Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
Moments in our lives
are like flowers we choose
to pick up
or to buy
from the florist s
Who sometimes chooses
for us
Life is sometimes
beyond our control.
mrs dalloway by v. Woolf
Ana Drobot
anairina
Born 1983 in Bucharest, Romania. Studied English and French at the University of Bucharest. Awarded a PhD from the University of Bucharest in 2014, with the thesis "Virginia Woolf and Graham Swift: The Lyrical Novel". Started writing haiku in August 2014.
hour 18 poem
promises…
kisses that did not touch her lips
words she only read
dreams they both had…
poems that no poet
ever put down
on paper
that were never sold
in a bookstore
or underlined by students
in a literature seminar…
don t Count your Chicken before they hatch
hour 17 poem
burning fire –
more red
and more warm
the geraniums
in my window
hour 15 poem
a few petals
left on the carpet
two cats
chasing each other
on the Wall sticker
hour 14 poem
the Garden in full bloom
the tables empty
the smell of hot chocolate
filling the house
with No children
from the neighbour s party
birthdays
turn children
into adults
now and then
hour 13 poem
the road i knew
from last spring
but did No longer know
this summer
and which i ignored
in the forest
with No fairytales
but just gossips
hour 12 poem
the sky more blue
the Grass more yellow
the field more green
the horses more in a rush
on the dusty countryside road
leasing towards somewhere
lost from my sight…
the lost horizons
always before us
and beyond our reach
hour 11 poem
telling me
the Time to go out for a walk
ordering me about to play
i learn to play with a ball
telling me the time
without knowing it
to get up early
in the morning
letting me know
he loves me without words
telling me he is hungry
only with His eyea
letting me know
whom he likes and Who likes me…
always knowing
the place of my old slippers
and of His leash
hour 10 poem
cherry trees in bloom
so red…
just as the rash
in His face…
he talks to her
and His face
becomes more red
than the cherries
she holds in her hand…
under White cherry blossoms
His face is pale white
and covered
by a White beard
hour 9 poem
so many flowers
in the clearing
of the forest
with No fairytales…
just cars parked
along the way
before the old castle
in ruins…
No crowds of suitors
in armour…
just a window
in a crack in the wall
towards a bench
of Young lovers…
Green and blue
always go well together
in the fields
during a journey…
sky and grass
with old red castle walls
go even more in style…
No fairytale