Day40 - July 13th

Poppies In July

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.
Sylvia Plath

MOHNBLUMEN

Roter Mohn,
in leuchtendem Rot
rufst du den Sommer herbei -
und ahnst doch schon,
dass die üppige Pracht
bald wieder vorbei.


Wie Schmetterlingsflügel
im Sommerwind,
so zerbrechlich und zart
deine Blüten sind.


Doch du achtest es nicht,
wiegst dich
in feurigem Glühn
anmutsvoll im Sonnenlicht.


Roter Mohn,
ach, würdest du
doch ewig blühn!! 

Ingrid Höttinger