Damon Inferel Posted March 24, 2003 Report Posted March 24, 2003 (edited) A street lamp on a corner in a city on a street, People selling flowers that aren’t edible to eat. The sun goes down and the light burns out. The shady corner dims all about. A passerby with a full pocketbook, Gropes through the dark to take a look. The individuals palm runs across a stem of thorn, A trickle of blood and a look of scorn. ‘Tis a grey rose, half-wilted and dead, But it was beautiful while it was still red. There are other flowers too, still lively and bright, Though it is difficult to see in the dark of the night. Pink and blue and white and gold, All kinds of petals, waiting to be sold. The salesman lights a small fire, Not letting darkness keep him from a buyer. The passerby pulls out some money, The expression blank, as if nothing is funny. Blue eyes settle on the marigolds and roses, A bouquet to be made with intricate poses. Arrangements for a wedding it turns out to be, Due for a wedding in the morning at three. A dark wedding under the light of the moon, And at three in the morning, very soon. An exchange of currency takes place fast, The bouquet is arranged and the customer walks past. A satisfied smile on the consumers face, As the customer takes off at a blinding pace. A few hours to go and not even ready, The wedding last minute and the plans unsteady. The person selling flowers watches in admiration, The beautiful bundle of flowers, a brilliant creation. A tired look on the weary expression, It means it is time to lock up for tonight’s session. Collapse the desk and pick up the flowers, A nearby cat watches and glowers. Walking home in the night air, A fire burning behind as a signal flare. ‘Tis the end of a day well spent, And so to the end of the road, the person, and his flowers went. Edited March 26, 2003 by Damon Inferel
Rune Posted March 24, 2003 Report Posted March 24, 2003 Rune wanders into the Banquet Room to see if anyone she knows is performing. She runs across a quiet stage in the corner where someone she has never met before begins to recite a poem they had recently published here at the keep. Watching and listening with keen interest she does her best to absorb the entire poem before rushing forward to comment on it to the author. “hey” she responds loudly, “Im not sure ive met you yet” she says, as though it were something very serious and perhaps even life threatening. “I cant believe I almost missed your reading! It was really good.” She bobs up and down slightly while talking. The hair sticking out of the nubbins behind her horns bobs as well and by the time she is finished the strands stick up on end from all the commotion. “Thank you for sharing.” She shakes the newcomers hand and then wanders towards the exit, lost in a day dream and trying her best to hold her pants up. As she leaves the presenter can hear her voice echo in their mind, slightly behind their right ear and alittle towards the center. “I really liked your poem. It’s a unique concept and it is very detailed which helps to create a clear visual picture of the scene as the poem rolls through. It reminds me of something specfic but for the life of me I cannot recall what it is. The key players appear to be the flower salesman, the man/woman buying the flowers, and time itself. All three interact well and the poem flows alittle ruggedly from one to another which creates a sort of confusion that actually contributes to the poem in my opinion. The only thing I would suggest is to reformat it alittle. Its kind of a huge run on which can hinder it for people who have a hard time reading a screen or might get confused to the point where they are turned off. Maybe add a line break or two where the focus switches characters. All just simple suggestions though. Thank you so much for sharing, and welcome to the pen!”
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