I was looking for tulips.
I found you, oleander,
deadly nightshade.
Nothing grows in the
darkness that you chose
to live in.
Had I known, I would have
left you to wilt and rot in the sun

Bone tired, petal and stem
still crave the light.

The fug has muted us
putting aches where shines were
but the yearning for the thorn and burr
of every normal day persists

My skin is ready to be kissed
with burn and nettled rash again
to give me pause for actual thought

A soul’s vine is encased with demise.
Towering stalks desiccate to bister mummies and
Aflush dreams of romance capsize into sour, obsidian soil.  

Exhausted leaves crumble when the sun goes down
And amber tears of stinging sap drizzle from hollow sepal’s
That once hugged tender safad petals in the raw night
Like a child clinging to their eham biar yadashte.

Eclipsed roots search for taskeen semblance.
Divest thorns flourish on their throne,
Devouring golden seeds of promise.

Tishna fruit wither into ember dust,
Particles brushing away in the restless wind
Until all that lays are flattened memories

Forgotten, forsaken, fanni.

Word Search
Machana Ruh (roo): A Wilting Soul
Safad: Pure milky white
Eham biar yadashte: That feeling of something from our childhood that gave us inanimate affection. Something we, still to this day, can not let go of because it carries all our intimate memories and emotions (Like a teddy bear or blanket).  
Taskeen (Tash-kean): The warm feeling of home
Fanni (Fa-nee): Mortal fragility
Tishna: When a person is dehydrated to the point of death

when you grace the garden
i am overfilled with sunlight!
an intense admiration
leaves me with sudden blossoms
of an ever gentle pink...

won't you come closer?
i don't ask of you to be mine
nor for the warmth of your hands
i simply asked to be loved
every now and then...

and when i realize my feelings are one-sided
my appearance falls apart one petal at a time
leaving me to cry among the decay
when the flower is no longer a beauty
what reason do you have to stay?

Out of blackest space
The starship “Discovery” emerges from the abyss
To orbit around a beautiful blue world
Just like Earth.
Its captain decides to land
And the view gets better as it descends.

Continents and oceans are plain to see,
But so much more:
Futuristic cities –
Great civilisations –
The crew cannot wait for that moment
Of First Contact.

And so it happens:
The captain and his officers
Stand at last before an emissary
Of a planet light years away from Earth.

Before them is an alien
Humanoid indeed
Though with Leaves of all things
Decorating its head.
It’s neither male or female
As far as they can tell
And has a long tail
With of all things
A plant *** at the end.
Yes, a tail stuck in a plant ***!

The alien swishes its tail to bring
The plant *** into its leafy hands.

“Welcome to our world,” smiles the Alien,
“It is called Earth just like yours.
Just like countless other Earths
Around the Cosmos.
And yes
I am what you would call a ‘Plant’.
For most worlds of our universe did not
Evolve carnivores like you.
If I want a proper feed
I find some soil beds
And search for food with
My tap root.

But worry not,
You are what you are.
You cannot help the hand that Evolution
Has given you
No more than any of us can change
Whatever our ancestors did in historical times.
We welcome you in Peace and Love,
At least in the hope
That you don’t Eat Us.”

The captain and his crew hang their heads
In shame
Until the captain replies:
“Thank you for your welcome.
We too come in peace.
And rest assured
Our intentions are good:
Whatever happens
We will not eat you.”

“Good” says the alien, with a nod,
“That’s just as well,
For we have giant bees here,
And you wouldn’t want
To make them angry with you.
But come,
It’s time for you to see
Our enormous butterflies.”

And with that,
First Contact
Was concluded
And a new relationship
Began.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\12\2020.

worry too much
About growing this rose
"Will it bloom?... " I wonder
"Under its storming foes?

"What will it take?" I ask
"To grow that precious seed?"
"For it to grow and rise?"
I know the answer, "it's the God that I heed."

Stop smothering it in the filth
Of your own despair
Bath instead, in the light
For the more you force it, the more scars you bare.

the delicate blossoming
of budding flowers, secretes
poisonous ardor. tainted by
the loving thorns of death,

my veins carry nocuous nectar.
and demeter wails, her garden
polluted and infused with ichor
deadly. and weeds rampage,

absorbing my heart's nutrients.
till inseminated with a plethora
of nightshade and datura.
my body now a mere vessel

of your deathly grove of misery,
delicately blooming dark myrtle.
a lost soul in my fields of mourning.