Fully Grown

Morden Blush

The vows, inception, but a bud,

Which Time has now released;

The years, the layers, gracious flood

Where depth of love increased.

The petals, pathways intertwined,

Your fingers in my own;

The flower, beauty, souls aligned,

A marriage fully grown.

 

 

 

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A Broken Asterisk

Poppy Seed head

Losing ground fast,

he blocked out her tirade,

replacing the objectionable content

with a broken

asterisk.

Hope

silveryfrostedash

Hope, you shatter me –

why be lover only?

Casual acquaintance,

fair-weather friend,

petulant and winsome in turns,

colossal tease.

Creeping in on the heels of  a foggy eve,

dazzling with your brilliance,

then stealing away

with the sun.

Will you not say “I Do!”

and throw in your lot

with mine,

for better or worse?

No.

You are a

false friend,

adulterer,

betrayer.

And yet,

oh,

oh my love,

how I want you…

Glory

The years have robbed them –

of youth, strength, seedlings, soil.

Yet still they stand,

tottering together,

hand in hand,

heart in heart,

staring down the approaching winter

with eyes bleary but wise.

Theirs has been

a journey,

a defiance,

a rising above,

a conquering of Kingdoms.

And on the brink of leaving this for the next,

they raise shaking heads

to be crowned at last

with glory.

Rewrite

It was rather a shock,

that first realization that the rice thrown for good luck

could become so much grist for the mill;

that life would not all be sunshine and roses

and petal-strewn paths in the shade,

but hard labour under gruelling taskmasters called Self and Ego.

Who invited these to the party?

Shock gave way to compromise,

lowered expectations,

a regular everyday Ordinary

that slunk around the house and infected you both

with its insipid stagger.

No Fairy Tale, this –

the Prince’s fine suit has turned to rags

in this land of perpetual midnight.

The Princess has packed away her ball-gown;

she has no need of it, for she has forgotten the steps,

and he doesn’t ask any more.

He shuffles to work

and performs his duties

with grim determination.

She busies herself in her career

and loses herself in motherhood’s frenzied tasks.

‘I promise’ – until Life is hard,

and Love is harder.

As Narrator of this tale,

I remind you –

you are still Royal Ones.

Pick up your pen and rewrite this Tale of Two Pities –

insert roses by the dozen,

heroes wearing your clothes,

and with a flourish, gift Stamina with flesh and bones.

Life is not about happy endings and ever after, after all –

it is laundry and hiccups,

storm clouds and backed up toilets,

bills and glints of joy in the fabric of the peasant.

Why look for magic

when it lives within your spirit?

Why wait for your knight in shining armour,

when he lies next to you in human skin?

This is your story –

it is never too late

for a re-write…

Blushing Bride

Blushing bride, delicate rose,

Layers of mystery striking a pose;

Your glory lies in mantle of skin,

In triplicate infinite strata within.

Blushing bride, exquisite bloom,

Opening self when Love gives you room;

Trusting that yours is a valued award,

Giving completely what groom can’t afford.