Blumen! Blumen! Überall Blumen! Mehr Gewächse in den Kommentaren. Die Titel zu den Bildern stammen von mir, die englischen Verse von Rosemary Drescher, Richmond-upon-Thames.

The protected children of roses understand
the love of the coconut palm,
how it packs its fruit in double rough husk
against the day of their fall.

Mimikry missglückt.

The bitch is in heat; cats
under a straw moon.
Proboscis, tickling, bloom.
Deep down, roots and earthworms intermingle.

Das Ende des Heliotrops.

Put off the royal purple,
the season is over
for monarchs and admirals.
Put on the earth blown gown.

Noch Hoffnung.

When love dries up in times of famine
lust takes over, the last
dropping nectar, the urgent ask
of the next generation.

Die Fleischblume, Metzgers Liebling.

Hydrangea lips, the tinged kiss
of the elderly, thirsty and humble.
Drying up is so hard to do.


In competition, it is a race to redden.
The winner gets eaten. The two of us,
assembled on the same line, are trained
and inwardly thorny.

Exquisiter Kadaver.

And fragrance is timed
to decompose,
the naked hip will cast away
and reconstruct the rose.

Leuchtet auch im Dunkeln.

Falling in love, that sweet, spiked,
living feeling; eye-driven,
full on scent and caressing,
tongues and singing, and fleetingness.

Es ist voller Sterne.

All over the cluttered cup and dome
of this universe stars rise
and detonate in careless faith
that the whole world is watching.

Alien planet.

First born of the year, wrapped sunny side up
at the time of lambing, attending
calves and foals. Underground
the new leaves prepare to set off cantering.