Leaves and flowers

[adimon]

Wednesday’s moon looms heavy
amidst a swollen sky. In thick black rain
you come home defeated to find a drunk
on your doorstep. He is just about awake.
It’s lashing it down. You step over him,
unlock the door and drag him in,
hitting the hallway light switch.

In the half-light you sit on the stairs
shrouded in shame and frustrated
anger. You know that poetry lies in his babbling speech
and spewed-out excuses; you know that.
But you have to slap him all the same.
Try to get him to make sense. Sense?
Even your kindest side can see
he is a miserable wreck; pathetic,
shrivelled and wet. Inconsolable.

Why, you scream at him until your
voice has left you, too. Tearing at
your chestnut hair. Clawing the
roots for hidden strength.

You bite your tongue hard,
drawing blood. You hate him
because you know you
deserve this. He whimpers,
snores.

Knocking over yesterday’s flowers, you manage
to get him to the couch, where he collapses,
sobbing under falling rose petals.
you get the washing up bowl
from the kitchen. Just in case.

You run upstairs, sit at the dresser
and cry into the mirror. Tears carve
their way through your mascara and
fall onto your trembling hands,
staining deeper than the skin. The bulb
has gone in your bedroom and an ominous
draft is clambering up the stairwell.
Another unwanted visitor. You go
downstairs to lock the front door. One day
at a time.

Deciding a cup of coffee would be
good for all concerned,
you return to the kitchen.
As you watch the cat eat his food and
wait for the kettle to boil,
you try to pinpoint
how long ago
the light died in his eyes.

His hair - once golden and proud - now matted
and frayed.
You: frustrated. Your mind aches. When will
this storm which blows you apart come to a head.

The leaves are piling up at the back door.
Tomorrow, maybe…
you will ask him to go and never come back - but tonight,
caught together in approaching
dusk: you, the drunk,
disappointment
and the roses.

[adimon]

Walked up and down
outside your house all day,
seeking an entrance,
an audience. Denied
even a glimpse of opportunity,
harshly rejected
by the stifling heat.

Feet held hostage by
the cloak of guilt I insisted on
wearing, though it choked me.

Time passed, hope dwindled.
I turned gradually
to stone, my gargoyle grimace
of boyish fear staring in awe
at eternity, as reflected
in your window.

You drew your curtains,
saw me there - rushed out
to console, to remove. You
wanted the statue out of your sight,
couldn't bear his punishing sadness
pleading with you.
Guilt-tripping your still-new heart,
praying for you to fall,
to throw yourself into his statue-garden-

the vain hope of a doomed
automaton, grisly zombie-

your beauty is too alive for still-life;
beyond my description;
too colourful for the black
death I offered you.

The lower lip of the horrorshow
intrigued you, you touched it briefly.
But silence stuck in
my stony throat and I moved
not one muscle
to return
the sweetest kiss
you offered
as a goodbye.

Did you, as I did,
even for a second-
as your lips' valediction
turned my frozen heart to molten dread-
imagine another future,
another time,
where we didn't have to live
this charade - saw eye
to eye. Then

your bittersweet ghost
evaporated;
your door sighed shut,
leaving me alone.

I remained til dusk,
til my last hopes crumbled, my future
scattered like ashes.

***

Morning met you
with sunshine and as free a breeze as you'd ever felt.
You paused.
Remembered me fleetingly-

the hopeful guardian you didn't want.

I dropped a tear from heaven,
planted in your garden-

just under the topsoil, covering the words, the words
I'd wanted to say,
more than anything. Words of hope.
The words that petrified me.

[adimon]

Do your lashes go into spasm
as I sharpen my pins and stick them in?
Numbing icicles piercing the softness
of your velvetine angel’s wings?
His hands fall quickly to catch you
as you collapse and your high heels crack.
Why should it seem strange to you
that I’d want to get my own back?

But as he lays you on the sidewalk
seeing the light die in your eyes,
you see through starry vision
that his love is nothing but lies.
No kiss falls upon your forehead,
no touch to warm your brow..?
My plan has worked - fulfilment?
What do you think of him now?

Here you are in all your beauty,
icicles forming on your cheeks.
I stroke the side of your neck
where molten tears chase each other in streaks.
Lean over and kiss your lips
so lightly yet I know that you can tell.
But there's no undoing what’s done
no way of breaking my spell!

He’s no longer here to shatter my hope
yet bitterness still remains.
I lay down beside you with my arm around you,
shielding you from the rain,
and as the cold spreads through your body
it spreads into mine as well,
and here we lay, two icicles:
Will we live or die? I wish I could tell.

