Lost Love Poem

Names of other flowers that sound right there are extinct. Other flowers are Iris. Peony. Pagoda dogwood. Good poem. Is it good because I was just thinking of Elvis, of whether he is a contender in poetry--can he be a contender if he insists on singing in our minds of long ago? Is Presley our Homer? Is Stein our rose poet? I am a rose photographer, though how that came about, I do not understand. More importantly, the speaker thinks his love is upstairs packing. He had better hurry in finishing the poem. *

Flat out hilarious! Just wonderful. Star.

Ann, Stein's question: "How does one write poetry in a late age? is the relevant one, perhaps for most poets now, save those who don't mind echoing what someone else has already done [probably better.] Since Elvis didn't write his own songs, I don;'t think we need worry about him. Dylan, maybe. Thanks for the very interesting comment. Rose photography sounds like a good thing to do, regardless.

Jake, Thanks so much, nothing is more fulfilling than making laughter.

Maybe I'm just mushy but I think it's a love poem all the way through. He's Prufrock about poetry, not love. *

It's definitely poetry all the way through and through. Nice *

I like how the otherness of the reader transcends with the final line. Good jolt. I like this piece.

Thanks, John, Brenda and Sam for the responsive and dare I say, interesting, comments. The poem emerging from its receptive readers.

Why (or in what other ways besides losing its subject) is this love poem "lost"? That's what's so interesting so me about this poem.

"What are some other flowers?
(And why can't I think of their
names when I need to?)"

Affinities with Isaac Babel's great story "The Awakening."

Fascinating poem, David! Enjoyed.

I love the self-involvement of the poet enthralled by the words at the same time as being conscious (or at least suspecting) of his love packing upstairs. *

Wonderful! Greatly enjoyed. Fave.

Thanks, Bill. Your reading enriches the poem. There's also the about-to-be lost love...
Thanks dear Beate, your presence makes my poem preen and beam,

Thanks Mia. So glad you liked it,

Love the whimsey in this and the assuredness of its delivery."Upstairs, packing" is perfect.

thanks, Darryl for the read and comment.

Nice tension/resolution at the end. My, my, & here my favorite color is fuchsia! Oh well, love your surprise/twist ending!

Thanks, M. Higgins for reading and responding with such pizzaz.

A wonderful, colorful study of procrastination attempting to smother the seven important words.
Thank you.

Thanks, Patti, for your generous response.

I really like the fatalism of this and the playful mockery of old traditional love poetry.

This is excellent. Very droll, and inidentally a far better poem than Burns' tossed off in a few minutes cliche-fest. It's very difficult to come up with an original take on a love poem. Poets had been comparing their love to roses for a very long time even in Chaucer's time. Unless her cheeks were constantly flushed by alcoholic fever, it was never that apt an analogy.