The Teddington Gardener

Little Hell Flames…

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Poppies in July

Sylvia Plath
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
 
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing Burns.
 
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
 
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
 
There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules ?
 
If I could bleed, or sleep! ______
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
 
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
 
But colourless. Colourless.
Before I get too uppity-arty though, quoting from Sylvia Plath ‘Ariel’ (my copy 1986, when angst was de rigueur), we’re still in June and I’m humming ‘Only the crumbliest, flakiest chocolate, tastes like chocolate never tasted before….’

All about Balance.

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