
Pink
of
my
John
As a chap sauntered lamentably in the tiled pathway of the garden
On a bend near a spout with a stone, an exquisite fille or belle he saw
Fleetingly gazed and then whiffed on the velvety heartsease end
Then lay a hand on the love-in-idleness with awe
Downpour there was and so each took a shelter
Not too close, both on the opposite side of the patch
The beauty of the pansy is washed away by the pelter
Where on violas plot the rosebud would go, he must then watch
The deluge went on and so the chap had taken forty winks
The rosebud was hopeless…in her thought, she must go home
She grabbed a Johnny-jump-up in less than a couple of blinks
So that her Johnnie will not get cross, and strike her not on her dome
When the chap, often called sirrah, had finally awaken
He was surprised because the stunning peri wasn’t there
He drenched himself, looked for the belle he thought a maiden
He put the blame on the cloudburst, he didn’t find her anywhere
The rosebud, at Johnnie’s feet, was questioned and then was slapped
The bimbo explained but then the obnoxious bruiser didn’t lend an ear
Johnnie’s bimbo was kicked, whipped with a saddle’s brougham strap
With his bull, massive vigor, the rosebud shed a blood, and withered
Sirrah never missed a day in taking a solemnly walk in the garden
He hoped day after day to see the woman she met on her first day of liberty
Emancipation from the wrath, curse of his vindictive begetter and his men
But he saw no more the belle who loves the heartsease and tufted pansy
The bruiser’s bimbo escaped and brought her withered self in the patch
She should get a handful of love-in-idleness to alleviate her wounds
Wounds on her body, in her heart, that she needs to staunchly watch
For when the time comes a single wound grows, to her lifetime it haunts
The vile and loathsome of the bruiser to the rosebud never stopped
It went on and on until his belle should only stay in bed, and helpless
She needed shoddily pink of my John that Johnnie can’t ever grabbed
To her weakness, Johnnie can’t accept, purged his self…doubtless!
She, now, can frequent in the garden of her survival and finally meet her man
Johnnie’s demise gave Belle a new verve, a new beginning, a brand new chance
The beauteous encounter bechance, and then sharing of their stories began
A lifetime vow was made; pink of my John mollycoddled their romance.
I wrote this poem three years ago. I surprisingly found it from my file today so I decided to post it on my blog. I can remember well when someone criticized the poem and asked me why did I write that kind of poem and how did I come up with that title. Nobody knew the real meaning of the title. It was described enigmatic. I can still visualize clearly the real meaning of the title. It is not any other thing nor something like a life-issue. It is just purely an expression of a deeper and playful thought. An art! The title symbolizes a wild pansy in real life and yes, it is really existing...love-in-idleness! The picture shown above holds a very strong relevance to the title and to how the story of the poem goes round. Just leave your literary criticisms though!