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Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2018
You left me for better pastures,
You did't realize I too was fertile,
You just did not know how to cultivate me.
You are just a pastoralist looking for greener places.
In the poem pastoralist refers to as Romeo
stopdoopy Mar 2019
Little beads,

Jaded by time.

Bouncing.

Roll on the floor.

The end is here.

Fire Blooming in lungs,

Burning out what once was,

Creating fertile ground for the new.

Flowers weaving through veins,

Bursting through the heart.

Badum Badum Badum.

Excavating the chest,

Tearing through skin.

You see me there,

Rotting on a cracked floor,

Moss seeping through;

Long forgotten.

A smile on my face,

"Thank you for coming"
inspired by some fire ecology and, as always, personal feelings.
PoserPersona May 2018
The fertile weighs less than the barren
Exquisite fruits crumble placid stones
The farmer induces their own famine
Seeds may be perpetually sown

The costs of a cultivated spirit
are greater than its untilled counter,
yet produces a boundless harvest.
How do the fields fare, neighbor?
"He who cannot draw on three thousand years is living hand to mouth" -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
K Balachandran Apr 2016
A seed pod explodes,
Ears of the forest perk up,
Mirth in fertile earth.
George Krokos Feb 2016
Water is the offspring of space and time
and when it flows seeks to trace the area
of its parents courtship which resulted in
their fiery union producing seeds of nature
for their nourishment and growth,
in the soil of this earth with its fertile clime.
Written in 2015.
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
come on darling take a chance with us
our meat is on the seams of a blue-blooded funeral
a **** body burial, and the volcanoes laugh

the thumbs shake
as the fingers dance
makes the rain pull its roots on
for the showcase the generic plants
will perform a feral routine

every **** a command-stop forwarded
the nucleus inside of a vitrified half-assed colon
and if they shiver they will find their saw
tailored to the head of that aurulent god

a caterpillar reads the braille and follows my wrist
he condescends, and breaks notions causing new alarm
they are all special, green feet and orange sinewy lines
he casts his blame he curses across the myriad storms

gold minarets in the distance
serpents living under man-made rocks
counting down the seconds on armageddon's clock

a lion counts his livestock
he puts his socks on, he wears a headdress
in the shape of a flame

just outside the shadows of an autumn day
Eleanor Rigby Jul 2015
By the by,
I am a tweak of reality,
Quite f'rtile. Touch me
And impregnate me
With w'rds.


F.Z.**N
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