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Flower Poems for Dirty Minds
Eros rules the world. Humble poet, striving to represent the true nature of things, hidden truths only discoverable through a series of lies we call 'metaphor, I consistantly hit up against the dirty, dirty reality: Eros rules the world.
In few places, however, is the dominion of Eros so powerful as in the world of flowers. Meretricious creature, the flower wafts its perfumes and flashes its pretty dresses to lure bees and birds into its embrace. Promiscuous flowers summon anything and everything to have their beastly way and leave with some sweet nectar for the trouble. So pollen fills the world.
Look at how many plants there are and ask yourself, "Who put them there?" Other plants, ever busy at every moment spraying seed, seed so thick your asthmatic aunt gasps for breath is who put them there. Rabbits and ants are shamed by the mighty reproductive force of flower-kind.
So oozing with the Power of Eros that we give flowers to our women to get them to the bed. We toss flowers onto graves to remind ourselves, "Life goes on; you may be dead, but seed continues." Flower, flowers, dirty flowers: they look like the bits and pieces we cover, sticking up, bulbing, opening and closing, secreting and depleting, flowers are the most obscene things on the fair planet.
What is a poet to do? Tell the truth.
Heat mists local airs, readies your stamen,
The tsetse marveling your velamen,
Which awaits the dripping from above
Honey dripping from above
Gold, sweet, from above.
The thunderbolt and Mighty Zeus
Concocted, dictated, you're either a-
Drinkin' or a-bathin'--
Juices divine so seldom leak;
Enjoy the tinkle: life's love's peak.
Cultivated irregular incurve
Welcomes the boorish caterpillar's verve,
The soft, pink skin wrapped 'round the disc
Contemplates an ecstatic trip
To the cherubic heaven bliss,
Consuming from center to lip.
And angels and archangels chant
Of holy fate for this girl's plant.
Strung about trimery merosity
Perrennial's bulb's animosity
Is fixed by stolon, crossing wet sepals;
Transfixed in scape stems, blooming soft petals.
From mountainous Boreas masked
Infectious nematodes are asked
Restraining, cuffed to porous soil.
Empollened air rewards the toil.
The lily stigma swept with style.
The blowing of humid winds
Sought tears from pinkish eyes, questing
Melancholic, the Earth's lap.
Fair Science could coax this bounty,
A splash of seed upon the grave.
With the knell of parting day
Eros retires and leaves the world
To dark productivity.
How do you feel about flowers?