–verb (used with object)
1. to make hard; harden, as rock, tissue, etc.:.
2. to make callous, stubborn, or unfeeling.
3. to inure; accustom.
4. to make enduring; confirm; establish.
–verb (used without object)
5. to become hard; harden.
6. to become established or confirmed.
–adj.
7. hardened; unfeeling; callous; inured.
Indurate love
Gone callous,
Creviced hands and lips
Harsh, splinter-prone, words.
Where has the transient gentleness gone
In all these rock hard certitudes?
Over-grown love
Gone to seed
Tall and stringy,
Nasty weed.
What has become of the tender bud
In this obstinate garden infestation?
14 comments:
For what has gone wrong with love which became callous? that gentleness indurated?
Oh it has become such with the passing of time!
Beautiful Natalie!
I like your take on the dark side of the prompt. It sort of calls out to me. Haunting. Well done!
I often wonder what's going wrong myself. Apt words.
What has become of tenderness? Lost in the obsessions and self-righteousness of society? To return to a time a simplicity and the basics. Sigh.
Beautiful poem! Yes, the world seems to have taken a wrong turn. I loved these lines:
Over-grown love
Gone to seed
Tall and stringy,
Nasty weed.
Powerful!
Where has the transient gentleness gone
In all these rock hard certitudes?
Lovely words
Nasty weed will be my new noisome epithet, for when counting 10 just does not cut it.
Sometimes it takes nuturing new seeds to produce fresh buds from something worth planting and cultivating.
Enjoyable read.
Absolutely beautiful! A perfect haiga - the background image contributes to the strength of this question.
sweetness gone! such a question. great dark poem
This had me wanting to reach for a cuddly blankie, my Burts Bees lip balm, and some thirst quenching tea.
Incredible use of words - all so hard, so perfectly rough. Indurate on many levels... Well done!
Nathalie, as a would be lover at heart, I don't like to hear your words. Yet I read and reread your poem. It is a sad state of affairs to which I hope I never sink.
Yet your verse would make it seem inevitable.
..
Only a brilliant polymath attorney could say certitudes and get away with it. N'est-ce pas?
I breathlessly follow you in my jolie-laide (oh and I am, too) crush.
Please keep your whipsaw humour and wit flowing; it reminds me of the age of intellectual giants.
a well tended garden often meets the merits of a strong rooted weed rotting one's soul...
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