Given a choice, I would rather have seeded elsewhere— perhaps in a princess’s garden, where I might glimpse her face but once a week. Swapping our perfumes, I would die to be squeezed dry of my oils for her pleasure; but I will accept the brushing of her fair fingers on my face.
Her groundsman, a man of few words, would tend to me while his mind was elsewhere. Maybe he would whistle me a tune to stimulate my stamen.
I could watch the horses leave on long journeys, kicking up dust into my eyes, and await their triumphant return.
But I’m busy here fighting for the sunshine, tangled and bruised amongst my neighbours. If I could just enjoy the wind or the soft April showers, that would fall in July.
The long shadows of the Magnolia are now an unwelcome canopy at the golden hour, when I would enjoy my best growing, wishing to stretch with wings.
The laws of life let us live well Luxury is surrounded by misery and stress Enslavement to it is a witch’s spell We can still be happy with having less
Waking up for each morning’s graces I analyse my thoughts from twenty paces Before a single movement, I’m off to the races Paralysed with the fear of my many faces OCD has me trapped within its embraces I’m one of the doctor’s strangest cases
Written for the Chimeric Poetry Scavenger Hunt: Write a Quadrille as a Monorhyme. This poem is written from the perspective of an old girlfriend of mine who suffered seriously from OCD, so much so that she couldn’t move her body when she woke, as her brain tried to work out the order that she needed to move her muscles in so she could get out of bed. I’m pretty sure I borrowed the second line from someone but can’t remember who.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Respect The Past But Be Open To The Future
The pioneers are not our masters But they surely are our guide They make excellent forecasters Take the future in your stride
A rainbow requires a rain that stings against the broken beams of sunlight, then slowly lifts its colour from the sky or shatters into mist on the earth.
I watched each shimmering light from across the valley, and the highest peaks where scraggly goats adjust their footing.
Meltwater races down to the river rushing by, where some fish brace the current's weight and others choose to carelessly let go.
As another crossroads comes into view, I hear the gravel crunching the tune of both right and wrong. I join them—flat-footed, unsure, waiting.
Once in a lifetime, just once you will know not to be scared of death, as he approaches in the periphery. Calm before his duty, he gently takes your hand and whispers you away. All storms begin to settle, your medals tarnish, your children’s laughter fades to a hum, as all your prizes begin to disappear, with his promise that this sorrow will be only once, just once. Once in a lifetime.
1994ever 