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No ode for you, periwinkles
No exalted verse or prose
No lover's gift you will be
Unlike the regal rose
Not placed in summer bouquets
In vases - never seen
Nor gracing dark tresses
Nor found in floats of dreams
Yet sweet you are to me
Happy in blue and white
With your merry little faces
Like fairies and lithe sprites.
Piotr Balkus Mar 10
Still cold outside,
so why are the birds singing
so joyfully, so loud?

Still freezing out there,
so why are the flowers blooming?
I don't understand.

The hope is still cursed,
so why am I writing this poem,
like it was my first?
the flowers that bloom
at the site of this burial
are not a marker
nor memory of
what lies beneath;
they are the reminder
that there will always
be this burst of
colour and beauty
to be cherished
in spite of
what those roots
have grown through
On a warm sunny day
The rainbow is out
Smiling today and it's a beautiful
Sunny day and the

Pretty yellow tulips are
All dancing all in a row
And there shining so bright
In the morning sunlight
And the gentle breeze is blowing
And it's a delightful little sight
Watching their dazzling beauty consumes
And it's a great gift to please my eyes in life.
Flowers 🌺🌹🌺🌹
🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷
maria Feb 24
Like soap, your poetry cleanses my soul.
On paper, I'm filthy from your touch,
and your honey is sticky on my fingers.
But, your words and your laugh are a spring
that douses me in bubbles and gold.
I sip from your tears and sweat,
and youth revitalizes my skin and bones.
You are an oil that enriches
and cannot be rinsed away with water.
You are the dirt that gets under by fingernails
and houses the seeds of a hundred flowers.
i saw no point in telling
all she meant to me
of how i loved her
and of the dreams i had
as she never believed
those words for long
simply wouldn't accept
their true meaning

instead i bought
flowers and chocolates
and wrote a card
for her to read
over and again
until she might finally
see what i see
and fall in love
Jeremy Betts Jan 20
Love letters and flowers, sweets and treats
It's all been wasted money and time
She belongs to the streets
She was never mine
Left her scent on many sheets
Simple as a glass of wine
Line as long as 20 meet 'n greets
A free-for-all free for all, small of her back there's even a sign
How'd I miss that...?

©2024
Jan Jan 17
I think I understand hookups and one-night stands now.
The key to moving on is to replace until there's nothing to unravel upon.

I mean, It's fair.
I do it too.
Moment by moment,
conversation by conversation,  
I replace the replays,
and that is about as far as I'll go.
I can't bear the thought
of another touching me, like I'm not yours.

I got another ring today,
All big and loose.
Funny how I picked this one,
it keeps falling out.

It's been two months since I stopped wearing yours,
I honestly don't see a difference in the way it fits on my thumb.
That should be the end of it, but oh well, I guess it isn't.

I walked to the grocery store, paused at an aisle,
took my time frowning over chocolate bars.
You used to get me Munch, so I picked the KitKat.

I don't skip meals now, (well, most days I don't)
and in place of our routine conversations, I let a random show run in the background.

I drown noise with noise.

My days are decent.
I'm surrounded by mindless jibber jabber.
I participate.
I paste a bright smile.

“You look well now,” they say, “Well I am” I reply.

And as a matter of fact, I am fine.
9/10 times I am.

Then in a random mundane moment, memories of you resurface like a ring light and
in that single moment,
I let myself crumble.

“I don't want him back.
He isn't the same person anymore.
I'm not even me anymore.

If it's meant to be, it'll be.
He's the love of my life.
Well don't let him in,
when (not if) he comes back.

Do it from love, not for it.
You deserve happiness.
Both of you do.

You want love.
You are love.
The ocean doesn't look for its water,
Why will you look for what you have?

It is what it is.
and this too shall pass.”

So on and so forth my inner monologue goes,
and I stare at my phone wondering if I can conjure you from my thoughts.

I am kinder now. With myself, and everyone around.
I know you're proud,
and I kind of wish you'd say it to loud.

Can I possibly wrung out my favourite version of you, this time?

My thoughts swirl and I let them play.
Incantations in my head
Obligatory 3 am, weary sighs, contempt and pure rage.

Where is the calming lull of sleep, when you really need it to sedate your despair?

Resignation sets in, I play a familiar game.
I ask the universe and unbiasedly it delivers the same day.

"Universe, give me a sign, I'm really done this time.
Yellow flowers if he's coming back,
Dandelions if he's not.
Universe let me move on. This is the last time, "

In my version of He loves me, he loves me not
I break flowers, not petals.
I look for answers in colours and not action.
Hi, I hope your well. Know that I'm extremely proud of you and you're in my thoughts.
All my love to you,
~Jan
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