[Corneac]

I’m garnering perspective
and weeding the unsavoury from my life,
the shrubs, that darkish shade of green that remind me of you,
are thrown on the compost pile,
demolished by soil, and the probing beaks of the cockies,
alabaster vultures, that scour the decay,
as if searching for something to say,
between the awkward of silences
and the nervous ratchet of beaks,
that find nothing of value,
much like us, or the us now,
but sometimes I wonder,
if there was anything at all,
more like a strangle of ivy
that choked past my throat
you noosed me then left me,
an irresponsible cowboy, that had little to do,
but strangle me in you, hang my last breath,
and wither me away,

some weeds are dug deep,
like wounds that I can’t reach,
they’re pierced way past the soil
past filaments and ligaments,
to where new makers make toil;
replant the wandering dew,
breathe life into the newly ripped vines,
smother the new bulbs
as again, the unsavoury takes hold,

so I weed, long and hard,
from the heat of the day,
to the night, broken by cold,

but in vain, despite the season
despite the pummelling, funnelling
fault of a reason,
when spring creeps along
and blooms shrub and wanting
with its song,
the weeds will emerge
and the wound will again, hurt,
and I’ll be again, on my hands and knees
begging the garden, as much you to me,
to spare me a life, without this cycle,
that give me but a season of
freedom to grow, in summer or shade,
without the shadow of you, shading my way,

[Vorcla]

Wow - nice! Lots of layering here, lots of levels, more than just a nature poem. I like the way you play with words - "filaments," "ligaments" - and the texture of the piece. Damned fine.

[Corneac]

Thanks Vorc! Lotta respect for you dude, so your comment means an aweful lot. Thanks...I'm glad you liked it.

[Venomous Vixen]

You know, this may be one of the first pieces from you where I have seen you take one single metaphor and develop it the way you just did... the flowerbead or garden and every aspect of, from the plants, to the weeds, to the vines and the soil, and even the creatures that lurk about under the sun and the moon. This was flawless, powerful and so true. That saying from my poem "Time wounds all heals" popped in my head and sums this up entirely, for no matter how much time passes or how many different ways you try and pluck those weeds from memory, they eventually surface, full force, and suffocate, only to be killed off by winter once again... until spring. I could go on and on, and if I attempted to quote my favorite bits you would have an entire piece down here. This is the guy I miss, and the poetry I miss, perfect and bloody powerful.

[Corneac]

Thanks bri...I should stick to single metaphros more often...thanks.

[Nupur]

This is awesome. You played a lot with words; 'pummelling, funnelling' and 'filaments and ligaments', and I loved that. Your flow is brilliant everywhere. Some very refreshing images here right from the 'alabaster vultures' to your references to 'ivy'. The ending was just perfect.

without the shadow of you, shading my way,

This line is just 'whoa'.

The only line I had a problem with is this:

between the awkward of silences

The reading was awkward and that created a minor problem with the flow. Perhaps something like:

between the most awkward of silences

Fantastic work. Bloody good metaphor, immensely powerful and poetry at its best. Lovely Chris.