Tortured Flower

The flower tortured for nought.

Petals drop
she counts the ways
she loves me –
not enough.

 

I love her
I love her not
the daisy soon naked
screams in agony
“You love me not!”
another petal plucked.

 

The rose, red
with age fades to brown
to black, love
lilies grieve its death –
still breathing
comatose.

 

Heaven’s scent
the lilac fresh, molds
food for slugs
my chamomile lawn
strewn with weeds.

 

One by one
she counts
she loses count
what does she count? –
nothing, she’s forgotten.

 

Reviews

[Alia]

Hi Atlanta,

Couple of quick things and then I'll be on my way. Near the end, some code appears and I think it's the site's new changes screwing it up (I had similar problems when posting poetry myself... if you can't get rid of it by editing the poem, then contact Charlie...), and this one isn't a technical suggestion, but the last line "The flower tortured for nought" is not needed as it comes across as excessive because it's the underlying theme. What's more resonant, to me at least, is the notion of her being forgotten. And it sounds like a solid ending: nothing, she's forgotten.

There's something about this poem that's really sticking with me, and although I can't say what it is, I will say I'm keeping this one for my faves list.

Alia

[Wulfstan Crumble]

That was nice; laid back, warm hearted with a mild sense of humour and wry wit. The continual repetition of the code (via dj Charles n his funky WC backing band) give it an avant garde sense of rhythm. Its very pagan of us to put our faith into the randomness of nature to decide love for us. The overall content seems sad but it feels like it carries a sense of humour through it al lthey way. i may be wrong of course. The stanza about not loving the poor daisy is classic. Really enjoyable.

[Blackbirdsong]

I think we've all played that game and even when I got a "he loved me" in the end it didn't matter, because such things can't be determined by flowers. Yet we try.

" The rose, red
with age fades to brown
to black, love
lilies grieve its death �
still breathing
comatose."

The sadness in this write, along with the imagery is just really well done.



Heaven's scent
the lilac fresh, molds
food for slugs
my chamomile lawn
strewn with weeds.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A sad and beautiful writing. Thank you; for sharing. Debileah

[Lydia Breakfast]

I feel so sorry for this mutilated blossom, humbled and stripped by the careless fingers of an ambivalent girl. I also like the imagery of the flowers grieving, the weed-strewn lawn as an epitaph for a forgotten love. Have to say though, I am not crazy about the word comatose. It disrupted the flow of my read with its sound in my head. Perhaps that is just me.

[Ruejacobs]

talking flowers worry me a bit. i would have popped the top off that one with my thumb should it have said a word to me...
the best part is the the last stanza:

"One by one
she counts
she loses count
what does she count? �
nothing, she's forgotten..."

i'd have left it like that, myself. the last line, an afterthought, finishes it nicely enough,
i just like the idea of the writer herself becoming distracted from the poem and leaving it dangling in thin air...

as it is, it is elegant and faintly reminiscent of an origami orchid.

[Phillip William Allen]

Great thougt line, and the imagery was excellant.

[Crimson Shadow]

The poor flower, used as a tool for her fickle ways. I love the stanza about the red rose fading to brown and then to black, as if it represented the sentiments of the "your" heart that was withering as she toyed with this and that. She counts, loses count, is left with nothing...and I guess that is the the bitter truth...she can't count ways she loves you if she can't remember why she loves you anymore. I hope this is merely fiction, hate to think you felt this cast aside. This is a great poem, though....and I thought you only wrote one or two a year. :)