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Steph Nov 2014
"come on, Forget-Me-Not!" flirted emerald Snapdragon,
"tell me, what’s it like to have control over me, for once?"
like fire, the cerulean bloom did crackle and hiss
and walked away in a heated, dreadful silence.

"why do you call me that?" asked uncertain Snapdragon,
"tell me, why don’t you speak with me like you used to?"
like salt, the windowed flame did flicker thrice -
and was swept away by the threatening, stormy sea breeze.

"please, my sun-kissed Fox," begged hesitant Snapdragon,
"shower me in loving words like you did before."
like rain in drought, the elusive creature did rarely show his face,
if so, only for laughter’s sake, to break the horrid silence.

"tell me, darling Forget-Me-Not," pleaded melancholy Snapdragon,
"why don’t you love me anymore?" oh how she sobbed
as, like childhood, her Snapdragon self become part of his past -
he shrugged his pale, fragile shoulders, swaying in the salty breeze.

"dear seaside Sunset," wrote tragic Snapdragon, "I am truly sorry,
I miss our days in love. your presence filled a hole in me, now empty."
but far too long in blinded oversight, Forget-Me-Not had stood,
and much too late did adoring Snapdragon realise her mistake.
but something so remarkable as this azure perennial does not allow itself to be forgotten.
Naptural Mermaid Feb 2017
How beautiful you are to me
With your varieties of colors and such
I look at you with great awe
Your beauty is my inspiration

No thrones and hooks
Just smooth skin and good looks
Not to big and not too skinny
Some how you managed
To be a perfect balance

You stand tall with pride
You stand in unity with your family
With your chest facing toward the sun
Ahh your beauty is something  
i want to become

As time grows old
My admiration for you dies
You lose your beauty
Your face turn into nothing but old bones
Black as the night
As if you hold dark secrets
Like you've been through a rough life
A story untold
grumpy thumb  Jul 2018
Snapdragon
grumpy thumb Jul 2018
Snapdragon prints on a summer cotton dress
Your body gave them vibrance when you danced,
your laughter gave the petals sweet fragrance,
your bouquet
a shroud of decadence.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Marines call to say hello,
impress. I'm over 35 but my boys
19. They could go: Hide!

One moment spent tying a shoe,
another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food.
Events in their mere chronology
                                                      ­ make no sense.
And the details of yr dad's life don't either.
                                                         ­               Late night
quiet cigarette smoker. But next day,
the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that?
Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke.
Now it's yr dad.
                            Yr dad who
                                                 watches for war.

Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves
we the people will still be here and stay involved
with North America. The purple mountains majesty
                           and shining seas
little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted
                           to action movies.
Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still
                           as a buddha, sitting bull.
I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -
                           little fetal muscles
at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell
                           at the tip of the *****
or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called
                           ******* a bicycle.

I find I make no sense. Her ****, a practicality to her, is
                           delicious to me
a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.
                           A moral dilemma
wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,
                           and business beckons
work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on
                           vacation
the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach
                           purposeful workmanlike killing
I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the
      neighborhood
                           if I've got your back
your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken.

One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who
                           Art in heaven
what the hell's his name.
                                          Nemesis.
        ­                                                  Hysterical.
The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big
to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire
is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed *******
who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our *****
pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A
good lesson to know and then we all become friends following
the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must
be fought, and **** the girls.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
J Mar 2021
I feel like a
toffee rose petal
with touches of the snapdragon blush
brushing into burnt umber
somehow and barely
holding the weight of water droplets
that have built up, piled on, drowned me
from years and years of thunderstorms
and yes, the title is like that for a good reason.
Courtney Nov 2012
My sky is blue
Broken-china-blue
Today

Not as yours or his or anyone’s
Not robin’s egg happy-hue
Or hopeful cornflower-color
Not rolling-ocean-peace
No endless expanse
Over a world full of possibility

But my sky is blue
Crying-eye- blue
Today

I don’t remember
The exact color of the car
That took you away
But in my mind’s eye
It should be this blue
My blue

Because my sky was blue
Teardrop-truth-blue
That day

Such a contrived color,
Overused metaphor:
Sad-blue, dead-blue
Burning-blue-gray like my hate
For all the words
We’ll never share
For desperation
For lost beginnings
Estranged from happy endings
And foregone conclusions
And decisions made
By a woman whose pasty face
Is still burned as

A blue-print in my mind
Of the person I
Never want to become

The woman who
Unknowingly
Painted my world
In red-fury and
Burnt-orange-bitter goodbyes
Thoughtless paintbrush
Strokes making sure

That my sky was blue
Crisp-autumn-cloudless blue
That day

When you and I
Were both too young
For understanding
Just
Children caught up
In the real world
For the first time

Yes, my sky is blue
Snapdragon-fire-blue
Today

When seven years later
I think I’m
Still not old enough
To comprehend

Why my sky is blue
Bittersweet-baby-blue
Today

Because they
Took you away
Because you’ll never
Know my name

Even though I’ll
Remember yours
For the rest of my life
©2012 Courtney Perry
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Having not done the things I wanted to do
and the things I've done not being what I wanted to do
I sit here looking at lichen on the north side of trees.

Black-capped chickadees
cheerful and truthful expression
grouped in platoons, sharing the point.

The tribes travel together
first finches, then chickadees
following the squirrels every morning.

What luxury, abundance! Handful after handful
of grass seed thrown, into wind.
The corn ripe and the rye with it.

The other main families: pines, roses, peas,
lilies, daisies, heath, birch and oak.
Maple, honeysuckle, pink, mustard, cypress, mint, olive,
      buckwheat, primrose, willow, buttercup, saxifrage,
      snapdragon, cactus.

