Friday, July 29, 2011

THE WILD CARROT




Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth--nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower
Each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--
or nothing.
~William Carlos Williams

6 comments:

Pricilla said...

Hmmm, the publicist always thought they were onions. She says you learn something every day. It looks like Darla did not like it

Mimi Foxmorton said...

lol

Back some blogs ago, I wrote of the WILD VIOLET, and in it I recalled my Mum tossing me out of the house with this particular "flower" and her calling it "Stink Weed." It would appear that Darla feels the same way. ;)

Melodie said...

I think Darla wants a different bouquet to munch on,lol!

Millie said...

Those things do NOT taste good. We like those little yellow flowers called birdsfoot trefoil!

Buttons said...

Beautiful poem about Queen Anne's Lace. I think she would rather have a nice piece of red clover.. B

Mary Ann Potter said...

Hello! I saw your letter in Mary Jane's Farm magazine and just had to respond! Darla Rose is absolutely beautiful, and I surely can see why she is the goat star of the show. We just moved to a 55acre farm and have a dog and a few chickens right now; my vision sees a couple of pet cows, miniature donkeys, and more chickens. This is our little corner of heaven on earth. Enjoy yours as well! Best regards - Mary Ann Potter, Oxford, North Carolina (just past Stem and Shoofly- really!)