Garden trash.

A dead box,
a murderer of many; 

I kneel to
you; I have
written poems,
love, lust,
excuses for the better
of what I mourned the same 

I was tired
of the scars,
winters whored in childhood,
the Limoges lips

the cherubs
planted by the moon
the bed, always death 
in a waltz; the trash 
in the garden,
my hands fertilize
no children there

I am both the woman and the girl;
she sits in the bathtub 
death to the cricket
she does not sleep; I kneel 
all the same

God,
pretty statues
gardens that stepmother
each flower; academy of fine ideas;
water
fear
death
the patchouli
my body rests upon

where my flesh and bone
meet 
I find myself above all
in poetry 

© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Written for the dVerse 5/20/2021 MTB prompt.

I hope the beat and rhythm pace some sort of waltz.

I’m not really sure where I was going here for sure. Just some things that give my mind a dance, especially in poetry, things lost to the past, and thoughts like always looking for more tired of the same.

39 thoughts on “Garden trash.”

  1. I liked these lines, “gardens that stepmother each flower; academy of fine ideas” I believe gardens are symbolic of the mind in esoteric literature, so the academy of ideas fits well. I feel the dance of life that leads you to poetry. 💖

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I imagined the solitary ghost of an abused and murdered woman dancing as I read your poem, Lucy. A sad dance. These lines stood out for me:
    ‘I was tired
    of the scars,
    winters whored in childhood,
    the Limoges lips
    the cherubs
    planted by the moon’
    and
    ‘where my flesh and bone
    meet
    I find myself above all
    in poetry’.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Your mind is always a dance Lucy, more interpretive modern or jazz, than waltz. You have moments of grandeur in your words, but they are more complex than the steps of a Viennese. Always interesting, and a wonderful challenge to search through, finding little gems that resonate. Well written Lucy. I read you with the same open view of broad strokes as I listen to Monk, Mingus, or Miles’ “Kinda Blue” and “Bitches Brew”. And enjoy equally Joni, Waits, NIN, the Dan, and Floyd. I enjoy the unexpectedness of your work Lucy! Write on my friend…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. “the cherubs
    planted by the moon
    the bed, always death
    in a waltz; the trash
    in the garden,
    my hands fertilize
    no children there”

    loved all the contrasting images in that stanza, and rest of the poem. well penned, i enjyed

    Liked by 3 people

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