Chrysanthemum Girl

I only write poetry when I feel inspired.

I was inspired over Christmas. This one I wrote for Simon, who wanted to put beautiful music to it.

Somewhere between the mountains

And the bed that I have made

I have found a place to lay my head

And forget the comfort of your shade

Where the children with the chalk

Draw your eyes into my dream

Where I cannot walk

Where I cannot scream.

It is where the sidewalk ends

and the cold winds advise, 

And the children with the chalk

Scratch life into our eyes. 

Dusty hope and vertigo lend

Our petrified gazes to lock:

See our astonished reflections,

See your petals in the rock.

They drew your face on hardened earth

Green and gold and rose transcend

To flowers of an afterthought

And inside my soul suspends.

A crooked grin and aspirations

To have you and to hold.

And to be satisfied with what you cannot give

And with what I cannot behold.

Somewhere between the mountains

And the bed that I have made

I have found a place to lay my head

And forget the comfort of your shade

Where the children with the chalk

Draw your eyes into my dream

Where I cannot walk

Where I cannot scream.

Forgetting that I need you

The pride resigned by grief

The storm comes forth and raises 

Reality against belief.

Blink back the glassy tears

that erode apart your soul.

Until the rain washes you away

My Chrysanthemum Girl.

Chrysanthemums are important to me. They were on the coffin of my grandfather when he passed away several years ago. I remember them being in the garden. I remember autumn mums in our own garden. I always knew the seasons were changing when the autumn mums started popping up in our gardens - beautiful fiery red and golden petals that mimicked maples.

Word of the Day: Counter-productive

Quote of the Day: Awake my soul.