Tombstone

I still come here to this graveyard,
and scribble on the tombstones for you,
till they’re rune stones for you.
In this corner, flowers never bloom
and maggots feast upon death cap mushrooms
while I read my deathless poems of doom and gloom.

The dead who once had happy memories
now cry at my poems of tender regret
and wish to die again, become fireflies,
or do anything to help them quite forget
my three score and more poems, not one or two,
about your picture, English Rose, boo hoo.

And though the stars enraged may glimmer,
I’ll read more heartfelt poetry for you
from a chophouse where the choicest verses simmer 
about a love that said “you’ll never do”.

And I shall be a grave digger afterwards,
searching the spot where I can bury you
to be captive audience for my heap of words
that friends say read better than Nancy Drew,
more heartfelt than Heathcliff, Kate Bush’s sadness,
so that I don’t jump a cliff for you.

I'll never truly understand this madness
about roses and the flower industry 
but I’ll wander back here with gladness
at being able to read more poetry 
and leave a rose for you, who thinks
she’s free to come and go. It stinks.

Confusing tombstones

There's a huge cascade of disparate images here, and I'm not sure quite how they key trogether, but I absolutely love

"and scribble on the tombstones for you,
till they’re rune stones for you"

(10-13-2026, 11:40 PM)Luckieman Wrote:  There's a huge cascade of disparate images here, and I'm not sure quite how they key trogether, but I absolutely love

"and scribble on the tombstones for you,
till they’re rune stones for you"

It’s a parody of another poem on Misc where the OP was being difficult 
The context would’ve been clear at the time, but time passes

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Thanks for reading

Gotyer, but that image is well worth saving for the future - "tomnstones - rune stones"!! I adore parallels of this kind.