A New Poem - Faded Flowers

At last I have something I can feel good about. I was writing my last post, a piece about my surname and its origin at the dining room table, and from time to time glanced up at a vase of flowers in front of me. A busy weekend meant that it had not been thrown out although some of the more delicate blooms were past their best.

before I had finished, I had a few words swirling around my head and decided that it would be worth spending a little time putting a few ideas down on paper (well on my laptop screen anyway) and perhaps keep it for future use. The next day I came across it again, and settled down to write this poem. I changed a few lines and very quickly the whole nature of the piece changed, and this poem started to come together.

I know that all the books and articles talk about editing and putting things away for awhile and re-editing but I have always been quite impatient with writing poems and lyrics. Maybe that's why I always feel that I should make changes everytime I read my older work. But Where does the process stop?

Anyway, here is the full poem as it stands:

Faded Flowers by John Dyhouse

A vase of dying flowers,

Sits on the windowsill.

Sadly waiting, bleached, forlorn

Now simply treated with such scorn

A faded memory.

I know the scent, that emanates

From across the silent room.

A cross between mown grass, and decay

At the ending of another day

A wasted memory.

A present once accepted

A gift with love and care;

But now they sit, neglected

Forgotten and rejected.

Redundant memory.

Sign of a soured relationship.

A metaphor perceived,

A troubled life, a rift

Don't let the feelings drift

Don't waste that memory.

The flowers now cannot be saved

Too late, just throw them out.

But carefully consider how

Think about your life right now,

Is it right to disavow;

retain that memory