Skip to main content

A Flower Fallen

I watch a flower fall from its
bough buoyed softly by the
breeze before it lands in the grey,
soulless dust; And with no
leaves to shade it I watch it wilt
into paleness under
the sun's bleaching malevolence;
I watch a wee puppy
toss it in play, then tire and
seek newer diversions;
I watch a young girl walking by
contemplate it, but it's
too pale, too shrivelled to add to
her pretty merriness;
A botanist comes by seeking
specimens, but this one
is torn and damaged - I watch him
toss it aside and look
to the tree above with its fresh
blooms - more perfect in form;
I watch at last a lover pick
it and tear it apart
petal by petal - she loves me,
she loves me not -; at last,
I trample its remains into
the earth - let it dissolve
into elements to emerge
newborn, when I come by
as it blossoms again next spring.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.
8 comments
Read more

Fit

 What we are is a jigsaw pieces that come together searching for edges that match some we know will never sit: a sideways glance, a crush, a lifelong regret; some we think will last, but no we stick around a while and then we know we are meant for other things, other people, other places but mostly just being othered some of us are corner pieces who know where we are and who will come to find us eventually I can only wish I was that and some of us are that piece that doesn't fit neither color nor shape nor corner we force it sometimes, set it aside for some later unfulfillable hope until it is too late to realise we were left over from another puzzle, with only the longing to fit, to belong, to be included
Post a Comment
Read more

Rat

I'm a rat, I'm a rat, I scurry and I bite, I eat what I get, And I fuck and I fight, I dodge the black crows, I run from your shoes, But I'm old or sick, you'll trample over me.
4 comments
Read more