Artichoke Aesthetics

Your fractal gaze transfixed these lambent worlds;

each unique expression an unspoken verse

of madness, tempting

Not the idol of slender-framed roses and their lush lips;

but rather, quicksilver--flowing ‘tween outstretched fingers

an astral lingering of soil, beyond my waylaid horizon.

Disquieting beauty,

How many sleepless nights

have I wandered your measured contour?

How many restless days

will breathe awake your every sarcastic shadow

wreathed in panoptic eyes--a twist of artichoke lips?

A whispered shroud of Roses;

the eidolon of a fair maiden?

Each petaled plethora offered high

to flounder in perfidious briars?

Yet these words flow unfettered?

By wyrd, you are no Rose Incarnate!

Yet, even thru hushed lips drawn,

I crave the prickled bite of fickle tongue

To cascade transcendent lips over your yielding flesh,

in such a way, even rain would envy--

the way you’d dwell in my every electric touch

where a caress ends, desire flourishes

and ‘I’ cease to be

Like lingering, unfinished, poems

on those world-rending smiles

Here I lie, as the weary leaf of a summer downpour

the neglected paint of festering canvas; without you

Forevermore, a clouded visage of abandoned vineyards,

haunted by petrichor of evanescent tears--unwept

senescent regret culminating…

Could you but feel the elegance of artichoke?

To understand the heart bound,

captive, to sentries of spruce

 

Author's Note

I haven't been on hiatus from writing (contrary to what my silence here may indicate). Simply been keeping most of my writing in notebooks; without uploading.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the layers of the artichoke, protection for the heart...
I read you and then wish I could write poetry....
Your work is that good.
j.

[Nusquam Esse]

Thanks for the praise. I am unfortunately inconsistent... and often go months without writing anything. Oh well, flipping through the works of even prolific poets, few are consistently great on every page. So I guess there is no need to judge myself too much. For the record, I like your poetry more than most others on this site; and you do seem more consistent than I. If I mean, I do drop by your page more often than most others on here, in my rare visits here.

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Esse... Artichokes are a special treat... like an ageless kiss...
I can appreciate the eloquence of romance and a soft carress...
truly, Pat

[DaughterNature]

Favorite sounds: "petaled plethora" and "prickled bite of fickle tongue" - super fun!

I love the expansive description you give here, and how the reader could almost imagine the piece is about a beautiful woman. I wonder: could you get away with not using the word "artichoke" at all in the piece, and only in the title?

[Lyn Anderson]

This is sensual and visual, and delightful on the tongue and to the ear. So happy to see you here.:)

[Einstein Noodle]

wow ..a word treat .... the spruce do stand soldiered don't they ..but only if we miss the forest :) it is high romance smitten by reality of ending ..lots of phrasing i like .. you say you have not been gone but ..welcome back! :) have to say i agree with Kuandio .. more embellishments than needed .. but its one of my favorite learning experiences here at the Cafe to have new words shared .. so thank you for my new words today sir!
E.
ps i do like the Artichoke aesthetics ...one can linger drawing meat from each petal; and there are so many of them! had you just finished artichoke dinner?? :)

[Kuandio]

Amazing use of language, especially with your customary use of a few very erudite words, that while obscure to the vast majority of the population, are also nice to see (I liked petrichor most). There were also some really great lines in there. Overall, even though I wanted to like the poem, it felt quite overblown. Then again, that might be a pun on the title. Artichokes have so many leaves you have to peel away, and most of each leaf is inedible, and as a whole, the vegetable offers little in the way of sustenance, or something to really bite into. There could be many, many layers of meaning in the poem, and while the high language will impress a lot of people, in the end, most people are probably not going to be interested in studying deeply into it. With so much purple prose it is easy for one to lose their way, and for individual metaphors to lose power. Though it's a poem, I can't think of a better term to use than purple prose, since over-embellishing can detract from poetry as it can any other style.