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Sunflower Power

by Kevin T. McEneaney
Tue Aug 15th, 2017

A sunflower spikes its wheeling fan

like a pinwheel frozen in time;

its yellow halo hypnotizes the eye,

transporting it briefly to Neverland.

 

That sturdy stalk stands bolt upright

with only slight hint of irreverent  pride,

conveying subtle, implied dignity,

which might be labeled mere oversight.

 

Although yellow petals outdo the eye,

its brownness whispers centrifugal force,

something like our heart or even mind,

yet we dismiss that idea with a sigh.

 

Somewhere in my over-complicated head,

there’s a sunflower seed growing like a weed,

finding nourishment in whatever I eat,

especially the most abstruse things I’ve said.

 

When golden sunflowers appear in dreams

as omens of truth or immortality,

we judge such visions as crippled poetry—

exaggerations of what merely seems.

 

As I pluck a fresh, mature sunflower

and place it in a proper, tall, slim vase,

I find it works inspirational magic

like the aura of raindrops in a shower.