I haven’t written poetry for many, many years.  For good reasons.  I know that bad poetry is insufferable.  There is no excuse for such literary crimes and they should never be admitted to much less published on the internet.  So here is my first attempt, I know not how to improve it, if there is any hope for it at all, so you can throw tomatoes, tell me to delete this post or offer up some suggestion for salvage.


(inspiration from Christina Rossetti’s Song)

Plant thou no roses at my head

Remember me or not when I am dead

The words found me as a teenager

One of the few things retained from school

Something I believed, still a belief

Sometimes dying would mean relief


In my garden now, there stands a rose

Shooting madly for the skies, it grows

Sweet yellow blooms that I laid

One painful day on my father’s coffin

A day, a person that I shall never forget

My face the endless cascades wet


In my garden now, there stands a rose

In the wet mud between its toes

I placed you in the earth

Storm damaged petals, just like you, just like me

I will not forget

My guilt will not permit


Plant thou no roses at my own head

Remember me or not when I am dead

I am not worth remembering

Yet I remember you all

For in my garden there stands a rose

Whose sweet yellow blooms keep your memories close


If anyone has any suggestions too as to how to format this properly, they would also be much appreciated!  This template seems to have a particular loathing for line breaks.


10 thoughts on “Poem

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  1. Pingback: A Bird Song |
  2. Pingback: It is Time |
  3. I am quietly elated that your journey on this blog has led you here, IE. Thackeray once said: “Write for your life”. I believe that’s what we do: we must have the courage to write, constantly, without always knowing what integrity our words hold; we must just put it out there and somehow, we will grow and improve.

    What strikes me about this – and I think it is really beautiful – is a kind of Elizabethan meter, a weight of time within it which stretches back centuries. I feel comfortable with it because it is deeply English in the same way the metaphysicists were English. I do hope you write more and often, because this feels like something in a chrysalis. I can hear the voice of a really extraordinary, if grave, poet.

    1. I am deeply astounded that you, a writer of quality whose work I admire, can find merit in these few lines. I had no idea what I was doing, I stumbled upon the rhyme scheme upon chance after seeing if I could rip the one from the Song, but it was too advanced for me! I find it funny that you find my words English because it’s not a culture I readily identify myself with and I know little of metaphysicists or Elizabethan poets to venture further. Thank you kindly for such words, it means a lot. :)

  4. First, I am heartbroken by the poem. Remember them, yes do remember them. The rose is a glorious tribute. To get rid of the extra lines, go into HTML format and delete them there. Look for “&p&” etc (I don’t remember the exact code, but it’s the HTML for a line break) and delete that, too. That should fix it.

    1. No, I need to add the lines, this templates squishes everything up. Although bizarrely it added a random extra line for the first time ever on the next post. Thank you for tolerating my poetry. :)

  5. I so agree with you that most of what is called “poetry” is a waste of time. I like what you have written, here. Thanks for sharing it with us. Feel free to leave your comments on my poetry on my blog as well (considering we both loath a waste-of-time poem).

I'd love to know what you think, concrit is especially welcomed on fiction pieces. Thank you.

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