Love and daffodils
Jan. 11th, 2010 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pjthompsonThere were three poems I considered posting today. One was elegiac, one about existential angst, and another mildly bawdy one.
I had a great time at the gallery show Saturday. I hope to write that up sometime this week. Sunday, however, was something of an elegiac day. I scanned some more old pictures from slides and the particular randomly selected box I picked them out of held pictures of two dead people and three dead cats, all of them loved ones. I thought I'd had enough of elegies and angst. So I decided to go with the slightly bawdy and hopefully humorous one.
I've put this poem behind a cut in case anyone is offended by the use of the P-word.
Love and Daffodils
for Rita
Here’s to the old days when something like
love
gripped me, clenched me and cosseted me,
penises sprouted like hosts of golden
daffodils
and I played amongst the flesh,
forever young.
Did I ever think I was forever young?
I must have once, for old age stormed
me by surprise, and though the flesh
is more than willing, the penises bloom
in younger fields, leaving this odd manure
of memory.
Not bitter exactly, nor hopeless;
still rich and loamy, full of the stuff
of life.
In which something must grow, surely.
If not penises, why then, perhaps myself.
I had a great time at the gallery show Saturday. I hope to write that up sometime this week. Sunday, however, was something of an elegiac day. I scanned some more old pictures from slides and the particular randomly selected box I picked them out of held pictures of two dead people and three dead cats, all of them loved ones. I thought I'd had enough of elegies and angst. So I decided to go with the slightly bawdy and hopefully humorous one.
I've put this poem behind a cut in case anyone is offended by the use of the P-word.
Love and Daffodils
for Rita
Here’s to the old days when something like
love
gripped me, clenched me and cosseted me,
penises sprouted like hosts of golden
daffodils
and I played amongst the flesh,
forever young.
Did I ever think I was forever young?
I must have once, for old age stormed
me by surprise, and though the flesh
is more than willing, the penises bloom
in younger fields, leaving this odd manure
of memory.
Not bitter exactly, nor hopeless;
still rich and loamy, full of the stuff
of life.
In which something must grow, surely.
If not penises, why then, perhaps myself.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-12 01:30 am (UTC)Icon some daffodils for those buoyant penises :D
no subject
Date: 2010-01-12 05:06 pm (UTC)