"aconite" poems
I stand here;
outside my balcony
amidst darkness
in the company
of loneliness
My soul impertaburbly
trapped between forlornness
and peacefulness
Yin and Yang perhaps,
Forlorn because the soul,
wounded and damaged perniciously by loneliness..
And peace;
because the herb...
well the herb heals
to some extent
My vessel the arena
On a forbidden course
Yang battles Yin
the odds are in his favor
THC to Yin is like aconite to wolves;
And so he weakens with every hit
The melee ends
like it was destined to
tranquil and pure bliss prevail
At that moment;
the wind starts to sing her song
Calling, whistling to his lover
the king of the night
she whistles a beautiful song
that sounds of a gentle breeze
zephyr like pushing aside clouds that
guard his majesty;
grandiosely his image is revealed
in the nightlife
Observe they all gather under the nightsky;
selenophiles
far away from each other
all in different worlds
but it's this energy that coheres them here
together
The wind starts to sing
the song of halcyon,
ogling at the moon
in veneration and exhilaration
selenophiles danced away into the night.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC
We all look forward to the snowdrops
The harbinger of spring
In many shades of white
Offtimes tinged with green
Beautiful, oh so beautiful
Sweeping swathes of green tinged white
But they shrink into nothingness
Against the aconite
Aconite of deepest gold
Brighter than the sun
Aconite the first to show
Amid deep winters gloom
When the aconite first does show
Bluetits start to flit and sing
You see it's not the snowdrop
Who is the harbinger of spring
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Ignorances innate wove curtain of veils
Cut usunder heretofore obscuring
Bodhicittas valedictory wintry gloom torn
Of enlightenments will factioning the
Silenced mammonish city kingdom truced
As the wings of Azrael clinch
Earthly thistles; monolithic raiments
Deposed Hull, Hell and Halifax parcae
The willowing of light unfettering Fenrirs
Durance, howling aconite psalms suspiring
Suffrage relict paving with mewed stars
Redemptions tithed talents bequeathed
Of Heavens sinister prayer burning
Acinta dusts thine ashes threading
The wilful sword of Gods destruction.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
The president of the horticulture club
thumbs the violet leaves of a aconite
ignoring the shooting pain crawling on her skin.
The other members glare at her,
waiting for the reaction-
touch the frail plant
and your mouth is sure to set on fire.
The contact she has on the flower
is insanely dangerous.
Potent alkaloids bloom overhead
and she continues to breathe in deeply as if she is trying to swallow
the strong, acrid taste of the atmosphere,
which should have sent her into a frenzy of disorientation
and seizures of her small limbs
but at last, she glances
at the frozen treasurer and spoke calmly, her mouth slouching,
"Are you writing this down?
I want the future of this club
to know to never touch plants
without doing their research."
Then she blinks,
slumps against the bench,
undeterred.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Deathlike is our love.
Tired, expired, stagnant and numb.
I'm through playing dumb, treated like hired help.
When we met my pulse it fired, now like death it has expired.
We lie in bed side by side like corpses in a morgue,
inanimate, undesired, tired.
I'm sorry if this hurts but love it can expire, lose its fire and it's flame.
I wish that I could say we're both to blame, but you my love you sired elsewhere, and expected me to understand that you were desired by another and now I'm expected to play the role of second mother to a child,
innocent though he is of his father's shared night of tireless passion with another!
And so it fell to me to prepare this fine repast, forget about the past,
look toward the food cupboard and make a dinner of herbs.
A pinch of hemlock, a touch of aconite, a soupçon of strychnine and a
drop of arsenic. All prepared by mine own fair hand, it's bitterness shone in my tears, as you praised my cooking and my fidelity to you, begged my forgiveness and took me to bed.
Now, cold you lie.
Forgiveness I could give, it was the forgetting that did both you and me in. Like Romeo to his Juliet, a moth to a flame, a drop of wolfs bane,
your Belladonna has had her final fling
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Sweat rolls down my back and my stomach swirls in agony
Oh that I am ill for you
Sick for your pleasure
My sweet lilac lady, purple princess of the pyre
Where my body burns and buzzes for your gentle love
Bane of the wolf and you chase the creature from my heart
I snap my teeth no more
The hood of the holy brother who looks over me
But you are the one divine
I cannot move for your care, numb of mind to your affection
Delicately lulling me into restfullness
And oh! There is pain
And I am frozen in place
But you sing my softly to sleep
My lips fail and stutter as you halt me in my breath
I am halfed now, never complete
You my other part, my other half
Stealing away my soul from the pit of my lungs
Your astounding beauty takes over me and
I am gone on you
Gone for you
And I drift- drift away with
My darling aconite who stays with me till the end
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC
Spring is coming here real soon,
but the snow it came here late,
for the tiny buds in early boon,
it's a shame they'll have to wait,
Confusing is the forecast,
so some may never bloom,
as a crystal blanket now lasts,
and the skies are colored gloom,
covered still in white- all glassed,
an still such dangers loom,
Yet as the waiting blossoms urge,
I see a hopeful lil little sprout,
I see a poking head- up serge,
relieving me of any doubt,
As the Winter Snowdrops splurge,
an the tallest one to shout,
"get up and grow"
"I mean c'mon
c'mon you must know-
it's our time to let it out!"
"C'mon Winter Aconite,
and crocuses,
remember what-
Robin Williams said?"
"Spring is Nature's way
of saying let's party!!!"
So come on then,
let's go up now an make
a lovely little bed,
they'll be plenty time to sleep again,
come Wintertime,
when we are all so slyly,
playing dead!
Ma Cherie © 2017
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
One of their neighbors is afflicted
With a fell spirit, lost, and doomed
To roam alone among the tombs,
The spirit’s fierce, but some have tricked it.
Citizens have bound the madman tight,
Caught him in fetters or in chains,
But strength no ligature contains
Breaks them like braided aconite.
And after this, they let him be
Because his might has always snapped
Twine tying wrists, but flesh has trapped
Unspeakable malignancy.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 10:16 AM UTC
Great melody of Orpheus’s Lyre sings the song of heavenly delights
Zephyr brings aromas of love as he stole psyche once…
Cupid’s arrow burns my heart and Wine of love blends with blood.
Let me wait only for you as an aconite waits for its bee ..
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
Great melody of Orpheus’s Lyre sings the song of heavenly delights
Zephyr brings aromas of love as he stole psyche once…
Cupid’s arrow burns my heart and Wine of love blends with blood.
Let me wait only for you as an aconite waits for its bee ..
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Celui qui boit, comme a chanté Nicandre,
De l'Aconite, il a l'esprit troublé,
Tout ce qu'il voit lui semble être doublé,
Et sur ses yeux la nuit se vient épandre.
Celui qui boit de l'amour de Cassandre,
Qui par ses yeux au coeur est écoulé,
Il perd raison, il devient affolé,
Cent fois le jour la Parque le vient prendre.
Mais la chaut vive, ou la rouille, ou le vin
Ou l'or fondu peuvent bien mettre fin
Au mal cruel que l'Aconite donne :
La mort sans plus a pouvoir de guérir
Le coeur de ceux que Cassandre empoisonne,
Mais bien heureux qui peut ainsi mourir.
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