The frost that ruptures arteries
and makes her foliage weep
is also master of the brush
that earns true glory’s keep,
for as he paints the crimson tide
with blood as palette’s edge,
his lines mark beauty’s truest form,
and trace salvation’s ledge.
The sap you’ll bleed will tell the tale;
we all know the drill.
The shock of the first prying probe,
the initial cut,
slices through more than skin.
But it’s the continual pounding,
the interminable perforation,
the ongoing flurry of jaw-jolting blows
that will have you screaming Uncle.
Just when you feel that the hammer has hit your heart
and defeat is inevitable,
the bird finds its worm,
and the real pest is revealed.
The blood you’ll cry
will cauterise the hole;
only the scab will
testify to your
cut
when you find the sky
with outstretched arms…
You definitely deserve an ‘A’ for effort.
Your work ethic dictates policy,
keeps you after hours,
banks over-time pay.
While others turned up their noses at the challenge,
you rose.
Some undefinable quality
in your genetics
bred tenacity,
endurance,
courage.
While others toppled,
splintered,
faltered,
failed –
you rose.
*
October roses are a real treat – this is the last of them, I’m afraid – but while the frost got most, and broke their spirits, these rose!
Strangled by frost’s fists,
your cells surrender.
Cytoplasm spills from pores
hard-pressed by mercury’s plunge.
It is time.
Time to beat a hasty retreat,
seal off summer’s silhouette
and lay up treasures
for seasons to come.
Capitulation, not abandonment;
acquiescence, not succumbing.
After your pupal pause,
Sun caresses your dead skin;
you will
rise again.
Which is more alive?
Sometimes
you need to know when to fold,
when to halt the forward momentum.
The irony bleeds on blades of steel –
blooming is most profitable
when ground to a halt;
there,
in the secret places,
seeds are knit from
crisping petals,
distended ovaries,
dried husks of youth.
Once the shell of beauty is ceremoniously cracked,
rendered useless,
torn limb from limb
in ferocious labour pains,
what spills from broken caskets is
Alive and Kicking…
You’re an original, I’ll give you that.
Side-swept hair that just won’t quit,
Grandiose words and grandiose plans.
Your dreams are larger than life,
Just like your grin.
No one but you knows
Of damp pillowcases
And wobbly knees
Because that is your night life,
And during banking hours
Your mask never slips.
Yours is the drama of the Queen in her court
Who relinquishes her first-born
To pay a King’s ransom…
*
How many people that you met today functioned professionally and competently
and hid their tears behind an actor’s mask?
The storms of life have had their way,
The years have turned her dark to gray,
And robbed her of her partner, too –
The scars are where her feet walked through
The toughest rock-infested climbs,
The places where the toughest times
Have tried to conquer inner peace.
Doctor’s bills, death’s release,
Betrayals multiplied by four,
Troubles knocking on heart’s door.
Beneath the gray exterior
Lies a heart superior,
Tested by a difficult life,
Tempered by abundant strife;
She will live to see the day
When others lead her by the way,
Lives whose hearts by hers were touched
In sundry ways, by her deep love.
