memory weeds (edit Todd)

[vagabond]

memory weeds                                                   I like the title, we all have them

they still feed
on the old compost mound.
these nettles that sting, 
never touching my skin.                                      These first four lines are marvelous.
i watched purple patterns                                     Though these  4 L may seem cryptic to some, they served this reader well. Thank you.
being burned on your back. 
now like then                                                        I kept reading this "them"    maybe because it makes more sense to your view of the poem
all I do is just turn.

in the hot july sun
st john's words are wilting.
in my questioning hands
blossoms turn into drops of red ink.                       I'm not sure what this line means at all, is it judgement for people or angels?
all this comfort
I cannot process.

in the shade of the weeds,                                    
from the black fertile soil
wild strawberries grow
like sweet ruby dreams.
they mock with their taste,
it´s too stale, 
but I eat anyway.

this is probably a little too cryptic but i still would be thankful for any kind of associations that it might evoke. as always i also would be thankful for comments on wording, grammar mistakes, logical errors and so on)

Thank you for the poem, vagabond.
It served as a lovely beacon for me
as I stumbled in a strange fog.
I think the very last stanza could stand
alone as a very fine short poem.



nibbed

you´re right about the last stanza, it seems a little disconnected. it´s just the poem was inspired by a real yard where stinging nettles, st john´s worts and mock strawberries incidentally grew in the same place.