Black Flower


Let me be judged by what I never did,
Let me be judged by what I never was.
For what I did, I did when I was mad;
And what I was, was just a passing phase.
Forgive me, dearest friend and faithful lover,
For being so woefully inadequate.
Forgive me, now the bad dream’s almost over—
I am the Black Flower of chance and fate.

The wise keep silence and their secrets go
To the grave with them. What cannot be said
Is best left unsaid. We can never know
The things known only to the noble dead.
Know this: a raindrop in the ocean blown
Is to the Unknown all that is now known.

24 thoughts to “Black Flower”

  1. The fateful ship lies heavy in the water: uncarved blocks of memory are ballast waiting on the keel, lurking in the bilge; a cargo of myriad shaped amphorae clog up the hold, clay-stoppered dreams and longings. I wish you fair winds and following seas.

    Of course, if you don’t know to which port you’re sailing then no wind is favourable!

    1. @ Flopot

      A very wise and apt comment. Thank you, Flopot.

      To all poets:


      LD publishes her poems here in the full knowledge that they are of no interest to most of her readers. She therefore doesn’t expect her readers to comment on her verse (unless they feel the need to do so) but would prefer to read their own poetic contributions.

      Basically, we would welcome contributions from readers that fulfil the following criteria IF POSSIBLE:

      (1) Very short poems, the shorter the better (20 lines maximum).

      (2) Traditional rhyme and meter rather than unrhymed free verse (too easy to write, like “playing tennis without the net”).

      (3) Sincere, inspirational poems that mean a lot to the writer; avoidance of all facetiousness and pretentious posturing.

      (4) Very short prose poems.

      Here are three inspired 8-line poems in rhyme and meter.
      They are among LD’s favourite “short poems”:

      by Gerard Manley Hopkins

      I have desired to go
      Where springs not fail,
      To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
      And a few lilies blow.

      And I have asked to be
      Where no storms come,
      Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
      And out of the swing of the sea.


      by A.E. Housman

      With rue my heart is laden
      For golden friends I had,
      For many a rose-lipt maiden
      And many a lightfoot lad.

      By brooks too broad for leaping
      The lightfoot boys are laid;
      The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
      In fields where roses fade.


      by William Wordsworth

      A slumber did my spirit seal;
      I had no human fears:
      She seem’d a thing that could not feel
      The touch of earthly years.

      No motion has she now, no force;
      She neither hears nor sees;
      Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course
      With rocks, and stones, and trees.

      Such poetic gems, terse and to the point, are very hard to find. Poems like this depend for their impact not only on their brevity but on their musicality and sound effects. Free verse simply cannot replicate these musical harmonies.

      1. @ Sister Monica

        Thank you for this invitation to submit our own poetic “gems”, dear Sister. I have many such gems hidden away in my jewelry/jewellery box but my best friends keep telling me they are “fake gems”. So hurtful! The difference between a real diamond and a fake diamond can only be determined by an expert. Most poetry books and magazines published today are full of fake gems masquerading as real gems. That’s the problem.

        I am going to give you an example of a poem I wrote as a tongue-in-cheek joke and submitted to an American poetry magazine a few years ago. The poem was crap. Totally pretentious and meaningless CRAP. It was published!!! The editor of the magazine complimented me on it. “You have real talent!” he gushed. “Please send me more of your verse!”

        I stopped reading modern poetry at that point. I gave up in despair.Anyway, here is my crap poem that received such extravagant praise — a fake gem if ever there was one. Pretentiously entitled: “KOHL AND HENNA FOR STRANGERS”.


          by Madame Butterfly

          You have not remembered me
          in all your whoredoms. Sprinkle
          the waters of Zemzem on
          my graveclothes. And when you reach
          Lagyap La, look for the last time
          at the gonged towers of Gangtok.

          Why do you worship the goddess
          Paldem Lahma as she is borne
          through the streets of Lhasa?
          As the cat plays with the mouse
          and the dolphin with the flying
          fish, you play with me. You grind

          my fickle flesh, my brittle bones.
          There’s evil in everything.
          Fall into the pit you dig
          for me! I lie becalmed in
          Traitor’s Bay, two sunless miles
          from Tahu-Ubu. Let there be

          no peace for you under these
          vermilion moons. Balaam the son
          of Zippor curse you! Be
          a blot in the Book of Dreams
          by Ibn-Sháheem! Where nightmares
          ferment, be the foam on my lips.

          1. @ Madame Butterfly

            Brilliant! Brilliantisimo! Superbo fantastico! I LOVE it!

            Madame, you will go far as a poet!

            Believe me, your fake gem is just like the REAL thing! Even Lasha couldn’t write such inspired crap!!! 🙂

            (Sorry, LD. Just kidding.)

