"radiata" poems
A red spider
Spinning a web
At the rim of your way
Like a silver flickering net.
A red moon
Glowering pale
Like a blooded pond
In the stars eternal vale
A red flame
Like a waving flag
Hissing, crawling, spitting
Sparking into a heaven black.
A red sun
Spilling ****** light
With dawn to dusk
From day and night
A red bird
Reaching for the skies
Raising in hybris
To fear and agony he flies
A red fever
Burning through flesh n' bone
And boiling sweat and tears
That are but a drop on a hot stone
A read tear
That was made of blood
Slowly dripping down
From the realms of the gods
And then there's that red flower
Blooming along your long, lone path
Meaning nothing but sorrow
And black, cruel . . .
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 12:15 PM UTC
These orchids are yours, and with them, all colours known to earthly sight.
They shall prove rigid, ever blocking Time's course, professing eternity their right.
Roses express my affections well; blooming amidst the warmth of Summer, fed to satisfaction by the dew of your lips . . . yet they shall wither.
Then dry dust shall be my affections' well; blooming Lycoris Radiata legions advancing amidst the warmth of Death's banner . . . Towards our love's ellipse . . .
YET -
These orchids are yours, and with them, the multi-folded papers from which their fibres and petals are equally composed. These are humble gifts, but were they to boast: "We orchids offer to thine love, an eternity; an assurance of perpetuity, by toast."
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 7:05 PM UTC
The touch of a hand,
The warmth of another,
That precious tickle,
That burning feeling inside,
Living flame,
Dancing throughout my garden.
The garden I cultivate for you,
A field of crimson, the purest red,
It is your colour, a sanctity, a shrine for you,
This garden, my life’s passion,
A never ending field of Lycoris Radiata,
Growing inside my mind.
Temples and palaces,
Cathedrals and castles,
The works of generations,
They’re all incomparable to the garden I grow for you,
Thousands of year in worth of work, the species’ finest art,
Rivalled by the Eden I cultivate for you, the moments it took for my garden to grow.
Problems are non existent in the garden,
Yours or mine, I can no longer tell,
But I know for a fact that they cannot grow here,
All that grows is the Lycoris Radiata, swallowing all other forms of life or death,
That is, before the deluge,
Before the moment you walked into my garden.
Before the moment you entered the realm I constructed for you,
Before the moment you graced the garden with your presence,
Before the moment you shattered the illusion of grandeur,
Before the moment you trampled the finest of the Lycoris Radiata,
The death of my garden,
The collapse of my life’s work, that somehow lasted mere moments.
But it’s okay,
I didn’t want the field of crimson anyway,
I didn’t want the garden of Eden,
You snake.
I hope you know I hate you,
Because now I’m growing hydrangea,
And it’s going to be the most beautiful garden on earth, lush and green and all for me.
By LLL
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
It was a look in her eyes I'd never
seen in his-
Taken a bit off guard but
looking, as it is-
Respectfully, she's got respect but
don't know how to read a room
Respectfully, after a year she stopped making me feel desired
Broken finger, love still as tombs--
I miss that look in her eyes.
She became for me what he was.
Took me a bit off guard but
also built up over a year or two-
Respectfully, I wouldn't shit-talk her but also sometimes she was mean
Don't know, did she intend it?
Or are we all needlessly cruel things?
By the end I felt disgusting.
The beginning was sublime.
I read these poems and realize,
we did it right, and she was mine...
But I see now loving isn't always enough.
You have to work at it.
She tired of working.
I had to leave.
Dec 15, 2023
Dec 15, 2023 at 9:27 PM UTC
gem scones
and ginger loaf bread,
slathered with farmfresh butter.
washed down with
oh so **** cold home made
lemonade ices.
little pots of salmon rillettes
and tiny potted prawns
eaten on crisp potato wafers.
crustless finger sandwiches
of cucumber and tomato,
grown twenty feet to the left
of where we sit.
in the shade of the radiata pine tree.
minted gingerale punch.
sunshine dappled light,
playing on fine glassware.
the aromas of ovenlove
mint, pine, ginger, citrus
and salt,
mingle with old spice and
lavender water, of the grands, dozing,
as they sit baking, basking,
in the afternoon heat.
high tea,
at the homestead farm.
on the windswept coastal
plain.
once every couple of months,
awaited with much, anticipation.
remembered with much
fondness
a feast of food, family
and much love.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Tulips
Common, trusted, beloved.
Planted in gardens, gifted in joy,
Welcomed without a second thought.
And then—me.
Fragile, fleeting, misplaced.
Sought only in sorrow, left to wither,
A beauty seen too late,
A name too easily forgotten.
Lycoris Radiata.
Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 8:32 PM UTC
Please retain this document as proof of your induction.
you are an inductee,
part of the tinkering crew,
high giving, high fiving
globally is your locally!
we know where you live,
Google mapped and sleep kid-napped from under that
shady radiata pine tree
more than sufficient,
your poetic revelations,
to know the you and the where-hereabouts of the
lives you handle with
wondrous word-care.
care taken, if you want hide deep,
but to late for thee and our world,
your name on the roster
of poets by night,
tinkers, soldiers, and some who tailor
poems bespoke for the ones who
dare not reveal their true (s)elves
in the words they write.
but you do.
so the
ticK tocK
(never forgot the Special K)
of your clock
synchro us
so too late,
we can call you anonymous,
if that be your preferential suffice,
If that makes you happy.
but what we need to know,
already planted by you,
in our soiled heart,
growing steadily cotton-higher.
When you are ready,
you will dispense with
your leafy nom de plume,
tell us what we don't need to know,
tell us what we already knew,
three boxes checked,
you are
poet, wife and mother,
suffice suffice suffice
the three stripes thrice
sewn on your skin,
inductee into the army of the
fly-by-night,
word~tinkers
guess you can say,
you are a tacker now,
tacked onto this crew,
watching over its
individuals,
therefore, say no more,
but write
a poem a day,
that, your tinkering dues.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
I passed by a lea while
walking in the prairie
grassy meadows sprinted
towards green horizons
bumpy hills
and rocky crags
clothed the verdant meadow
willows and gum trees
shaded the countryside
She was like an oasis
I fell in love with the lea
with her alluring grassy hair
and fertile aura
I sat down in her *****
and curled up in her supple
valley
Smooth sunlight trickled down
on us
watering the lea in a dandelion glow
The scent of apple cinnamon
and radiata pine wafted towards
me spicing the air with the lightness
and beauty of a butterly’s wing-beat
an ineffable sigh
escaped from secret chambers
of my heart
and leaped into the romantic air as
I wedded this lea
under the turquoise sky
with the sunlit trees
as witness
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 4:30 AM UTC
I passed by a lea while
walking in the prairie
grassy meadows sprinted
towards green horizons
bumpy hills
and rocky crags
clothed the verdant meadow
willows and gum trees
shaded the countryside
She was like an oasis
I fell in love with the lea
with her alluring grassy hair
and fertile aura
I sat down in her *****
and curled up in her supple
valley
Smooth sunlight trickled down
on us
watering the lea in a dandelion glow
The scent of apple cinnamon
and radiata pine wafted towards
me spicing the air with the lightness
and beauty of a butterly’s wingbeat
an ineffable sigh
escaped from secret chambers
of my heart
and leaped into the romantic air as
I wedded this lea
under the turquoise sky
with the sunlit trees
as witness
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 10:32 PM UTC