Poetry consumes me!

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!