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A Poem by N R Whyte

I am a sunflower. 
I turn my yellow 
and black face, 
bruised, to the sun, 
hoping its light will 
heal me. 
With my eyes closed 
I can see my stamen, 
veins in my eyelids, 
bulbous 
where they intersect. 
The sun feeds me 
and I, grateful, 
pour myself into
the air. I am
sweet; 
I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue
and I suffocate under
your eyelids.

© 2015 N R Whyte


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Reviews

Very good. Very visual. Almost imagistic in engaging the tactile, as well as in its slim simplicity.

Not sure exactly what sorta review you're looking for, but I thought this piece could've been separated into stanzas, though I know there are pros/cons for one singular stanza vs multiple, but thought this could be an alternative.

I am a sunflower.
I turn my yellow
and black face,
bruised, to the sun,
hoping its light will
heal me.

With eyes closed
I can see my stamen,
veins in my lids,
bulbous
where they intersect.

The sun feeds (nourishes? quenches (couple with 'pour')) me
I, grateful,
pour myself into
the air. I am
sweet;

I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue

I suffocate under
your eyelids

Thought you could break it up into stanzas possibly, and also "chopped" a bit more, not much though as it is already efficient.

Like I said, it's very visual, and I almost feel like a metamorphosis is going on here, like I am becoming a sunflower. It's a bit strange in that sense (like Kafka) but the person is not becoming a roach but a sunflower and somehow becoming one with a more healing agent, sun/nature.

Anyhow. good stuff. I can tell you took creative writing. Look forward to reading your other works.

Posted 9 Years Ago



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Added on January 20, 2015
Last Updated on January 20, 2015
Tags: sun, sunflower, flower, flowers, stamen, face, bruise, heal, healing, sweet

Author

N R Whyte
N R Whyte

Toronto, Ontario, Canada



About
I am a student at York University, finishing my fifth and final year of a double honours degree program in English and Creative Writing. My writing has improved immensely during my four years at York,.. more..

Writing
A Highway. A Highway.

A Poem by N R Whyte