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toleomato Jun 6
I can never spell this flower's name
from memory.
If I were to walk through a garden,
would I be able to discern
the chrysanthemum from other flowers?
I feel as though,
this is how others
think of me.

To be known or not,
a flower is still a flower,
and that is not nothing.
Snipes Jun 3
It’s 5pm, I’m in need of silence
The drinks are no longer needed
I cross my legs on my board
The wheels sit while my mind rolls
Picturing all of my madness
Photo album revels past tenses
Forecasting future storm shoots
My minds a blank canvass
Hi, I’m Drew, I’m whatever
You chose to draw me as
Me, I simply describe me
As an old soul for the soul reasoning
Of bringing a dead flower new life
The rain cuts and the light shined colorizes
You’re colored eyes mix me up
It’s all good I’m moving soberly
Yet I’m heavily tripping onward with
Everyone sketching out
My mind, screaming
But my voice doesn’t shout out
My meditation doesn’t allow it
So I quiet it down
Listening to the choir now
Daydreaming on Dalí’s drawings
We rely on time just for it to melt
These flowers we plant grow far out
And in the lake water we stare at
Reflect alternative thoughts
On the shape of our existence
Dalí illustrating my insight
My black canvas emphasizes
My meditation is just a dream
Life isn’t really this demeaning
I’m caught zoning off
My eyes open to the sun sleeping
I grab a grip
And I skate it off
Daisy, in a field of weeds,
    What have you come to see?
    You hide all of your beauty,
    Like a bare wintered tree.
        
    Scared to stand alone,
    So you blend with your surrounds;
    Even when you never speak a word,
    I still love the way you sound.
        
    Daisy, in a field of weeds,
    Give me one chance to show;
    That I can nurture you without risk,
    Of allowing all these weeds to grow.
            
    Soon you will tower,
    and these weeds will begin to shrink;
    I give, only to you, this water,
    Please, my dearest Daisy, why won’t you drink.
        
    Daisy, in a field of weeds,
    I know it’s hard to see your worth;
    But to me, my sweet Daisy,
    There’s nothing quite as beautiful on earth.
        
    Daisy, I see the battles you fight,
   These weeds take more than they give ;
    Please, Daisy, won’t you just give me one chance,
    For it is only you, of whom, I want to commit
How do you interpret this poem? What do you think I was trying to say?
kayzamo May 23
Your passion blooms yellow,
Like the smile of a rising sun.
The wind blows, and the daffodils bellow;
They echo a crescendo - their spring has begun.

Their song flows across the ground,
Blooming budding emotions in its wake.
The nectar dampening the soil mound
Has enough oxytocin to make a soul ache.

These daffodils grew over the snow in my lawn,
Melting the cold as their roots gripped the earth.
I kept warm among the blossoms as the hours rolled on.
My mind gradually defrosted - like a cerebral rebirth.

My winter has mostly ended, indicated by each perennial.
I have you to thank for planting the first bulb out there -
Double digging the stubborn dirt, yet remaining congenial,
Despite the unfit sod and icy air.

I owe it to you that I've recovered whatsoever:
My cognitive crime scene, solved with your empathetic luminol.
Perhaps young love is a foolish endeavor,
But if that's so, then I'm the most foolish fool of all.

So I'll unabashedly listen to your daffodil crescendo,
And resonate with the joy in your living rhythm.
I'll plant you some chrysanthemums to match in yellow,
So we can sit together with them.
Critiques welcomed!
Symphatica May 19
Unscented flower


Things went south
As you utter pleasantry
That comes with titter

I stayed disheartened
In-between forced laugh;
Caused by ancient occasion

Waiting with bated breath for fortuity to cut-off the lines
I thought, I have never been
Impatient to arrive at the period while writing a sentence

Predicament has once again occurred ;
Scratching off thorns on my flower scene played in my head

En voyage to holocaust
A sigh whether of relief or misery have escaped between my lips

Deep breath I took
In dread that you would
Take away the scent from my flower once you depart
Mel May 17
I follow the red road
To freedom
I follow the yellow flowers
To my psat
I follow the green clovers
To my future
And I stand still to take
In the fragrance of
The blooming flowers
And dancing clovers
And the earthy red road
For my present
17 - 05 - 2021
aha May 7
the flowers that grow on the trees
look like
muted explosions
but not malicious enough to hurt the eye

the flowers are so tender and soft
and all i can see is nature's true beauty
as the gentle breeze animates the trees

we're standing in my driveway
and it's a vivid spring day

pastel tones tones
swaying lightly in the wind
their sweet fragrance is
only noticeable if you are close

close enough to disregard
the fact that you have allergies and asthma and should
not inhale pollen...

close enough that when you reach out and
touch the branch the impossibly small petals
break free and fall slowly to the ground. . .

close enough that i watch as the petals brush your face
and you are,
for the minute,

at peace.
🌸 cherry blossom trees are so beautiful in the spring, i just had to write a poem about them. 🌸
old willow May 4
Here is quiet, breezy cold air,
life is one dazzling snare.
Where snow orchid blossom,
I find cool summer, warm winter;
but greatness never come sooner...
My back disobey, the wind is too cold.
My ear speaks, the peak alone.
I wanted to be great, to be dazzling,
must my heart make a killing?
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