memoirs, art and fragments by Thomas Milner

White Petals

There was an old magnolia tree in the walled-corner

Of the garden overlooked by our school in Porto.

Every spring we marvelled at the white splendour of its flowering,

Its blushing blooms,

Its ethereal beauty.

White petals.


A vestigial planting from another age,

It was destined for the municipal saws.

When it was gone I was bitter-sad;

Well done, I thought, you got that right,

Zero for ambient aesthetics and

Ten for callous insensitivity.

White petals.

The cactus flowers on my terrace in spring,

Almonds blossom in the upper Douro,

But the paint explodes vermilion

Splashing onto my page

Slanting across my mind.

White petals.


Every night I drain the blood from

My hollowed heart

But in the morning

It’s full again.

White petals



Comments on: "White Petals" (4)

  1. Be-a-u-tiful poem. You do imagery infused with feeling so well, Thomas. I feel wistful with the passage of time in your poetry. I like the “flowering tree against the sky” photo, too, and the “Heartache” painting for all of its colours, stretches, and that simple smiling “fish” swimming in the midst of it all. ~ Lily


  2. Beautiful


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