YellowFlower part 3

Welcome to the third and final part of YellowFlower – Subtitled ‘Who Knew’. Like parts 1 and 2 much of the artwork is provided by Teesside Fine Artist Dianne Bowell. The poems explore  love and loss, shifting relationships and the nature of change. The subtitle ‘Who Knew’ is a question no one can find an answer to and connects with Dianne’s beautiful, evocative yet mysterious artwork of the same name.
You can follow the progress on Facebook, Twitter and via my blog. Feel free to make your comments on my website or via social media.


Who Knew (8)


(For C)
Who knew,
Who knew, at night the stars would film us all
and leave us wanting more.
But I have no need for their noirish imaginings,
all I want are your dreams and memories
to have and to hold from this day forth.
Who knew
(a)…the shooting stars in your black hair
in bright formation
are flocking where,
so straight so soon?
combing the night sky, that’s where,
to form circles around the moon.
Who knew
the boy with the sea green eyes could perform
(there’s the church and there’s the people
open the door and there’s the people)
and fall in love too fast.
How he envied the sky,
straining for its blueness.
Who knew
(b)…he would survive. But the pain
has bitten so deep to the bone,
the rage and grief will not let go –
too hurt to want contentment now.
Who knew.
No vengeful streets,
no bitter rain,
no darkening sky.
Just another day
and that small familiar pain.
Who knew
(c)…that the hardest thing with love to burn
and write it down, for what was the real passion
left to its own words will seem trivial and thin.
Lovers can in making love look face to face:
In poetry, crooked, and with no embrace.
As muse SHE knew,
as natures child she spoke
(d)…”bite thy truant pen, don’t beat yourself for spite,
“Fool”, she said to me, “look in thy heart and write”
italic text in descending order (a) from The Shampoo by Elizabeth Bishop, (b) from My Errors, My Loves, My Unlucky Star by Luis Vaz de Camoes, (c) from A Letter by Anne Riddler and (d) from Astrophel and Stella by Sir Philip Sidney

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Who Knew (7)
Artwork by Dianne Bowell
Artwork by Dianne Bowell
Measuring each step,
the earth tells its own story.
Standing in a field, encircled by hills, that rich smell of summer,
layers of russets and greens before me..
I am turned to stone,
desperate to remember the fragments I am made of.
I am often surprised that I am still in this world,
from clicking knee to nicotine fix.
But you, with your disorderly body cells,
imperfections; aggressively designed,
like a stranger holding your future in their hand.
Who gave permission for its release.
The distant trees were a block of colour.
Is that where you went? To the woods,
to cool off, to proffer comfort from waiting animals,
feeling the membranes in your body tremble,
the quickening pulse of blood.
Borders are a product of human condition.
ignored by nature and the language of the river,
fish dart over polished stone.
Birds wheel away and squawk,
mingled with my own absurd cries.

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Artwork by Dianne Bowell
Artwork by Dianne Bowell
Who Knew (6) parts 1, 2 and 3

Part 1

The taste of night language;
the smell of her words,
spell out love,
throwing shadows from a pale waxy moon
the way faces merge into dreams behind the eyes.
Standing in the cool late night,
inhaling her perfume again and again.
Inventing love.
He dreams about her from his attic bed,
her milky skin, soft blush,
red lips parting.
Love notes and extracts from old poets
on folded paper, nailed to his heart and memorised.
He swung her up in his arms
and promised her the earth,
she kissed with her tongue,
he branded her warm neck;
she offered herself in exchange for a finger of gold.
He told her his prospects and whispered false vows.
This is where the dream became reality.


Part 2

Who Knew.

You knew,

about physical love that is.


Your legs around the neck of a stranger,

far from the madding crowds,

remembering the chord of his overworked spine.

Yes you knew.

Then you return; you of the tarnished heart

and clicking heels,

reeking of lavender, sucking a mint.

Passing; you softly kiss the nape of my neck

and I let a few seconds unravel

before I whisper “I love you”.


Part 3

Sticky breath on the back of my neck,
he nettled tongue circles a sixpence of flawed skin.
That old metaphor the suitcase rears it’s ugly head…again.
A small hill of discarded clothes.
Undress. Love be damned.
You have no idea how long I have been drifting.
The lost years…
clutching a slim volume of verse,
the language of the poets,
shouting couplets in a white walled room.
I touch the scar where I fell.
You have no idea.

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Who Knew (5)
artwork by Dianne Bowell
artwork by Dianne Bowell
Who knew the road would be so cursed and charmed,
laughing and crying are the same release.
Cutting cord and bonding stick, both be damned.
The sting of the nettle,
the warmth of his smile.
Outwitted by salt,
scraped and sifted from the seven seas,
the song of the bone carriers lament,
the wondrous simplicity of his words,
both fail to stem the flow.

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Who Knew (4)
'who knew by Dianne Bowell
‘who knew by Dianne Bowell
I followed in your footsteps,
dearly beloved, and baked a cake.
Pretending you are with me,
to stir and blend, coax and sift.
Ingredients from the earth;
flour ground from the grain,
sweet Medjool dates from the palm,
dark brown sugar from the cane.
I have learned the solemn laws of joy and sorrow,
the distant between us beyond tangible,
living as you do, on the wrong side of the glass.
I bring a sweet sticky finger to my mouth.
a taste that cannot help or comfort me.
Shadows lengthen, parchment prepared,
oven fired: your smile remains constant.
Wherever you touched the earth, the earth smiled.

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Who Knew (3)



the warmth of your peach tongue,

taming my salty eyelids.

Eternity trembled then,

the sound of my pen visibly shaking the page.

Oh rise and fall.

The page opens,

dark, a cavernous hole the size of a fist

where pearl shape tears,

swimming in ink, trickle and drip:

underground river of regret.

Oh rise and fall.

——— ♥♥♥ ———


Who Knew (2)
He sent her a poem,
and she is lost in him.
Her green eyes shimmer ,
like watching the Northern lights perform;
and he follows her eyes slowly retreating.
If only he could stay beyond this moment.
A fool in love,
unable to conceal the thought,
he was drowning in the possibility of an oncoming storm.
No wonder;
luxury and expensive fun had landed in his lap,
passion had made a sponge of his soul,
absorbing everything that leaked into his torso.
He slept under storms,
waiting for the dream to malfunction,
’til the apple of temptation appears
and Eden’s snake is wrapped in smug splendour around her arm.
All romantics meet the same fate it seems.

——— ♥♥♥ ———


Who Knew (1)
Words would become empty noises,
slipping in and out of the void,
free to be ghostly,
drifting across a landscape to vast to contain.
Who knew the sky would sit on the knee of the earth
and tell it’s story.
Who knew the sea would devour all the detritus
and return with such anger,
while the estuaries and rivers leaked their history,
like blood in a ruptured vein.
Why is listening so hard?.
Who knew the noises would perforate his ears,
puncture, deflate, words yelled at him from past mistakes,
He was waiting for a change of heart upstairs
still chasing God’s design and the sun with a butterfly net

——— ♥♥♥ ———

Artists Gallery
Elizabeth Bishop
Elizabeth Bishop
Luis Vaz de Camoes 1524 - 1580
Luis Vaz de Camoes 1524 – 1580

Rosemary Tonks
Rosemary Tonks
Sir Philip Sydney
Sir Philip Sydney


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