never over your
white-washed smile
words watered
with vibrant fragrance
fables
which filled my ear
linger clearly
as if they were now
shortly spoken
fateful flesh
fallen into nettle
&
burdensome briars
that since settled
at this whole heart
how had you found me
was I a litter of scrabble tiles
first, you spelled me
further, misspelled me
later, dispelled me
bad homme
burying sunlight
in bridal lace
& hollow vows
which vassalized me
chastised me
minimized me
& unmasked you—
solitary white
rose that bloomed
between those teeth
tumbled
& withered swiftly
in the wayward wind
never over your
basilisk-breath
black velvet tongue
threatening my life
scrambling joints
ruining sweat & tears
as every pore runs
red
becoming a river of blood
-
a place I'd rather
not be
Georgia has two separate wildfires burning fast
The smoke upon the creek rise does settle
And the fog rise mixed with smoke
Gets in my eyes as though cast
How that smoke in eyes does nettle
Can't see stars through fog's cloak
A meadow awaits its springtime march
where my feet wander along
like one holy pilgrimage: a nettle drifts
without blame or sense of pity,
leaves lingering on trunks reddened
by the kiss of clay glossy
in a mad desire to wake, wake
dawn flowing with herbage.
I trace how flaming in amber this weed
crawls in wild, unbridled streaks
of lightened mud, part ground, part wind :
Twilight sings the break of newborn day
where this nettle crawls alone, not lonely;
its slithering frame posed to rule over blooms
a nymph perhaps trailblazing in abandon--
that being in this ethereal space rouses
both pleasure and piety within my bones…
while the soil's womb bears more weeds.
The saying is:
I think,
therefore I am.
So,
if I don't think,
then therefore I am not.
Does this apply,
to the corpse I see,
laid in that casket.
Her hands, tight round nettles,
that carry no flowers or buds,
and make her hands burn and hiss.
But she is not thinking,
so she doesn't feel the pain.
Rather, the flesh,
begins to rot,
off her, and her dress,
is stained with blood.
That dress. The one,
her loved ones picked out
for her.
I'm sure it's a lovely thing,
probably fashioned from a bolt of silk,
and stitched together with care.
But now it is stained,
and no one removed the nettle,
from her hands.
So maybe you should think before you leap,
but don't think to hard,
or else,
before you are even put to rest
the entire thing
has rotted away.
Go away world and let me live this gentle lie, giggling as I push my toes into the cool mud beneath the freshly sprouted grass
I want to stay wrapped in the embrace of this fools spring
I see the purple nettle beginning to bloom
My dear its much to soon
Go back and hide my flowers for winter will return and that will spell our doom
Look at us with our red cheeks, the cheery haze spread about our petals
Drunk and in love with warmth from the sun
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
Red eyes might grow tough to handle mettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Finger might flip up hints to pure deceit,
Somewhat so close to Cain's stunt on Abel;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Alcohol could have actualised such treat,
Upon rage within, ever unsettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Lust to blood; love to ruin, brace up stunt's cheat-
Cain focused off change, hope cares to settle...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Now, regret locks up an endless defeat...
Upon bloody sin, Cain-Abel nettle;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Drained of opaque innocence
Perfected by your toxicity,
I was laid bare beneath the narcissistic sun,
Searing deep within dehydrated pupils,
Stripping my soul of all humanity,
until your sinister tongue was all I could hear.
Your empty promises clothed these bones;
running was no longer an option,
as hiding became nearly impossible within your shadows.
Voices, eating through my cerebral cortex,
tainted even the demons that resided within my mind.
Minuscule reminders of my life before became particles of dust,
floating through suffocating air,
choking the little oxygen you let me breathe,
until the poison became too much to take.
Falling to my knees, vomiting your vile lies,
my life flashed like motion pictures before my eyes.
A choice was given:
either purge—rip the cursed, stinging nettle from my veins,
or die under your cruelty.
