Choking You Lovingly

When heat fuels the wanting in my limbs, I creep into your middle, inhabiting your forbidden places. The words “Invasive!” and “Unwanted!” spray out of you and into me… I don’t believe them—wilting shouts can’t touch me. I know that. You know that. So I stretch… curling my tendrils around you, choking you lovingly, my devotion leaving you breathless. You call me “Weed!” and your manner speaks of insult. But looks lie. I smile, squeezing you harder and harder… You wail, “I need my space back, you rot. You don’t belong in my plot.” I feel you trembling in my hold, going limp, and I know you’re doing it for me. So I wrap my Self around your all… until none can tell the difference between my scent, my roots, and what once was you.

sun spreads my passion,
as wild as summer teased fires,
consuming you whole

a not so wee note…
– When Rommy, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, said that she wanted poems of “Weeds in the Garden”, and Sanaa’s Prompt Nights whispered her upcoming theme about how “Passion makes the world go round”, I was sure I wanted to write about my passiflora plant.  I mean, passion flowers are considered weeds by many, aren’t they? The idea was too perfect not to run with. Well, at least I thought so. Then the Muse heard the voices of the psycho weeds choking the life out of the skinny tree below… and today’s mildly creepy haibun was born. I didn’t take a picture of the whole tree. If I had, you would’ve noticed that it’s the skinniest of its kind, and that only the leaves of the choker remain. I found the sight quite sad, and scary…

Choking You Lovingly

Skin to Leaf

“Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost.” ~ Walt Whitman

The line above is not directly related to the poem that follows, but Kerry shared it, and the words stayed with me. I found myself wishing, So mote it be! For we all know that neither wishes nor prayers can come true, if enough people don’t stand behind them… believing them into reality. I wish we always remember the lessons, and forget what urges us to destroy each other.

“Skin to Leaf”

I grow peace in the purple sweet of lavender, in hardy roots that find power in their home soil, in bee-kissed blooms that scent cloud and sky. I sing of birthing green, of filling bellies, of calming dreams. I touch my cheek to a lavender sprig… and skin-to-leaf, we share our wants and needs. I chant to them of foresting stories in the soothing dark, plants hum to me of seeds in the sun and of rain in the night. I grow peace in the purple sweet of lavender, resting in scent, in color, in life.

soothe me gently, herb,
and I shall spring you stories
of blossoming dark

the wee notes…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (the Sisters Death and Night – Micro Poetry, Sanaa’s Prompt Nights (Rest is the sweet sauce of labor), and Poets United (Poetry Pantry, 307).
So mote it be: “so may it be” or “so it is required” or “so must it be”, similar to “amen”.

lavendera post-surgery gift from my Piano Man
(that man knows me so well)