Long Dahlia Poems
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Sun is hiding behind glimpses of grey.
Through the window
naked trees,
their bark covered in green moss,
seem frigid and grisly.
Their bird less branches leafless,
but debris of broken nests and feathers remain.
Forgotten by mother birds who's fledglings have long flown away.
(those that did not fall from the nest or became prey to predators)
Isn't it interesting how our eyes see things differently?
I see so much change whilst sitting in the auditorium of Autumn.
In this season of diversity some admire the beauty,
whilst others see death and destruction.
Seasons can be a reflection of personality and character.
Which season are you? Do you know yourself?
My Dahlia heart has never been a lover of the cold.
If I could sleep like hibernating squirrels,
or fly to warmer climates like migrating geese -
I would - I should - If only I could.
Yet I feel it would be selfish to leave my mother bird -
so I sacrifice my own happiness - but wait patiently for permission.
But, I'm struggling to sleep among lifeless souls.
My eyes perturbed by fake guides with false words.
Scorned minds who believe everything they see and hear,
plague me with their false prophecies -
why is it ok to burn some nests,
but there is an outcry when yours is damaged?
Are some fledglings more valuable than others....
Tired from the injustices of life,
I ponder do we ever learn from the lesson?
Revenge and retaliation are never the answer.
Hypocrites with blood on their hands
should not cry for peace - one life has no value over another -
nor does colour, religion or gender.
Yet we remain lost in the disorder.
Seasons change, but some minds remain the same..
Simple Sunday Musing.
10 December 2023
(For all the girls in Kwa-Zulu-Natal)
I am the Dahlia of Durban, a dramatic, dazzling
detonation of pure, palpable power and passion.
My layers are like the waves of the Indian Ocean:
deep, complex, powerful and utterly unstoppable.
I bring the heat of the Durban sun in my petals,
fiery, furious, fabulous display of sheer force.
I do not bloom; I explode into being, shattering
all previous notions of beauty with force.
I am a living, breathing, blazing masterpiece that makes
fireworks seem quite and grey.
To witness me is to surrender to the overwhelming,
outstanding, over- the- top majesty.
Floral expanse
Roses in vivid colours that smiled in glamour,
Red blood to be garlanded at valour,
White lilies bunching hearty and serene,
Catching lovers' fancy to the extreme,
Lavenders at the crest of mountains,
Challenging beauties of the terrains,
Merrigolds shining bright with sunrise,
Worshipping aroma to no surprise,
Dahlia, orange and yellow poppies dance,
Oleander with their pink flowers put us in stance,
Irises swayed taller on their stalks,
Bougainville like trumpets' melody outlast,
Bluebells borrowed colour from the sky,
Yellow dandelions woke up in golden bright light,
Tulips were as bright as showers,
Their beds flamed like throbbing rings of fire,
Forming shadows were rows of white flowers,
On azure coloured ground like trails of shooting stars,
Tiny wildflowers illuminated the grass,
Like jewels in the dust to nature's sarcast !
Written November 27th, 2014
For contest 'Encounter with flowers' by Anthony Slausen
Awarded HM
Entered into contest "Theme #2- Flowers- Old poems" by SKAT A
Awarded 9th place win
O river of moon roses
ferry me home....
I weep in quivering quiescence
like a weathered wild petal~
healing and hurting
in my p o e t i c recluse..
perhaps there is no word
to depict your thunder-struck garden
as breathless stars
shiver in solitude
tasting the pulse of betrayal
from the veins of grieving gravels…
I ponder ~ must I brush
skin of dusk
with angst of dawn
believe in self-spun delusions,
and drown in dahlia deception?
I have known truth as a masked lie
fed from familiar hands
of superficial solace...
I trusted the darker face of twilight
oblivious to the
sage flickering within...
following the fading silver
of the fickle Luna~
a willing mistress
to ethereal torment…
forgive me
I have no adjectives nor rhyme
left to right the love turned cold
I wove across
hyacinth horizon
that
feels not silent sighs
remember
you'll search for my silhouette
in valleys of vain violets
wicked-white winds
when the sun blemishes the sky
with colors of
ice-blue
r e v e r i e s
O dream-weaver
soul-kisser....
As the last petal falls
upon trembling twigs,
and the heart withers,
like nocturnal stars
weeping in a casket~
of ice-laced sepals,
soaked in searing silence,
cloaked in thistles of nothingness,
let Cleopatra’s amulets
dress your blurred horizon,
embroidered with
empty promises.
I wear our forbidden love
like a bleeding epitaph,
inscribed with
gusts of grief
and twisted tendrils,
emanating memories of us~
a mystical reflection of
how once we danced
like daffodils sipping
spiced gold magic
while the satanic sun
burned the flickering
flames of felicity within twin souls,
weaving poetic pansies
across the symphonic sky,
brushed with Sahara crystals,
unfolding a canopy of unbreakable
c o m p a s s i o n ...
O beloved black dahlia,
if I could, I would
fetch you the moon on a spoon,
steal the galaxies~
wrap them in
supernova serenity.
I’ll paint lakes of longing
with opalescent silver,
sculpt Swarovski swans
glazed in iridescent bliss,
tempting the alluring twilight
to drizzle aurora threads
across mysterious silhouettes,
engrossed in
an ethereal orchestra.
But if tomorrow
these words weigh little
less than the dreams
we’ve dreamed in stillness,
remember my soul is tied
to your rain-kissed metaphors,
and even if rhymes cannot
fix what’s undone,
these verses ache
to cleanse every stain
left within lifeless leaflets.
