Tag Archives: flowers

Poem 55: I cannot love the sky

I cannot love the sky
until I know the scientific names for all the clouds.
Look! how dramatic is Cumulonimbus!

I cannot love the garden
until I know the scientific names for all the flowers.
Oh! such lovely Lobularia maritima!

I cannot love the song
until I know the scientific names for all the birds.
Hark! to the rapture of that Turdus philomelos!

I cannot love reflections in the water
until I’ve checked for giardia,
those anaerobic flagellated protozoan parasites of the phylum Sarcomastigophora.

I cannot love you
until I have dissected your opinions
tested your resolve
verified your good faith
and checked that you don’t have a Daucus carota stuffed up your Sphincter ani externus
like some overcharged know-all who

…cannot love the sky

 

Poem 35: Dead flowers

(The poetic form selected for this month is the Standard Habbie aka Burns Stanza).

The flowers you left when I was ill
Lie dead upon my window sill.
The flowers are dead, not me, you dill!
I’m still alive!
I’ll throw them out, I think I will.
They won’t revive.

You left these flowers when you left me,
You said our love was dead, you see,
And you had wanted to be free
And not enchained.
I know that what will be will be
But little’s gained.

I hope you love the life you choose.
I cook a meal and watch the News.
I clean the house; don’t touch the booze.
If you were here
The things we hold I’d never lose.
Dead flowers don’t care.

1019. Death notice

1005deathnotice

Diamonique wrote her own death notice:

I don’t want no flowers. I don’t want no cards. No funeral, just a cremation and no one’s to come. Nothing. I’d like everyone to know that I hated them as much as they hated me. Burn all my stuff. No free handouts for my greedy relatives.

P.S. Guess what Diamonique? The family are having one hell of a party.

953. A bunch of flowers

953bunch

Terry and Heather had an “old-fashion” marriage arrangement. Terry worked on the farm, and Heather worked in and around the house. The children had grown up and left, and apart from visits from family and friends, they led a fairly ordered and predictable life.

Terry would help with the dishes every evening after the meal, and Heather would help with the hay-making when the season came. But the truth was that if anything happened to Terry, Heather wouldn’t have much of a clue as to what to do on the farm; and if anything happened to Heather, Terry’s culinary expertise amounted to reheating a pre-cooked dinner in the microwave.

Then Heather got sick and had to go to the hospital for a week. A friend brought some lovely flowers before Heather went away.

“I’m going to leave these flowers on the dining table for you to enjoy while I’m gone,” said Heather to Terry. And she did. And she went.

For the first couple of days Terry dutifully watered the flowers in the vase. Then he noticed that one of the flowers was going a bit floppy.

“They have to last until Heather gets back,” thought Terry, and he put the vase of flowers in the fridge. That way they would stay fresh for longer. He knew that from the cool store he had in his shed for some cattle drench.

The week passed. Heather returned. Terry placed the flowers back on the table.

“Look at the flowers!” said Heather. “They’re still fresh and lovely. I hope you enjoyed them.”

“I looked at them every day,” said Terry.

He was rather pleased with his house-keeping skills.