In spring, at the end of my grandparents’
Otherwise tidy garden, I gazed for hours
At scruffy clumps of white and purple flowers:
Granddad called them honesty,
Which puzzled me.
I watched their pretty petals perish,
Leaving brown paper parcels of seeds,
Waiting to be buffeted on a breeze
Whose windy fingers would peel away
Crackly film like cellophane
And release a multitude of moons,
Translucent, round and white,
Shimmering with an eerie light,
Gregarious in the gaunt flowerbed.
They were known as penny plants, self-seeding,
Shiny Judas coins, cut and dried
In the Christmas centrepiece, while outside,
With their seeds wind-scattered,
They became rustling winter skeletons,
Snow-bound and ice shattered.

Kim M. Russell, 2016

Another poem that was an unsuccessful submission to a competition. I posted an earlier version of this a year ago.



6 thoughts on “Honesty

  1. Such a terrific poem!
    Alas, we Artists must remember there unfortunately too many unappreciative idiots in power who know nothing to very little of Writing/Poetry and therefore must frustrate those who do…Keep On Writing.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. After Christmas I shall be making an extra effort to send my novel to agents and independent publishers, as well as entering as many poetry competitions as possible. I will also put together a poetry collection for self-publishing. Thanks for your support, Dorna!


      1. You are most welcome. Let me know if there is anything more that I can do to assist you in your endeavors. And of course, I will, if you like send you more possible link that will help You to get your work out there. 😉

        Liked by 1 person

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