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An evening set in metered rhyme,
of pinecones, gainfully bracted
in the manner of spiralling time.

No perfect measure yields a woody cone
although conifer strobilus gilded ratio makes.
The standard mesh of numbers alone

symbolise a hope that a glorious God
assembled in a perfect factory line,
this defiant change to perfectly flawed.
https://davinasolomon.org/2021/07/18/no-perfect-measure/
leyah Dec 2020
the delicate blossoming
of budding flowers, secretes
poisonous ardor. tainted by
the loving thorns of death,

my veins carry nocuous nectar.
and demeter wails, her garden
polluted and infused with ichor
deadly. and weeds rampage,

absorbing my heart's nutrients.
till inseminated with a plethora
of nightshade and datura.
my body now a mere vessel

of your deathly grove of misery,
delicately blooming dark myrtle.
a lost soul in my fields of mourning.
Molly Sea Aug 2020
In the long, dark times before the start
I waited in the moonflower garden.
The vines grew strong, with pointed leaves
Toxic nightshade, witches w**d

I took them and wound them around my body,
Tight like linen cloth.
Through paralysis my bound eyes saw
Petals unfurl like napkins, new moon
Glowing ghostly white
Too pale to exist in daylight but

In the stillness of surrender,
Where I could not speak, nor move, I saw
Nightmares bloom as wisdom
.
Last night I came across moonflowers by chance. Struck by the name, I went down a rabbit hole of reading about how its flowers open at night so fast you can watch, about its mythology of blooming from the chest of Shiva after he ate poison, and about its use by indigenous peoples as a medicinal and visionary plant, as well as reading people’s crazy reports of symptoms while under its psychedelic influence. This poem was the result.
Kitten Yvad Jun 2020
shea warm; you are
an intentional bee
buzz sting, disperse pollen
all over our motherland

pollen stained thighs
carelessly freckled from sun saturation
we’re in between your motherland
and mine

i swell in the foothills
hazy lost adventures
hand in hand in the highlands


goddess of the moon that you are
and menrva im patron of war
not love maybe wisdom  maybe art

close on my heels
i don’t have to search to find
sweet tree
raised from
tropical
earth

to grow upright
and out
to sprout
from trunk
a bunch of
pink and
pointed pods

or perhaps
crimson or
yellow
aubergine
tangerine
green

scythed clean
from host
and hacked
in two
for getting at
seeds a-pulp
in white
and slimed

and spreading
them out under
the sun
to get hot
in their own
juices

to ferment
wild

to bake
dry

poured tinkling
by the
thousands into
sacks of hessian
for sending
‘cross seas

to furnace-cracked
futures
winnied and
conched
sweetened
melted
and hardened
into shapes
of other things


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Cacao trees are spectacularly beautiful. They love the humid, mountainous air near the equator, and the regular washings of rain.

Nestled in the understory of bigger forest trees, they sprout these colourful, magical pods out of their trunks and drape them over with big, shady leaves. It’s truly other-worldly.

Only fitting for the most magical food on earth!

And the intricate process of coaxing their bitter seeds into luxurious chocolate is a great marvel of modern industrialism. From harvesting, fermenting and drying the beans to roasting, conching, sweetening and tempering, chocolate has become a true labor of love.
Robert C Howard Aug 2013
honoring the glass artistry of Dale Chihuly

A rainbow of serrated globes,
Friends to the water lilies,
Floats in a sculptured pool.

A surreal yellow glass Medusa
Woven through a white crescent trellis
Gleams in the midday sun.

Choirs of chrysanthemums
Sing with multicolored flora
Blown from molten soda, lime and sand.

Sheltered in a geodesic tropics
Orange herons stand on legs of glass
Amid living palms, bamboo and wild orchids.
Towering blue spires
Lift skyward out of the soil
While butterflies dance
In the misty veil of a waterfall.

Nature and the shimmering world within
Happily converge in the florid vision
Of an effervescent man with a patched eye -
A man called Chihuly.

October, 2006
This poem was inspired by an exhibit/installation of Chihuly art at the. Missouri Botanical Gardens in St. Louis. Many of the works Chihuly created for this show remain as permanent adornments of this wonderful garden.
Gladys P Apr 2014
In my voluminous botanical garden
Sits a vegetation, of luxuriant foliage
Gently dancing in the wind
As a yellow canary sings lyrical notes
Fluttering freely, leaving me with a grin

Aiming beautifully, when capturing the essence
From one bud to the other
And nothing could compare
As he lingers graciously
Quite lovely, as I stare

Upon the richness, of the light blue skies
An unforgettable scenery
With clouds in puffs of snow
As the sun slightly peeks
And my heart, thy certainly stole

— The End —