Truth may be ascertained by considering
the truth we feel, the truth we're told,
the truth we reason, and the truth we've seen.

It is so good to be a chickadee.
To tell the truth cheerfully and joyfully.
In a way that makes others want to live.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Nick Moore  Apr 2016
Sprung
Nick Moore Apr 2016
Brown conker shine
bluebell chime
snowdrops
drop

Yellow dandelion
roar

Feel the flame
of the snapdragon,
the brightness of
sunflower.
Valerie Feb 2014
"Four - Breaking Even"
February 4th, 2014
Valerie Viele

I am a creation. I am a maiden. I am a creator. I am a crone.
I am dawn. I am noon. I am evening. I am midnight.
I am a girl. I am a temptress. I am a neither. I am a goddess.
I am a daughter. I am a *****. I am a mother. I am a lineage.
I am a sister. I am a best friend. I am a vague acquaintance. I am a messenger.
I am a child. I am a ******. I am a lover. I am a wife.
I am a princess. I am a beauty queen. I am a damsel in distress. I am a warrior.
I am a daisy. I am a snapdragon. I am a rose bud. I am a lilly.
I am a smile. I am a wink. I am a laugh. I am a snort.
I am a frown. I am a cold shoulder. I am a forgiver. I am a resolver.
I am a question. I am a questioner. I am a question mark. I am a answer.
I am a butterfly kiss. I am a bumble bee sting. I am a cicada hiss. I am a caterpillar tickle.
I am a cupcake. I am a box of chocolates. I am a glass of wine. I am a bowl of oatmeal.
I am a doll. I am a model. I am a celebrity. I am a infamous figure.
I am a game master. I am a rule-breaker.  I am a tyrant. I am a player.
I am a brat. I am a train-wreck. I am a witty retort. I am a knowing silence.
I am a ballerina. I am a dancer. I am a performer. I am a choregrapher.
I am a goodie two shoes. I am straight "A." I am a graduate. I am a mentor.
I am a tomboy. I am a mess. I am a fresh-pressed suit. I am a mumu.
I am a sneer. I am a red pair of lips. I am a pout. I am a broad grin.
I am a skinned knee. I am a bruised ego. I am a battered soul. I am a healed heart.
I am a piece of candy.  I am a piece of work. I am a master piece. I am a peace of mind.
I am a bubble gum "POP!" I am a whip-smart "CRACK!" I am a below the belt "BLOW!" I am a humble "WHISTLE!"
I am a kick. I am a slap. I am a hit and run. I am a sly trip.
I am a hug. I am a kiss. I am a ****. I am a cuddle.
I am a favorite. I am a nobody. I am a somebody. I am a everybody.
I am a challenge. I am a one-sided opinion. I am a worthy debate.  I am a open mind.
I am a bicycle. I am a fast car. I am a train. I am a stroll.
I am a pony tail. I am a bleach blonde. I am a practical bob. I am a braid.
I am a bracelet. I am a gold ring. I am a necklace. I am a bead.
I am a broken bone. I am a victim. I am a rescuer. I am a nurse.
I am a singer. I am a song. I am a composer. I am a listener.
I am a leader.  I am a runaway. I am a follower. I am a team.
I am a bubble bath.  I am a long shower. I am a quick rinse. I am a ocean dip.
I am a pond. I am a frozen lake. I am a waterfall. I am a river.
I am a castle. I am a tall tower. I am a skyscraper. I am a bridge.
I am a banshee. I am a blood-curdling scream. I am a yelp. I am a squeak.
I am a pretender. I am a liar. I am a deceiver. I am a revealer.
I am a sob. I am a woe-is-me. I am a wallow. I am a single tear.
I am a why? I am a why not? I am a no. I am a yes.
I am a sleep over. I am a house party. I am a coffee break. I am a tea time.
I am a today. I am a now. I am a tomorrow. I am a yesterday.


SSK<3
This poem can be read traditionally, right to left, top to bottom.
Or you can read it top to bottom, by each column separated by a period.  There are four columns.
Example:  I am a creation. I am dawn. I am a girl.
OR
I am a maiden. I am noon. I am a temptress. I am a *****.

You get it. :)
Robert Ronnow  Aug 2015
Courage
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
It takes some courage to eat a legume's fruit
knowing what is known of each poisonous part
of the locust (although the flowers may be frittered).

What's pushing up through the leaf litter
before the canopy is out, past the stone fence?
Wild lily-of-the-valley is my guess.

Of 140,000 soldiers, less than 1% have considered
the fruit of the desert surprisingly good and varied.
They have stayed and married women who are crows.

My own land is a land of wetlands but we too
have crows. We have waited and waited for this election
and now we're divided into just two factions.

If everyone votes and every vote's counted there will be
nothing for either faction to crow about. All will be
well with the republic and in the world what will be will be.

What responsibility does a citizen bear
for participating in a war, blowing the roofs
off houses, exposing the beds and clean-swept floors?

Warriors at the gate, you will not run,
you will not bargain. Dig in deep, feet
overhanging the abyss, protect your children.

I poured water into the dry vase of garden cultivars -
snapdragon, phlox, bigonia, bluebell, mint -
and have they not rewarded me with their collective scent?
Katie Lawrence Jan 2014
Nestled beneath a bush so snug and warm
Waiting for the light of day
The little snapdragon sits so torn
While the fairies with the roses play
She wishes she could be like them
So free and full of light
She watches as their glow comes near
But then it's gone and out of sight

— The End —