A thorny subject

By any other name?

Call me
Barbed-flower
Flesh-ripper
Swell-tendon
Blood-dripper.

My scent is dulled
My colour bled
My suckers rampant
Leaders dead.

Call me
Shirt-snagger
Finger-finder
Hand-harrow
Eye-blinder.

Hack me down
Cut me deep
Burn my remains
Leave me to sleep.

Call me
Fly-ridden
Rust-spotted
Mildew-powdered
Canker-rotted.

Then tell me how
Sweet I smell now.

Pruned a rose bush this morning. Didn’t enjoy it much!

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10 thoughts on “A thorny subject

  1. As someone who has just dug up five rose bushes I have to say I just love this poem! I can certainly relate to your sentiments.

    I’m not the biggest fan of roses. For sure the flowers are lovely but the bush they grow on *sigh*, It leaves me rather ill-tempered and sore…hence mine have been replaced with native Kangroo paw. Soft grass like plant and velvet like flowers. Much more soothing and friendlier than wretched thorns.

    I enjoyed this poem immensly, especially your descriptions and the rhythm you set. I’m left with a distinct impression of hard work and satisfaction.

    Tikarma.

    • Thank you so much Tikarma – I felt I was taking a bit of a gamble with my ‘neo-folklore’ names for the rosebush so I’m really pleased it worked. Kangaroo paw sounds a far more amenable plant; I can understand why you chose it!

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