You will get no roses from me:
Over-tended, overfed, pruned, and powdered,
Cut with shears in leather gloved hands.
No showy blow-bag flowers
Shouting, “I love you, I love you”
Like a twelve year old brat in the street.
No hot house orchid either,
Exquisite and exotic,
Like a sickly child with blue white skin
Who must be carefully watched and cared for,
Whose condition is discussed in whispers,
In the warm, wet, decadent air.
I will give you sunflowers instead
Rank wild things jostling and bobbing in the sun,
Pulled with naked hands
From a ditch by the side of the road.
Something that will bloom long and lasting
Something that can thrive in stony ground
And feed the birds long after the petals have dropped.
Yes, I will give you sunflowers.
This is a very good write Allan. It shouts of the natural and free as opposed to the kind of well wrapped formality of counterfeat love. I would prefer the sunflowers every time along with the ardent observation that goes with last verse. Good wordsmithing. Keep it up. Bes wishes from Fay Slimm. Have a look at one of my new efforts called What's in a Name. I'd like your views if you have chance. Best wishes Fay Slimm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And i get to read this stuff for FREE! ! ! ! seriously good quality, publishable stuff in deed... as we say in england.... 'Jolly good'!