#dahlias
‘Genocidahlias’ she said…
When I asked which flowers were sitting on her bathroom window sill…
The nights had drawn in, and we were recovering from a long and relentless summer…
Too much heat for my liking - though at least it helped me earn those few extra bucks from deforestation, and incubate those eggs I had been experimenting on in my bedroom…
We sipped a glass of straw coloured Chablis - lovely… whilst witticising our thoughts on their wind-up war…
I remember saying, “the problem with the whole thing is they’re not set up for diplomacy the way that we are,” as we delved into our wild boar with lashings of viscous sauce…
Apart from the food, another smell fascinated me - drifting toward our table from the corner…
That dungeon of delight with its strange attraction shedding deeply perfumed petals to the floor…
“Genocidahlias… what a wonder, what a great mystery to uncover…
I thought about the creatures in my room that must have hatched out by now - that were probably, as we spoke - gasping for air under the glass containers… I know they’ll settle down; will soon learn how to breathe like I do - the way we will have to breathe in order to survive as a species…
Soon enough we moved onto the exciting prospect I could hardly bear to put off for a second longer… the subject of those flowers that were waiting in her elegant bathroom…
She told me that the medicine obtained from these flowers could keep many more societies in order than just our current little test - making things a lot easier…
She said, “you could even use it on your own little experiments you have over there in your corner…”
I said to her, “I do believe that will be necessary in order for us to obtain and keep our natural world order, and no matter what happens to us - our size will come out thriving as we pass on our fast-take beliefs, blistering through this planet’s thin skin and savouring the top’s sweet skim…
Cut to a long time later… I’m addicted to the medicine…
I think I might have lost people I know but I can’t remember…
I’m close to freezing, but at least I can still recognise the steely taste of power…
I know it’s in those flowers…
But they won’t stop tasting sour…
I try to think of the first reason those flowers smelt so good… it was because of my conditioned scent for blood, my tough upbringing into the frame of good…
But there was something else that tugged…
A sense of purity that had gone from me; perhaps even some kind of sorrowful forgiveness for the things I had done...
Or a fire that would take me…
As I dream about this fire, I realise the scent is in fact permeating through the cold I have found myself in…
Suddenly, I remember the real name of those flowers… Gazanias - how could I have forgotten…
I stumble to see one growing right under me - fast and free - and realise that its name perfectly reflects its warm, fire-like, unwavering presence…
The truth gets to me - as I feel a terrible wave of dark consume me…
You can’t treat people like property - numbered growths for aimless experiments…
I think about this deeply - pondering…
In the end - I must admit that I am wrong, after decimating this earth to a lifeless song…
Now this flower stains my vision and haunts my heart, and I can smell just how strong it has become as its burning, sharpened sweetness tortures my tongue - its wound vast and open - and I realise that what I tasted before was a sugarcoated drug…
So I’m here to tell the truth now from this stolen ground I shook…
I am the hellhound - they are the dove…
With their glistening warning of love; full of wild, vivid, wondrous colours that directly embody the light of the sun…
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 3:07 PM UTC
what a smile
a splendid grin
lovely eyes
letting light in
a laugh
like butterflies
flying
from an airborne stone.
a touch
like warm snow
a blanket
to move and mold
a voice
like blooming dahlias
hair
soft and curled
arms
to fold around me
comfort
and joy
in your embrace
love
is all the more sweeter
with you
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 10:33 AM UTC
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen
Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character
Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”
With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken
Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue
In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser
Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling
Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling
Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows
Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter
Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
It's Dahlia season.
The bulbs are in full bloom.
It's Dahlia season.
And I still don't have you.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC