Tag Archives: garden

gypsophila

i had a dream that

i plucked the flowers

from his chest and

his smile turned it into

a wilted bouquet.

with the stars wrapped

around the hem of

my sundress and saturn

crying for lost navy,

i was a callow-minded

breath beyond rain

and he told me i was an

endless night, but no,

i did not mind that at all.

for i was kept safe by

the space between his hands

where callas revolved

around forever; and forever,

like time, didn’t exist.

only him. and i. and a garden

full of impossibilities.

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Mad Mary Lennox

I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now—
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now…

~*~

You were the tears I could never release.

I am imprisoned for centuries in an impenetrable ribcage, feeling the lemongrass harshly piercing my calloused feet but never allowing my deprived senses to take in their ethereal fragrance, holding blossoms by their fragile throats and quietly wishing for their efflorescent scarlet to return and splash colour on my filthy grey dress again, and forevermore shackled and watching the suspended horizon; but a mere intangible memory playing tricks on my open lips.

It was beautifully haunting. My demented secret garden.

You alone held the key to the concealed gates. That particular key was crudely carved from roses and bones, finely forged of romance and blood, chiseled from my consumed heart and threaded with my vulnerable veins, but akin to the overflowing ocean of the tears trapped within my tired, pondering eyes, you released me not.

But will I despair? Never. I shall merely smile at your vicious cruelty and wait for patience with all the grace and forgiveness the pallid moon has adorned me with. I’ll peacefully sleep on my bed of fallen feathers and butterfly ashes, and I shall awake again the next day, my marred body still glimmering in a breathtaking fairy tale iridescence, to tend to my own share of bruised paradise and to sing my laments to the ardent stars in the missing sky once more.

Because this exquisite garden shares my every pain, my solitary desire, my one secret, and not simply the very secrecy itself. This sanctuary is mine to hold in eternal memoriam, and in an infinite someday, these silver chains will rust off and unfetter, as the reckless revolution of this damned planet will halt and reverse, away from the sun. And when that happens, you will find yourself starving for sweet freedom and clawing at the iron bars haplessly, forever banished in my grotesque heaven, where all the scathing thorns bear your broken name and all the flowers wilt at the very despicable thought of your nonexistent soul.

And you shall weep. And I, finally, along with you.

~*~

Where has my heart gone?
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh, I, I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I still remember.

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La Bella Fantasia

“I swear that I can hear you in the wind…”

~*~

little phantasmic phantoms dance about

growing flowers at the garden of my mind

waiting to pluck out each bluebell and daisy

to fashion the wreaths into something kind

the playful zephyr is a fair weather friend

lulling each berceuse to sleep until the end

orbit sending me high into the atmosphere

but i won’t fall, no—i have nothing to fear

listening to the cherry blossoms that hide

in the boroughs where there’s a tinkerbell bride

and the mystical creatures would understand

with every speck of dust, a magic that enchants

.

but the delphi hearts and oracular tongues

speak of stories and brier thorns that selfishly clung

to innocent naivete still stubbornly preserved

though only to the pristine youth that it deserves

the wily eyes staring into the darkness osiris

as the nettles grow wild prevent cogent dreams

they scoured the atlas looking for eternal citadels

the nondescript pangs unaware of incarnate bevels

shrines that i pray to now submerged in irascible sins

incoherent adages leaving bruised indentations within

will the pixies be daunted? will the elves repatriate?

Quietly accepting the moiety of their unfortunate fates?

.

but beneath the black and white of underground paradise

is a fair place for scathing asters and aureole mirth alike

beyond the curlicues of charcoal smoke that paint the stars

a gossamer love decays, recording a dictaphone of past wars

in an imbroglio of lotuses, past the wafting scent of sandalwood

on the horizon, a transit of venus, a crescent smiling platitude

thoughts as crystal clear as seaglass, reflect candid illusions

show a bouquet from the spectres, a plethora of guiling ruminations

amid the taste of camphor and lead, i return to lacklustre reality

wondering and pondering when i’ll get lost again in my crafted fantasy.

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The Horticulturist

One by one the days fall beside us like yellow leaves
We have no conscience, oh, what we’re becoming
Month by month the rings on our tree trunks
Like old wise eyes grow wider
And winter lends them a dead disguise…

~*~

all the times

that my pretence

falls away to reveal

a dissecting evil

crashing against the

enamouring dopamine

of your crystal eyes

and whenever the bats

residing in my belfry

bite in rabid shreds

as i told you the reasons

why i don’t need the sun

to watch over my lies…

i didn’t know it hurt.

and even when your mouth

moved to speak of the

florid diamonds leaving your

bones with every suspended

breath i took, still i ignored

it, and culled the butterfly wings

you were only beginning to grow

crushing them for my own fool’s

grey stained glass interpretation.

i see my sorry mistake now

what an envious tongue i was

to impede and torture change

and wring them dry in deception

shivving the lunacy fringe deep

in my virulent, violent strain

perhaps the sense was never mine

to keep in mine caustic waste.

you merely wanted roses to

bloom in your pulsating thorax,

but my scissors never gave

you the chance to do so

and a different shade of scarlet

touched your skin that day.

but despite the endless famine

that haunts my soul, there’s

still thistles to be removed,

fertile soil to be revived, and

you handed me the trowel even

when i already lost sourly to you.

it’s another chance to repair all

the misfortune, to mitigate all the

repercussions, and to plant a

thornless blossom in this stygian

garden of choked weeds and demolition.

i won’t count my stars before

they paint the sky with yellow fire

but i can always count on the

misbegotten heart, sparing

another courtesy for the misguided.

no more plucking petals from

shivering deoxygenated lungs,

no matter how temptingly pretty

they may be to my twitchy fingers;

may the poisonous chemicals

no longer adhere to sprouting foliage

and murder them in cold blood,

may the flora in ingenue poetry not

be mendacious and remain untainted,

and pray let this withering, barren

desert of a garden be resplendently

efflorescent and verdant with life once more.

~*~

Now time, like an ocean, knows tide, like a notion
To toss about the house and lose inside the couch
Piles of our thoughts run miles in the dark
Just trying to get home, age by age
We rime with our seasons’ rehearsed routines
Still turning and returning…

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Alice in the Garden

lit epiphanies overlooking

the pale peninsula

in entities of naphthalene

parchments of aria

diaphanous dirndl weave

fading cornflowers

embroidered needlework

strewn cool odours

fingertips brushed lightly

delicate rose petals

ebullient riparian stream

cascade in intervals

mysterious quiet keyholes

revealing a reverie

never has mine fanciful soul

felt such blithe ferly.

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Oh, She’s a Handsome Melody

Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two
Where summers lasted longer than, longer than we do
When nothing really mattered except for me to be with you
But in time we all forgot and we all grew…

~*~

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

Singing as butterflies

Shimmer down her lips and

Leave traces of soft kisses behind

The wind tastes like summer

When that girl makes up her mind

And oh, she just reminds me

Of the dancing willow tree

In the daffodil garden

That we used to count the stars in

Like the seconds of eternity

As the hazy veil of smoke obscures

The beliefs and milestones we observed

Under a faithless smile

Of neverminds and lost boys awhile

A lemonade serenade

A penny for your thoughts

Your citrus heart may be bitter

But I’m coming back for more

And if the autumn leaves don’t rain

Your firework eyes will remain

Chartreuse grass wilts with a touch

But I don’t think your bloom was too much

So laugh along with me

And with the stubborn weather

We’ll catch a painted reverie

With our open palms and fragile fingers

And find our way back home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

Imagining new colours as she walks

Leaving lavenders behind her

Spilling sunshine when she talks

As the sunset buries itself in her hair

Clashing scarlet and the darkness

On the tangled ribbons that she wears

We have what-ifs and perhaps

And slow motions in a time lapse

The birds that nest themselves in the clouds

Are halo dreams we don’t say aloud

Oh, if paradise must not be you

I won’t bet my cosmic dust that it’s true

Toss a coin all the way to the moon

To see if evening falters soon

Northern lights explode in pastel stage

Baby blue against ancient beige

Of the sepia films we worn down watching

With butter eyes and late-night flings

The memories and pinkish stains

Of sugar canes and rusty weathervanes

Capturing skeletal affinities

In ochre negatives and perfect peach skins

But if your camera doesn’t wink back

I’ll fetch you a canvas and a paintbrush

Let the fairies light our way home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

That whistling pirouette of a symphony

At the back of your thoughts

Cotton and silk voices singing reminiscently

Melting the headache with a cough

Simplifying the sea for me

The ocean waves flood my ducky umbrella

And we will sail on a little boat

In a rustic countryside river

As pleasant zephyr makes her shiver

On a sluggish Sunday afternoon

Let’s toast the scenery with our spoon

And hope not to tease the playful downpour

Of a melancholy foreign storm

Patient throes of our drizzling repose

I’ll be her divine capricorn

Let’s look for our cabin in the woods

Careful not to swallow cobwebs

When the rusty door creaks open and before

She tiptoes in her yellow Mary Janes

Around the silence of the wooden floorboards

And we’ll light the chandelier

With pink peppermint-scented candles

And warm the sooty old fireplace together

And if the scarecrows don’t disturb us

Tapping faint on the windowsill

We’ll count calendar days on our way home

And let the world sing our songs

.

Oh, she’s a handsome melody

My dear spinning music box ballerina

Found her missing puzzle piece

Under bronze cogs and silver machines

Hid away a lost golden promise

She’s like accidental poetry

The clandestine sonata under my bed

With her jewelry elegance and pretty mouths

And billowing scarves of vivacious red

As she dances to the march of broken clocks

She’s as memorial and as divine

As an overused book spine

The lilting laugh of the chimes

Her curlicues of static giving you vertigo

On an afternoon station of a radio

We’ll find an obscure carnival

And fly along like entangled kites

Drop our car keys on the berg of the pier

Toast wine and champagne all night

Visit each stall and play silly stuffed toy games

Dizzying in carousels and ferris wheels

Have a repast of friends and pageants

I’ll hail her as the crown princess of the hill

But the galaxies in her ice cream cone

Chilled her to the ivory bone

I’ll tuck a blanket around her shoulders

Perched delicately like mockingbird feathers wise

Dissolving traces of an efflorescent heliotrope of a smile

And smudged ink on her drowsy eyes

We’ll sleep the horizon night

And if the blue coast doesn’t close away

We’ll go back and have our swan song someday

Of our eternal farewells to the summer

That wouldn’t exist, we’ll stay that way forever

And if this love isn’t enough to put your fears at ease

The innocence will be yours to keep

And if we don’t find our way back home

We’ll let the world sing our songs.

~*~

Your melody sounds as sweet as the first time it was sung
With a little bit more character for show
And by the time your father’s heard of all the wrong you’ve done
Then I’m putting out the lantern, find your own way back home…

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Glimpses in the Garden

Yellow paper aeroplanes soar overhead candy mint skies

The scoops on napoleon ice cream, pastel flavours thrice

Glimpses of the shy sun behind hazes of clouds and milk

Freshly mowed lawn fragrance wafting on afternoon bilks

Silk ribbons weaved together, chromatic red striped poles

Lazed reading, lemonade kisses, insouciant relaxing goals

Fields of neon chartreuse and coasts painted in deep blue

Ravelling riparian tides with umbrellas raised as bees flew

Daydream cloisonné, summery denouement in gold thorns

Slipstreams and vignettes spun on calliope hearts to adorn

Lucky recherché, fruitful fructescence, and agrestic weather

Nickel shops with deciduous fans, on a transient hither-thither.

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Floral & Florescence

if i were in

a garden;

in a vast

luxuriant field

resplendent,

efflorescent,

an explosion

of chromaticity,

and blooming

with all the

species of

domestic

flowers and

wild exotic

blossoms in

the whole world,

i’d still pick

you and your

wilting petals

over everything else.

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