In A Garden Of Roses Poem by Sheena Blackhall

In Poetics, Aristotle states: It is "a sign of genius, as a good metaphor implies an intuitive perception of the similarity of dissimilars."

Dead heads nosedive
Smelling like rotten beef,
Like a bed of e coli

Some are floppy as couch potatoes
Spiders' webs on their petals
Are nooses garrotting flies

Falling petals are laptops, crashing
A shoal of netted tuna fish raised in the sun
Dried & sour & dropping between noon's rays

Dead buds are haemorrhoids.
Kleenex white,
They are rusty gates
That are never going to open

The soil receives them,
A rubbish dump of rejects

Like Schrodinger's cat,
They may/may not be dead

Floral Swiss cheeses, they quickly acquire holes
Stink like milk left out for many days

Roses are slices of toast
With jam, wrinkled as frog skin.
Gone green with mould

A blousy rose yellow bloom
Looks like a dough ball pretending to be French.

In the wind the roses wave like an angry sea
They flap like fading posters

Wet dropped petals are cling film
Stuck to your hand like drowning navigators
Rain heavy as a cows unmilked udder

At the end of the day, like the roses
We all disappear like dog poo in the snow