It was once the pride of my bower:
A bastion of growth, an emblem of success.
But today, I stare wanly and know full well -
It's just another potted plant.
The leaves are still green, but
They show their age in brown crackle,
Lining the edge of their variegated blades -
Not death, but a notion of it.
Weekly, the verdant resident mumbles its outrage,
Sags in meek folds towards the blotter,
Demanding more, expecting better;
I mostly comply, if only out of guilt.
What was once rising
Has settled;
What had been soaring
Now skids.
It's becoming a nuisance, really -
The tendrils stretching sardonically
Here over a neglected file, there over the edge
Of the desk, seeking oblivion.
And no, pruning won't save it;
The center can never be reclaimed; only
Dangling legs outgrowing, paler leaves out of place,
Reminders of what was, and what was not.
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POP!
11 years ago
3 comments:
Very cool. This is high quality melancholia, my friend. I dig it. I feel like your voice really comes out in this one.
Strong ending.
The only line I tripped over - and I didn't fall and bust my head, I just kind of stumbled for a half step and then recovered - was "Pruning is not an option." Sounds a little business like. Maybe pruning is useless of futile or something like that. just a thought.
But I dig it. And I feel like I can relate to the keeper of this plant. To the plant too, actually.
Thank you, sir. I agree on the pruning line -- try this formulation, a little more metaphysical, if you will. I'm also changing the verb "expresses its outrage" in stanza three -- it seems weak, but I don't want anything truly forceful (shouts, blares, etc.). This isn't a forceful plant.
I like the simplicity of "won't save it."
Wonder if you need "And no."
In stanza 3, maybe it's not even outrage.
Maybe it's just complaint.
In either case, "Weekly" struck me as odd. Not daily?
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