I looked up what ivy was supposed to represent,
after we called the man with the poison
to clear the wooden fence panel right to the root.
This creeping plant,
that works its way between the cracks,
and closes its fist so slowly,
so quietly,
that you cannot see the brickwork break,
it’s supposed to represent friendship.
I thought about you then,
how I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself
until the moment that you cracked me clean in half.
Like ivy, you keep coming back
no matter the cold or the drought,
there is no prying those tendrils loose,
no poison that will make this shadow of you wither.
I must live with the damage you have caused.
I must somehow learn how not to crumble.
Carol J Forrester 
Nice lines: “how I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself
until the moment that you cracked me clean in half.”
They seem to be everyone’s favourite
Mine too:)
Wonderful, Carol! I love the back story, the imagery and the direct address – I felt completely immersed in your poem. Excellent lines:
‘This creeping plant,
that works its way between the cracks,
and closes its fist so slowly,
so quietly,
that you cannot see the brickwork break’
and
‘…I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself
until the moment that you cracked me clean in half’.
Thank you Kim. It was a quick write but it read back well so I’ve kept it pretty much how it hit the page.
I think this is one of my favourites of yours. That’s a terrible sentence, but you know what I mean. There’s some real menace there – that slowly closing fist, that shadow – all growing from that initial innocuous first line. It’s very well done.
Thank you Sarah, what a compliment!
The ivy and what friendship can represent… how it might strangle and break apart…
Exactly. I’ve had a number of friendships that weren’t ‘good’ but this one broke me through no fault of anyone’s, just awful luck.
Bravo Carol! This is fabulous in its raw honesty. The metaphors work so well. I imagine the ivy sneaking its way into brickwork. So insidious- this plant. Love, love, love it!
Ha k you Vivian. I always been told my honest poems are the better ones so I’ve been trying to write more of those. I sometimes feel like I’m just repeating myself however.
Please keep at it!😊
Flowers can crack concrete, so your use of the broken heart is wonderful, way beyond apt. I, too, was hooked by the spooky silent fist.
Thank you Glenn, I’m really glad you liked it. Beauty can hide all sorts of dangers. I almost picked deadly nightshade for the prompt but ivy stuck out in a way I could resist.
How brave you are and must continue to be brave not to crumble under pressure ~ I enjoyed learning about the ivy and the damage it can do ~
Thank you Grace. I’m not sure it’s bravery, perhaps stubbornness. Life leaves its marks on us all.
This is a powerful piece! I especially liked the lines:
“how I’d failed to see how deeply you’d planted yourself
until the moment you’d cracked me clean in half.”
That line was especially personal. It was really a case of not knowing what you had until it’s gone.
Really nice, Carol. I like the straightforward tone of this piece. Strength and clarity shine through the pain.
Thank you. I’ve been trying to make my poetry more concrete recently.
Opening our heart to friendship can leave us vulnerable…
It really can. This was someone who I hadn’t thought I’d let in that far yet his death shook me terribly.
I’m sorry you lost a dear friend, Carol.
Oh, such toxicity in any kind of relationship can be so stifling. I like how you portrayed the other face of friendship – the ivy’s stronghold should be cut off in such cases. But there’s the damage which is already caused, that makes it so sad.
-HA
In this case I was actually thinking about a friend who died really suddenly. I didn’t realise how much of an impact his loss would have and I’m still picking up the pieces two years on. It could very much be interpreted to mirror those friendships that aren’t really friendships at all but acts of cruelty from one person to another.
The analogy is both brilliant and heartbreaking. Well done!
Thank you. Ivy is such a destructive plant but has such a pretty meaning. I liked the juxtaposition.
Yes. I love the softness of the flower but the toughness of it.
Lovely!
Thank you very much.
That’s ivy, alright. Looks pretty, all the while having a strangle hold. And not being that nice at all. I like the lessons here. Very nicely done.
Pat
Thank you. I had a bit of a laugh writing this since we used ivy for decor at my wedding.
Ha, ha. I’m about to go pull some down off the back of my mom’s house. I think it a relative of ivy though since it has beautiful red flower😊 It still makes me nervous though, it can ruin the brick’s pointing and cause leaks I hear.
I can cause really bad damage to brickwork. Some heritage properties have massive issues with it. The stuff we used from our wedding was off the wall that didn’t get cleared on the farm.
So you know about it! I’m going to take some pictures before I start weilding my saw and clippers. Because it is pretty😊. Have a good weekend.
It can cause some really bad damage, not I can cause. Need to proof my comments lol
Lol! Have a great weekend.😊
You too.
Two summers ago, professional gardners came and literally ripped all the beautiful ivy out that covered the walls of a nearby old brick parish hall….and the outer matching brick wall that “fenced in the garden yard” of this historical building. I suppose for the very reason you mention here….that it was affecting the brick….damaging the brick. I was so glad I’d taken some photos the fall before….contrasting that gorgeous blanket of green with the red/orange leaves of the massive tree inside the yard. Now it looks like naked red brick to me. Your poem — and shifting the idea of how the individual has latched into you like ivy, is such a powerful image. Unlike the ivy wrestled and poisoned away from the walls, the shadow of this individual remains. Wonderful response to the prompt!