[adimon]

Think dandelions and lily-pads. Long
green grass, dancing to a
secret symphony. A river of invisible,
trickling spirit quenching the thirst of
the morning. A cool, reassuring
breeze, breathing life to a forest
of tiny and magical creatures,
competing for joy
in the midday sun.

Not too hot, yet warm enough
to entice us to the streams.
People laying
on their backs;
some with eyes
closed-
others watching
the sunflowers sway
as though part of some heavenly
choir.
Big round heads bobbing
as the clouds cajole them with
misty fingers.

A spot of rain
about half an hour ago
brought some relief to the slightly
parched earth,
painting the trees with a glistening finish.

The earwigs find small
waterfalls, for it is their
day, as much as it is ours.
The blue above presides
over our delight, enhancing
our colourful minds.

There is everything
here-
a full picnic basket (cucumber
and lettuce hidden inside),
ducks playing merrily
at life
in the river, and enough shade
for everyone.

The only problem is
I am dead. For this is my poem about you

in the future, where I cannot go. My senses
do not allow me
to taste that joy for myself.

You are lying
contented
with your family nearby-
your little girls,

and your man.
The man you have chosen

to sculpt your joy
and paint portraits in his mind;
to put poetry in your dark brown
eyes.

But I shall not cry
because I am the trees,
the circling birds-
the hidden brightness of the sky.

In this life, I have loved you
it is true,
but I cannot give you
the joy-
the joy you deserve.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Goodbye.

[grover66]

Think dandelions and lily-pads. Long
green grass, dancing to a
secret symphony. A river of invisible,
trickling spirit quenching the thirst of
the morning. A cool, reassuring
breeze, breathing life to a forest
of tiny and magical creatures,
competing for joy
in the midday sun.

Not too hot, yet warm enough
to entice us to the streams.
People laying
on their backs;
some with eyes
closed-
others watching
the sunflowers sway
as though part of some heavenly
choir.
Big round heads bobbing
as the clouds cajole them with
misty fingers.

A spot of rain
about half an hour ago
brought some relief to the slightly
parched earth,
painting the trees with a glistening finish.

The earwigs find small
waterfalls, for it is their
day, as much as it is ours.
The blue above presides
over our delight, enhancing
our colourful minds.

There is everything
here-
a full picnic basket (cucumber
and lettuce hidden inside),
ducks playing merrily
at life
in the river, and enough shade
for everyone.

The only problem is
I am dead. For this is my poem about you

in the future, where I cannot go. My senses
do not allow me
to taste that joy for myself.

You are lying
contented
with your family nearby-
your little girls,

and your man.
The man you have chosen

to sculpt your joy
and paint portraits in his mind;
to put poetry in your dark brown
eyes.

But I shall not cry
because I am the trees,
the circling birds-
the hidden brightness of the sky.

In this life, I have loved you
it is true,
but I cannot give you
the joy-
the joy you deserve.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Goodbye.

http://www.blackmaze.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=1124&pid=24725&mode=threaded&show=&st=&

Jinjin from Australia?

[adimon]

Hello all

I'm afraid those of you who think that I stole this poem from a Jinjin from Australia have got this the wrong way around!

I'm flattered that Jinjin might a long time ago have found my poem 'Dead', which I posted on Darkpoetry.com in around 1999, but annoyed that he used it without my permission. I will be contacting him about this.

Maybe those of you who jumped to conclusions should check first eh? :rolleyes:

[grover66]

Hello all

I'm afraid those of you who think that I stole this poem from a Jinjin from Australia have got this the wrong way around!

I'm flattered that Jinjin might a long time ago have found my poem 'Dead', which I posted on Darkpoetry.com in around 1999, but annoyed that he used it without my permission. I will be contacting him about this.

Maybe those of you who jumped to conclusions should check first eh? :rolleyes:

Hi Adimon,

I've just caught up with everything that's been happening and as it was me who first pointed out the whole "Jinjin" from Australia thing, I owe you the biggest apology out of everyone. I see that you linked to a page that showed that you did in fact write the poem, and I'm really happy about that. I'm happy to be wrong because it means that you are in fact being honest.

Anyway, I was loathe to apologise on here because all it does is rehash the whole thread but I felt it would be better apologising to you in public rather than a PM. But I hope you can forgive me for my mistake. Sometimes when I'm wrong, I'm spectactularly wrong!!!

[adimon]

Apology accepted. I hope that everyone has learnt something from this episode.

Take care

Chris

[i_am]

As it has been confirmed that adimon, is in fact the author, I am returning this thread to forum talent