Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anastasia Sep 2
roses
blooming
thorns
scratching
the inside of my lugs
the petals
itching
softly
i can't breathe
but i don't want to
unnamed Aug 13
you taught me
to find joy in simplicity
a knock on my door
inviting me to
write & wonder & waste time
a simple gesture
that showed how much you cared

you taught me
to laugh again
on the nights
we danced in the square
we played ball with strangers
swapped stories
music and memories
and liberty may have become a foreign sound to me
but you helped bring it back
those nights be like paradise

you taught me
to grow from concrete
although your brand of pain
is one i have never experienced
i wish i could have
wiped your tears
and sheltered you
from all the hands
who have ever tried to keep your garden from
blooming

(and still, here you are blooming
in spite of it all
reminding me that when my own roses wilt
with a little light and love
and time
they too will shine again)

you taught me
to speak of promised land
soil as soft as mama’s hands
hoping for a day when
the jasmine and sampaguita flowers
can bloom side by side
in the garden of our shared Maker
breathing new life
into a world
that will no longer keep falling apart

you taught me
to speak of promised land
soil as soft as mama’s hands
i used to think my words
were just a ripple in the waves of time
but you made me realize
that they could be used
to move mountains
speaking into existence
the world we’d want our children to see

you taught me
that distance is an arbitrary line
our lands are thousands of miles
away from each other
but there are some things about you
that are uniquely filipina

you taught me
about home

in your simplicity,
in your laughter,
in your resilience

and maybe that is why meeting you
felt like meeting a light
reminding me that although we are thousands of miles
from the lands we left
and some of us cannot go back
we can always find friends
who will be the lights
to guide us back home
in the places we call home
away from home
thank you for making me feel at home.
jigyasa Aug 7
i like to close my eyes
and dream of carrying my
toffee eyed baby girl
through museums and exhibits
uncovering to her
eons of renaissance magnificence.

i imagine us holding hands
walking through botanical gardens
humming at birds
blooming with flowers
talking about the ecologic manifestations
of modern day society.

i want to take her to NASA
and make her mind expand
like the universe has for as long
as mankind lived
and realize some concepts are
so vast, so unfathomable
that the greatest beauty within us all
is the curiosity leading us
to try and understand.

i want her to know
that this life
has stretched on for centuries behind of her
and will continue for centuries ahead
but her arrival
in this era, at this time, in this moment
is the pivotal point around which
my universe turns.
Äŧül Jul 28
Come, Jenny, let us turn gardeners for life
And let us cultivate love in our garden,
Full & supple and steaming & pure.

Let us shatter the shackles of belief,
Hearts thump aloud if you will listen,
Come, Jenny, come let us unite as one...

Come, Jenny, hold this watering cannister,
Come help my hand already holding it,
It is very light that you would hold...

Filled with love for our kind of horticulture,
We hold it happily as our love will not end,
Yes, the one I just named Heart-i-Culture.

This will give us more happiness and love,
We shall be together through every trough,
Now our chaste love will blossom & bloom.
My HP Poem #1755
©Atul Kaushal
Alaska Jul 1
I was once a fully bloomed daisy.
But then every time you hurt me
You ripped out a petal
Till I was left with with none
And you were finally done with me.

And there I was..
Left empty and alone.
Alicia Moore May 29
When assigned to nature you must take care of your section. With the top 1% of the top 1% not caring for their section orderly, we must take a stand as bearers of gifts.
Introducing Flower Girl, her mark - bluebells delicately dancing around her eyelids; solution of hydration loosely hanging from her eyelashes. Protector of the bluebells.
Spring, Summer... a jolly state following suit as she beams to the sun above, the coloured flowers upon her skin basking in the energy radiated.
Autumn, Winter... the sun doesn’t appear as often, energy is lost and not just for the bluebell companions. Flower Girl doesn’t reach towards the slithers of sunlight anymore. Blue turns to brown, happiness turns to hopelessness. Solution of hydration sacrificed to the angry clouds and viciously spat back out against the soil.
Introducing River Boy, his mark - fresh, cold fingertips, water droplets as clear as glass stored within his veins. Protector of water, protector of Flower Girl.
A brisk touch to her cheek, their eyes meet. Brown turns to blue, hopelessness turns to happiness. Solution of hydration replaced upon her eyelashes, preserved water finally fulfilling its purpose.
When assigned to nature you must take care of your section. A section for a section, an act of caring kindness for a revived life. Bluebells may only bloom with the helping of water.
A short story of poetic kindness.
Innocuous wishes shape the magic of my prayer, raising hands to absolute ordeals. Flooded thirst climbs high to nirvana rattling. Cross of prayers vanish the ethereal evanescence of human comprehension. No living being can detect the nest of my secluded harmony, nor Gods of any faith can kiss with their perception the soft outrage of blooming spirits that dwell inside my treasured charm.
stopdoopy Sep 24
so gentle and understanding

pining silently, too friendly looks

brushes, only an artist would use

our union under the moon

what should've been, blooming for you

even as I depart, I leave you keeper of my heart

watch over me well, my tender one
im in a sad *** mood for no reason, yeehaw
Next page