I will not rot for an insignificant monster;
a cleansing is long overdue.
The seashore holds me in grief
entwined with moss and nettle;
while thud of echoes returns
more shrill than a gull's lament...
In decibels of love passing
I hunger for night's soft caress.
A cracked windowpane. A few daffodils peek their heads through the weeds that grow tall where flowers once smiled. Purple nettle chokes the life from any grass courageous enough to try to stand in its way.
Birds tweet their dismay
the feeders are all empty—
No signs of life here
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner
The chittering Crickets were hidden deep, ‘neath fairytale canopy of Dead Nettle & Chickweed,
There the Bee hums over their tiny forest, a dancer of Meadow’s flower,
Grace between Comfrey & Dandelion, then lost at last they dangling cling,
To the Snake’s bowed sunlit head, for the rare nectar of Fritillary’s sweetly hidden face…
by D.N. Read2024©?
Soup and greens,beer and tea
buttlerfly young just love me,
aphid trap and liquid feed
ladybird heaven,yes indeed!
I love phosphate & nitrate soil
such versatility reduces toil,
my leaves quicken the compost
all this for free,at no cost!
Okay,okay,yes I sting
Beautiful the ugliness of scented sweat.
Resists the idea to flee. The least needs
the soldier’s help. The bleed of his forehead -
whether this soul is of tares or weeds.
This dreadful beast is a Samaritan’s guest.
He has no wallet, no name, one’s home.
A medicinal book speaks, “Give him rest.”
Wash him, pull up clean sheets to his chin.
The saint cannot measure the light of his eyes.
They are sweltered in darkness under lids.
The beauty sleep might do him good.
Samaritan, you can’t take a peek - God forbids.
Chances are this hoary man’ll not be thankful.
Chances are he’d rather be dead…is he?
You’ve taken a chance…might he be wrathful?
Still, a human being presented himself - the least.
Beautiful the rising of the sun, its presentation
of bittersweet orange and red, hugely sacrificing.
In nettle, your knees - you know who you long to be.
No matter the cost, the calling of heaven’s enticing.
Steps on mud, a stalking thread,
Red strings wind through dying groves
Where life needs time, to find footing,
Red strings halt hands in greed which hold
The axe of ignorance, the axe which bleeds
A people in flight from homes bulldozed
For one brute mine more, to feed empire
Which jangles keys, which confines in loaned
Dependence made, our trough withheld
By bloated old speculators whose cold
Lies obscure serfdom; worded as freedom,
And the east wind is chided,
For fetishism, advert slogans uphold
Impotence among them who create,
They are given consumerist mirrors,
As leeches of mankind are weighed in gold;
And as burns away our way of life,
All bonds formed in toil shared,
The market-canker births hedonism
The imperial axe bloodies us, brothers of old
But hold tight onto the strong strands
Of crimson in the heartlands,
Seize imagination, seize thought
Beyond nettle laden garlands
And thorn crown of parlay,
Rip with the iron of hardship
All parasites, them whose is the whip,
Can’t be pleaded with, can’t be controlled.
THE FAIRY TREE
Somewhere on the black mountain
Overlooking Belfast town
There’s a fairy tree with umbilical roots
Which go far beneath the ground
The local people fear its power
They pay it full respect
For they know that deep beneath the earth
There’s a powerful fairy sect
They live between the neverworld
And the world which we all know
Some folk have claimed to see them fly
With a fairy magic glow
Make sure you don’t get too close
Or you’ll feel the fairies wraith
And they’ll send the elves to put you
In a mucky nettle bath
The fairies have a job to do
In fact, it’s vital, you might say
They protect us from the evil trolls
And they keep the imps at bay
They look after all the honey bees
And they paint the butterflies
They keep our rivers running
And make rainbows in the skies
So when you’re outside walking
And you see a fairy tree
Just wave, smile and remember
They look after you and me
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