Aureantes' Lair

....and a bit of batting about to tenderize...

( Much venting of ginsu-sharpness -- first conversational prose, then tending into a more poetic vein. The language most frequently used is not exactly polite, but then again, some people have really been asking for it from me and not yet received their due. Chances are they won't choose to read beneath this cut, either... )

I suppose it's rather kathartic, moving from merciless bloodsport-railing to rhapsody....serves a good purpose anyhow, as I've not had the time nor particular energy to mount specific and direct rejoinders to the irritants that have bugged me, let alone much of a mood for constructive poetry. I did write a rather interesting one just the other night, but it must be posted both vaguely and confidentially -- or so openly as fiction as to give no sign that it warrants real pretense.

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...as opposed to the other thing, of course. One cannot call the flower false that fails to bloom in darkness -- but that's fit fodder for another...fling of fanciful facility?

Yes, I think that flinging is quite the apt word....I haven't shared any of my poetry in some time, so here's something new. Quite new, seeing as I just actually wrote it down/composed it within the past half-hour. If anyone tries to look up the colours here for a lark, I suggest they include the search term "historically", as flower symbolism has many different modern and cultural associations, especially given the popularity of roses (people'll shoehorn them into anything to sell more). I tend to associate them with the chakra/aura colours and their traits, with positive or negative symbolism decided by whether it's a positive balance or an imbalance of energies...as one could perhaps glark from context alone.

Anyhow, enjoy, and tell me what you think if you're so inclined.....
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(Durch die Blume sprechen)


There are no yellow roses --
Never were --
Only the red, so deep and rich
Once first flushed alive
As to burn to flame outright
Or burn to blackness,
Fire reversed
Yet never waning still.

Even the modest pinks
Hold in their hue the seed --
Even the white,
In purity holds intensity.

And else it could not be,
For why restrain
A flower to stay locked
From its brightest growth away? --

The yellow roses were discarded
From the start --
Even their solar light too harsh,
Too calculated --

No, not here, not that --

What can be lightened still need not be burnt away
By a day's chilled-searing sun.
Red roses only -- or transcendant white --
For the only one.


-- K. Aurencz Zethmayr (1-14-08)


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