CRUSHING FLOWERS

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BY ARION PAILAS

DEDICATED TO
MY DAD WHO LAUGHS IN TIMES OF DANGER AND ENDORSES GOODLIFE.

POEMS

1. STORIES 2. JACARANDAH 3. CRUSHING FLOWERS 4. MILKING THE MAPLE 5. THE DANCE 6. LIZZY 7. SKINNY WILLY 8. MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES

1. STORIES
TELL ME SOMETHING I CAN SEE, SPEAK TO ME, IN COLOURS THREE, A STORY I CAN TOUCH, MY IMAGINATION NUDGE, TO SMELL THE TASTE OF ANOTHER TIME AND PLACE, ON ME RENDER, A TRUTH I CAN REMEMBER. AND MAKE ME LAUGH.

2. JACARANDAH
GAUZY FRONDS LET GO THEIR PURPLE FLOWERS TO THE SPRING WIND, GARNISHING SHADES OF GRASS. EVENTUALLY THE FLOWER OF MY LIFE WILL DROP FOR HER DRENCHED FEET TO WALK ON.

3. CRUSHING FLOWERS
EACH STEP ROUSES SWIRLS OF SMOKE, THE AROMA, CRUSHED PETALS, THAT SWALLOWS SORROW, RISES FROM THE SEA OF GLASS. TOWARD ME COMES THE PRINCE OF LIFE, EMBROIDERED BY WITNESSING STARS. CHORAL ADORATIONS CARESS ME IN WAVES.

4. MILKING THE MAPLE
COOL GREEN MOSS HAD GROWN OVER THE FRETBOARD, THE DRUM OF HIS HEART SLID OVER THE NECK QUICKER THAN HIS NEOPHYTE FINGERS FRESHLY BABTISED IN OIL AND WINE. OF COURSE IT WAS NOW A TIME OF WAR.

5. THE DANCE
A DEMENTED SPIRIT’S INFANTILE DERVISH TO ENTICE. THE SEDUCTIVE CADENCE SPARKS FROM THE HOUSE OF CRACKED HEADS, TO SEVER THE SILVER CHORD. OVERCOME BY VANITY, OUR OWN HAIR BECOMES ENTANGLED IN THE TREE, TO DANGLE US BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH FOR A DART IN THE HEART. OH FOR AN APRON OF HUMILITY.

6. LIZZY
LIZZY THOUGHT SHE HAD A FRIEND IN THELMA, WHO WITHOUT TELLING HER, FLEW TO AMERICA, SO LIZZY TRAIPSED AROUND, UNTIL ANOTHER FRIEND SHE FOUND, WHEN A VAN PULLED UP AND TOOK HER TO THE POUND.

7. SKINNY WILLY
SKINNY WILLY PUMPING IRON, SETS OF SQUATS TO BOOST HIS QUADS, WITH A BELLY FULL OF PASTA, THE SETS WERE GETTING FASTER, THE GRUNTS WERE GETTING LOUDER, WHEN WILLY WHIFFED AN ODOUR, PEOPLE STARTED GAGGING, PEOPLE BEGAN SCREAMING, FROM HIS SPANDEX PESTO WAS A STREAMING, THE MORAL OF THIS STORY? THERE IS GUTS WITHOUT GLORY!

8. MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES
MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES, INEXPLICABLE PHENOMENON! RAISED FROM THE DEAD, TO TEND THIS ROTTED TRUNK, UNKNOT THIS KNOTTED HEAD. SMOKING FLAX HE WOULDN’T QUENCH NOR BREAK A BLEMISHED REED, HE HAD ME IN HIS BLOODIED EYE WHILST HANGING ON THAT TREE, INEXPLICABLE PHENOMENON, MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES! HIS TENDER HANDS THIS SAPLING GUIDE, ONCE A DEMONIAC NOW SANE AT HIS SIDE, IN TEARS I PEN, IN LOVE I DRAW, THIS SECRET I CAN’T HIDE, HIS BREAKING HEART FOR ALL HE LOVES TO MEET GOD’S ONLY SON, MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES, INEXPLICABLE PHENOMENON!

ART WORK; ARION PAILAS POEMS; ARION PAILAS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 2010

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