Desert Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
I grow
in the bajadas
along rocky slopes
pushing aside
dry gravel
in search of
morning sun.
No rain
shortens my growth,
hastening
my buds
to open early
in the cool
of the evening,
closing by
mid-morning.
I am
a primrose,
oenothera primiveris
by name.
— kenne
Evening Primrose (February 26, 2016) — Image by kenne
Cutleaf Evening Primrose On The Mountain (Mt. Lemmon, August 1, 2014) — Image by kenne
— kenne
Cutleaf Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.
Hooker’s Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
A lady of the evening
beckoning in the twilight breeze
along the highway of curves
always tender to the stroke
opening enticing arms
not asking very much
just a one night stand
changing color by daylight
kissed by the mountain dew.
kenne
Cutleaf Evening Primrose — Image by kenne
Full
by Wendy Barker
Light splotches on the bed,
mesmerizing the morning.
Why rise from this dazzle?
But outside the kitchen door,
the first time in years, flickering
in the pittosporum’s froth, a dozen
dozen Monarch butterflies ignite
the green, their white freckled patches
shifting, rapid as a blink, and gone.
Not so the evening primroses
that open as the light is leaving
and remains even as the moon lifts
from the trees, even as you sit
steady above your book, until
you rise, and bring me your hands.
(Windy Barker is a poet and critic, and teaches literature at the University of Texas at San Antonio. Windy has been involved in several “Writer’s In Performance” events over the years.)