          2. @ Madame Butterfly

            Your poem reads like a parody of one of Ezra Pound’s cantos. If Ezra Pound had written this, he would have got away with it. People would have taken it seriously and raved about it.

            I would regard this not so much as a “crap poem” but as a parody of many modern poets who are taken seriously nowadays.

      2. Sister Monica:
        I’ve got a sackful of “salty” limericks if you think they’d pass muster with your erudite audience
        I can always “tone them down” a tad if that would help launch my literary career.
        Thank You in advance for what I’m sure will be your thoughtful consideration

        1. @ The REALIST

          I’m sorry to disappoint you, but “salty limericks” will not be acceptable. We wish to avoid all vulgarity and coarseness. Comic verse is fine but not on this particular forum where we have stipulated “sincere, inspirational poems that mean a lot to the writer” and where we have gone out of our way to request “avoidance of all facetiousness and pretentious posturing.”

          Try and understand this. If a respectable art gallery should invite the public to submit beautiful landscape paintings for inclusion in an exhibition, it’s hardly going to welcome lavatorial graffiti featuring erect penises. 🙂

          I’m sure you are capable of writing something deeply moving and sincere. No facetious vulgarity please.

          1. Thanks for the invitation to submit our own verse whenever a poetry thread appears on this website. Here is a short of poem of mine, originally published on the Darkmoon site two years ago. To my surprise, it was republished on two other sites, one of them Bulgarian.

            Unfortunately, it’s not in rhyme and meter. But it’s short and to the point and very sincere. Inspirational? No, not really. This is basically a “short story poem”, a poem with a surprise twist at the end. I was accused of being a psychopath for writing it.

            Anyway, judge for yourself. (Pictures supplied by LD).


      3. Thanks for posting these lovely singing poems. I’m going to print these out and place each one in a different room of the house. That way I might find brief respite from daily chores and, maybe, it will help me tune into my Muse.

  2. Lasha is so morose and morbid and so fixated on death and decay she missed her true calling. She should be a, lol, a professional mourner. A “career” which suits her to a T. The professional mourner “industry” started in ancient Egypt, so that’s right up Lasha’s ancient Egytpian Moon Gooddess alley. Lasha, our ancient Egyptian Moon Goddess from Al-Qarafa, Cairo’s City of the Dead. 🌚

  3. I am a homeless drifter in a world where is no home
    I am a banker who ensures the steady rise of profits
    I am a politician who once was uncorruptble
    I am the virgin nun on a deathbed looking forward to her only wedding
    I am everything I invent to be

    I am communist and want to share
    I am capitalist and love to take
    I am a casualty of war – a soldier, an enemy, an ally and a number lost in death
    I am a general who serves his kingdom at all costs
    I am the opinion of myself

    I am the mourner who feels life is being eaten away by pain
    I am the darkness hiding the light like a heavy veil
    I am the cancer patient scared of my end
    I am the shy 6th grader who is touched by love for the first time
    I am the light waiting being called upon

    I am illiterate but read the hearts of people
    I am a scientist who can’t explain love and life
    I am a son who despises his father
    I am the father who loves his son
    I am embracing death as rebirth of life

    I am Muslim living my life to serve Allah
    I am Jewish following my faith in all its wicked ways
    I am the hated opposition of those who create God in their image
    I am a mother giving birth to life
    I am a father burying his son

    I am awake – dreaming
    I am an addict for love wanting eternal peace
    I am a koma patient caught in politics
    I am me, You, Everybody
    I am dreaming – awake

    I am nothing but a grain of sand on an immaculate eternal beach
    I am the beginning and the end
    I am the love of the world dwelling in darkness
    I am the cause of the effect
    I am thought – I AM

    1. Tried unsuccessfully to shorten “the poetic life experience” below to 20 lines to make it suitable for Sr. M but it would have taken a too much of a bite from the cake. Apologies. Feel free to do what you do best at DM. Make it suitable for your standards or delete it – if required.

      1. Well done, Jo! Didn’t know you were such an accomplished poet. Keep up the good work.

      2. Madame,

        I enjoyed reading your “fake” gem of a poem, “Kohl and Henna for Strangers”. I wouldn’t have know it was a fake if you hadn’t mentioned it. Written any genuine poems? If so, how about sharing one with us?

        You have an interesting mind.

  4. “There once was a lad from Nantucket… ”

    … Oh NEVER MIND! I wouldn’t want to ruffle Sr Monica’s feathers or those of the other “shrinking violets” that follow in her wake

    1. @ The Realist

      Come closer to me so that I can spit in your ugly face.

      I don’t come to this site to read smutty limericks written by a compulsive wanker.

      This is not a site for sexual perverts.

      1. Calm down, Butterfly. I hate to see you so get so uptight.
        Don’t let toxic insects like this wind you up.

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