamonds, each buffering

Us everyone from pain, without the blear

Of slaughter everywhere.  A clearer gold

Like heaven’s holy streets this yellow shows

The way to.  Yellow like this wants to scold

Away the negatives.  Perfection glows.

..We witness creatures killing creatures, though,

….Uncountable the piling up of woe.

12              Withered Chances

When just a boy, he broke the beauty, broke

A peony.  Then later, decades on

He still remembered how he felt the choke

Of anger like the pain a marathon

Participant endures when he sustained

His father’s wrath.  It rankled still beyond

Just years.  Much longer than that race, it stained

His memories of the man despite the fond

Ways Papa would have treated him in love

So many times the growing boy forgot,

Most probably.  They should have been above

The sadder souvenir, that one-time blot.

..But now the older man is dead, the wan

….Heart wishes that the grudge had been withdrawn.

13      Sotōba’s  “bijin” Applied Not to a Perfect Confucian Man

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The peony adorns the bed, a piece

Of heaven settled down in earth.  The blooms

Themselves are heaven.  They are summer’s lease

Paid out by God and planted with the plumes

Of angel’s wings above the border, stems

And leaves, and all of these above the soil.

Dichotomies do not prevail.  The gems

Of petals, pistils, stamens do not toil

The way we gardeners do.  A man who views

A woman, beautiful though she may be,

Still knows that she could never quite suffuse

The scene with so much splendor.  God’s  decree

Has made the blossoms so. Archangels bowed

Their feathers, opened buds by heaven endowed.

14           Exquisite Conflation

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The peony, extravagant in red

Vermilion pigment dug from underground,

Is so extreme it is as if it bled,

This flower, from hell and shockingly is gowned

In paradoxic beauty.  It is now

As if bright devils dance above the green

Of life.  The pain from hell below should not allow

Such opulence in blooms, almost obscene

Exuberance.  Their mouths spit out a heat

Of molten gold and copper mixed, a flow

Which well explains the contradicting suite

Of colors, perfect for agony’s glow.

..When beauty is flamboyant like this,

….It naturally combines both ache and bliss.

15   Dual Supplication against Death

The flower burns its whitest white but not

Alone.  Beside it in the window glows

A candle in the evening air so taut

The flame burns on without a flicker.  Those

Who know the truth can see that light is light

In spirit even when the burning shines

From petals and not fire.  Before the night

Became too dark, the peony sent signs

Of glory to the gods it worships.  They

Have now replied in darker time with strength

To let it shed its aura slowly.  Splay

Of holiness is given lunar length.

..It prays beyond the candle pyre.  Each calms,

….Does not compete, while making Buddhist psalms.

16               Virginal

In dusk of night the moon begins to rise.

Enough of it invades the garden with

The light the peony desires.  The wise

One there succumbs to Oriental myth

And spreads white petals even further to

Embrace the gift the heavens offer. White

Adheres to white.  Though mild, the beams shine through

The flower’s softness.  Beauty comes in sleight

Of lunar hands.  The dusk then turns to dark.

The blossom wakes to night time love, to love

So gentle that, though piercing, leaves its mark

On top and through while thralling from above.

..The pallor of the moon is drawn in deep

.…But first it was espoused in twilight sleep.

17          Vicars of Esthetics

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Triangular like God the flowers are shown

Against a boring green of lawn.  Arrayed

In righteous revelation now full blown

Their holiness of beauty spreads, displayed

Like perfect white’s epiphany.  The saints

Of every Trinitarian belief

Search carefully to see if there are taints

In them, and then adore them like O’Keefe

When purity is proved.  From other creeds,

The Sufis, Jews, the Hindus, pagans, lose

Their holy men, saved abbots counting beads

Before this triune scene.  None can refuse.

..This floral sanctity makes neck and knee

….To bend before the solemn, sacred three.

18              No Divisions

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  Tokonama no

Botan no yami ya

    Hototogisu

               ~ Shiki

The darkness of the alcove

   Where the peonies are;

       A hototogisu sings.

Arrangement versus nature in the mind

Shifts.  Peonies are placed together in

A tokonama space.  Aligned they are

In art and yet the difference is thin

Between their nature, vase, and artist’s aim,

Transparent, clearer than the walls of white,

Of rice divides.  The artful work to tame

The elements of nature leaves just slight

Distinctions in between the blooms, the wood,

And walls…and then floats in the liquid song

Of one slight bird through whitest walls that stood

Between the bird and blossoms.  What is strong

Here?  It is unity, transcendental

Enlightenment, almost sacramental.

