Ivy And The Rose* Poem by elysabeth faslund

Another one of your fascinating and evocative poems. So many images and hidden shadows lurking in a history being recalled. Your title is revealing. A rose is beautiful but does not last very long. Ivy never dies, just keeps growing, clinging, rising and smothering all that it reaches, never satisfied but still beautiful in its own way.

It reads to me as a ritual procession of pleasant experiences playing and replaying in the memory. The experiences pass by as collections of images that evade objective definition.

You paint your images in water colour - play with the sound of a century ago - there is something softly elegant about this piece with a sadness that is sublimated by the bright crystal and the scarlet holly berries of her dreams. I poem to savour. love, Allie xxxx

... sensual, but so much more. I could fairly catch the drifting sent of timelessness, antiquity alive, somewhere between sandalwood and very old oaken wood... many doors to open here. Wonderful!