For no shift in season
could veil the vibrancy of vermilion
still rushing through these veins,
singing your name
in scarred cadence,
resting my quivering quill on
the cusp of the cursed springs,
as I embrace darkness before
the dawning of dulcet wings,
to lure you back
to the land of timeless trinkets,
a lachrymose lament~
romanticized as the requiem
for bewitched orchards...
Solstice Burning
Distant footsteps trodding through a suburban graveyard.
The Black Dahlia reposes silently
pondering the moment with a carved grin.
A tan La Salle pulled up that morning
when she lost her heartbeat.
More distant footsteps in the hills of disease and disillusion.
Can you discern what has been and what will be?
Look to the east and see a face coming through the mist,
seeking a sword.
Are you not tired of all this?
Do you not seek death secretly?
Put the key in the ignition
the streets burn for our presence
like a naked lover spread under stained sheets at twilight.
More stiff corpses in the alleyways
wasted for the big party that has yet to begin.
What is life but one more glance downward
with tilted head and screaming thoughts.
Are you not ready for a change?
Do you not seek just one moment of peace?
Raging rapsters cry to the starry heights
looking for a taste of neon nirvana.
Adolescents in tight skirts
with button nipples bulging
seek desperate embraces in the shadows.
Solstice burning like a madman with dagger at midnight.
The cool tombs of eternity await the doleful dirge.
"Can you hear it, honey?"
"Put out the lights now."
The Black Dahlia needs her beauty sleep.
The Mexican Dahlia tinged in burnt orangey-red makes me sigh
as I slumber in a midsummer terra-cotta July sky~ poet
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After taking a week-long break, went for a walk this morning
Saw decorations of Mother Nature for summer’s welcoming
Sun was shining with its multi million glimmers
Soft breeze was blowing making the walk feeling pleasurable
Trees on the road were filled with rustling luscious green leaves
Filled with many colorful birds singing their songs enjoying the morning gist
Having their tiny nests secured on extensive leafy twigs
Some of them were giving flying lessons to their growing babies
Roads felt a bit quiet due to the start of summer holidays
Flowers of charming Petunias kept showing their blooms taking attention away
Pink, purple, red and white
Sunshine had made their colors strikingly bright
Turmeric yellow colored perky Marigolds
Mingling with vibrant Dahlia and Daisy blossoms
Gorgeous Hydrangea’s blue, pink and white clusters
Peeping out from leafy foliage of distinctive textures
Numerous varieties of flamboyant Lilies
Orange and pink blooms of Gladiolas’ prominent streaks
Delightful fragrances of Star Jasmine and Gardenias
So many flourishes, so many diversities, so many shapes and charismas
The walk after a long break due to a case of flu
Revived my spirits with its breathtaking lively views
He avoided florists,
those over-cultivated blooms
in their overheated shops
seemed to be a perversion of nature.
He shunned all those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large Shar-Pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts of peonies
pressing-in and crowding his mind
with a ballooning menace.
His stomach trembled when confronted
with petulant Pelargonium
or the silent perfumed farts of the deadly Dahlia.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
They are the epitome of those hard drugs
that invade our senses.
For him, the Day Lily
was a pall-bearing pale monstrosity.
Seemingly innocuous bunches of Mums
are well known to gather in smug mobs
at a time of year
when our greatest need
is for fresh air.
Passing all flower shops
he cringes away,
and will not pay a penny
for any kind of noxious poesy
or floral frippery.
Georgie Porgie was a little overweight, since he loved tasty desserts,
Like puddings and baked pies; or green woods, full of robin concerts.
Georgie was ten years of age, possessing an impish sense of humor;
And played tricks on his classmates, involving frogs, it was rumored.
This sometimes left girls in tears, while boys wanted to thrash him!
But Georgie ran away, laughing, like violet blooms, of nature's whim.
As Georgie was only having fun, he gave those girls who cried, a kiss;
Like dazzling rainbow colors slip away, silent, before they are missed.
'Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
When the boys came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.'
Fetching flowers were fading fast, lying on motley beds, in cool fields;
As fall season was flourishing, with friends coming, for fun and meals.
Fireproof, fragrant summer flamed furiously, on fuchsia fourth of July;
When flying family rode fluffy, pink clouds, eyeing bluebirds going by!
Georgie lived in the house of huge moon, inescapable in the darkness;
And dreams arose in glittery, gold dust, when all roads were calmness.
Saucy, scarlet blooms wore polka dots, skillfully crafted by the sun days,
On his street of striped, petunia contrasts, following nature's wild ways.
Nonrenewable hours drifted by, noticed, midst noise of neon songbirds;
As new neighbors dropped in, casually, with the noted confetti of words.
Black orchids lent dark to noon, as 'King Kong' coleus terrorized towns;
And plum, 'persian shield' plants guarded, the hues of sunset drowned.
'Brazilian blue' cacti were melancholy, in affinity with the sapphire sky;
Like the crimson rose memory of fire, or red butterflies, of no goodbye.
Silvery years passed, with velvet tick tocks, as Georgie tired of pranks;
And he dreamt of being an engineer, like stars, the adoring planets flank.
Soon Georgie took girls out on dates, and they often ended with kisses,
Like dinnerplate dahlia days of delight, in many dyes of summer riches!
Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie,
Kissed the girls who no longer cried.