  Japan’s Heart and Culture: Tokonoma Peony Tokonoma of Chashitsu.jpg

19     Peace that Passeth Understanding

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So no kuraki

yo woshizuka naru

botan kana

 

The garden is dark

In the night, and quiet

The peony.

~ Shirao

The garden, dark with night, does not expect

A visitation.  Petal stillness waits

For nothing.  Waits.  No special Buddhist sect

Is known to worship peonies in states

Of meditation in the moon’s hushed hours.

No normal pilgrims will step out from rooms

Of paper walls of rice to view the flowers

Since silence fills the shrine.  The frills of blooms

Expect a peaceful set of dreams without

Disturbance, so the bushes settle in

For restfulness, their blossoms, leaving doubt

Behind, decide tonight will see no sin

Against an abbot’s contemplation.  Quite

The opposite . . . they settle in their white.

22    Royalty and Commoners as One

When peony perfection is upon

Us, strong protection pulses out from them.

Their petals send out messages.  The dawn

Of something quite so beautiful as hem,

And skirt, and petticoats of flowers such

As these is matched by spirit signals from

The flowers saying pinkly, “Do not touch

Us with rude rainstorms.  Do not let some

Hail dropping cloud be sent our way or cloud

Of thunder come too near us with its weight.

Forbid the sky, its crushing lightning loud,

With its destruction.  Save us from that fate.”

..When peonies, perfection, are around,

….We pray, “Let beauty stay with pinkness crowned.”

  23               Tulip Eclipse

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When peonies erupt, they look like bombs

Of lava made of petals, pinks and whites,

Hurled up in mid-May air, or more like psalms

Performed by creatures singing in spring’s flights

Of angels through  a cosmos made complete

With petals, petals smiling, not just petals though

Since at the hearts of peonies is heat

Of orangey yellow anthers with the glow

Of saffron.  Beauty is so total there

That other blossoms disappear, are grayed

Out into nothing like the fatal prayer

An atheist might mumble in death’s shade.

..The peonies are prettier than girls

….And wives, more like a mistress’s minx curls.

24     Circumstantially Separated from Satori

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The blossoms hidden by the hedge in dark

Of mid-May twilight still are seen from where

I sit.  Their perfect pink is light, shines stark

Against the dowsing caused by evening, their

Intensity so bright they seem to make

A source of light themselves, as if the sun

Now disappearing and the coming ache

Of moon are not required for them to stun.

Poor people passing on the other side

Beyond the hedge are blocked out by this chance

Arrangement, accidentally denied

Epiphany by yew-green circumstance.

..The glory of the glowing petals still

….Is true.  Veiled truth is sweetly, softly shrill.

 25     Colors Truer than Truth

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Not veiled and partly veiled, completely veiled,

The peonies are like a perfect prayer,

Perhaps one to the Trinity.  Exhaled

In reverence the pretty petals there

So near the acer leaves send out the pleas.

And who could possibly say, “No”?  No Christ

Could turn his holy back or heart on these.

They offer all a transcendental tryst

With frilliness. Their pink and almost pink

With blue in tingeing is eternity. . .

Or maybe not quite that.  They make us think

.  @pixaby

Like Gautama and his fraternity.

The only part of this that is most true

Is pinkness, blue, and pinkness touched with blue.

31        Peony and Fulfillment

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No man has ever done a thing as lush

As this.  The stamens and the pistil of

The peony rave out.  The yellows gush

Among the petals like the hottest love

A man can give inside a satin bed

But not as opulent in hue as this,

The velvet pollen waiting to be wed

With ravishment of bee tongues pledging bliss.

No woman ever offered man a splurge

Compared to these soft organs.  They are pure

And much more innocent their coral urge

Than scientists might find for human cure.

  The shock of pink with yellow rushed inside

….Is deeper than the wishing, gaping bride.

32           Peony Piety

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A proper reverence for petals should

Be kept, especially for pink and white

Ones, peonies. Perhaps a veil-like hood

Should be required for viewing these, a rite

For venerating blooms required.  A priest

Might ring a rose quartz chime.  Small grails (white gold)

Could be deployed in rituals the east

Might forge, stick incense for white smoke be sold

Outside the temples where a samurai

Would take his armor off before he prayed

Before bouquets of white and pink, “Banzai!”

His paean as he set off to invade.

..The Vatican beatifying them

….Might stick in holy water each green stem.

by phillipw | Jan 31, 2021 | PE | 0 comments