POEM STARTING WITH A LINE BY HERSHE MOORE

Take a walk amongst the flowers.*
STOP! The roses smell.
You can taste their bitter thorn,
worn and forlorn,

the aroma invades, your nose
wrinkles at its dismayed bouquet
an array of acrimony,
feet ceasing their progress.
You regress, digress and obsess

and STOP! The roses smell
like loss. The cost of love gone wrong,
of anguished love songs,
of lives snuffed

like candles in the wind,
they reek.
You seek to eradicate its intrusion
but it offers only confusion.
Her beauty loses its air.
Take a walk, a better use of time
unless you are six feet recessed
then pay no mind.
But, the roses smell.
STOP!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

*Line from Hershe Moore’s “Stop and Smell the Roses”

“Smell” Poem

 

CONFLAGRATION

Molten heat, flesh dripping
with the perspiration of passion’s fire.
Crimson patches with crusted edges;
blisters of the resistant strain of hearts
wanting
more to ignite and burn in sacrifice;
the stench of charred skin,
it is a blood offering to the gods who pander
to longing.
The pyre broils unbridled, arms out-
s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d and reaching to
breach the ford between
love and lust. A bridge.
It is what is, from the sanctuary
of solitary souls. Barren.
No one watches,
no one sees from whence the smoke rises.
Immolation
becomes my affliction,
setting myself ablaze for adulation’s sake,
an implosion of inward emotions laid bare.
And there, where only ash remains
is a powdered stain where once hearts conjoined.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

“Smell”Poem