I label you un-
marked hyacinth, cleaner to
eat bluer tendrils.
A many-shadowed
platitude would bloom, what blood
then lulls the body.
Remedial ring
within a summoning to
sleep and sweetly die.
The gloomy bluebell
sleeps in the woods, so bluely
as to bewitch me.
All symbolic thought
of alkaloid flower, this
styptic aroma.
Beyond ornament
the imitated image
leaks its bulb of blue.
May’s sweet clustering
never wanted so many
luminous anew.
Criminal to pick
our thin green stems, to uproot
what kisses the wind.
Emily Brontë
dedicated her sorrow
to our purple breath.
Many lettering
delicate Atlas Mountains
stung with amethyst.
The unwritten trees
harbour our suckled bodies
in honey-gold pools.
Striations of blue
to red make feathery air
so cool, alchemic.
Our blooms affected
the nectarous scent; some shade
stipples the valley.
Take care: eliminate
sensitive weeds, following
spring we wilt and weep.
You will get leaves, then
five years before our flowers
startle the garden.
Mostly used in spells
of love and death, many haunt
the colourless graves.
Amid leaf litter
this saturnal air, ever
against bright details.
The ersatz scented
candle belonged to mother’s
old mantle, a cry.
Here in the richness
most fair-haired blue to boast the
days of mucilage
A dose of three grains
settles the diuretic soul’s
accorded longing.
Such abundant blue
with gummy heart, a mystic
of similar hue
Linnaeus’s great
west wind, plucked grief from the copse
of ancient longing.
Unfortunate name
of the poisoned glade, circle
a chant to miss you.
Our Spanish sisters
have no scent, we dwell here so
gently forever.
All photographs were taken in Glasgow’s Botanic Gardens, a slightly overcast day, the 22nd May 2018.
mariaology 