the bloom and shape
and way you grow,
evoking blush and calming woes.
balancing both the delicate and bold -
to mind how they hold.
always you - all ways the rose.
torn flower pettles
engulf the vastness,
devoid of time and reality,
of the growing distance.
a floral bath
doused in flourescence.
the white lilies
that signify a grave.
your charred corpse,
a bloated bag,
floats in a putrefying stasis.
only half a daisy-boy beauty.
the water fizzles
into acid. the hyacinths wither
into amorphous globules.
gap tooth dissolves.
for spring is the season of rebirth
I see you there, little cornflower
As blue as the everlasting summer days
Kissed and rained on by the galaxy's tears
An elegant dancer as a bird's wings
You are button on the bachelor's breast
One that is watered by affection
This one is an very old poem of mine, when I was rather obsessed with cornflowers. I don't know what it is specifically about them but I love them!
Thanks again for the support everyone!
Be back soon!
She's the girl with the matte lipstick,
Deep, bold red that flows in her veins
She throws them fierce on her fragile lips
Warning every man she's more than a kiss.
She's the girl with the matte lipstick
A deeper red than the roses she was given,
One look at the mirror and she's all set
To rule out the world with her head set high.
And she will be stronger than you and I,
For her soul is clinquant with
Of fading scars and past mistakes
That she will one day conquer all on her own.
it became a perpetual motion
someone hands the card, another lights
the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense
put your finger on the flint wheel
press it down
karen thought we should make a sign
the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard
my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board
i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand
and threw them in air
“draft card burning here”
it was 7 00 in the morning
october 21 1967
i was only 17
my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu
a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc
a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai ****
i stepped up to The Police.
The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me
Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression.
I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets
this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael
the men in suits stared at me
in a world of chaos and confusion
all I heard was
“La Jeune Fille a la Fleur,” a photograph by Marc Riboud, shows the young pacifist Jane Rose Kasmir planting a flower on the bayonets of guards at the Pentagon during a protest against the Vietnam War on October 21, 1967. The photograph would eventually become the symbol of the flower power movement. I wrote this poem from this photograph.
— The End —