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Isaac Ward Sep 28
If you look out your window-
Don't dare look up to my sky,
Cinders choked the sun to death,
It's a black and smokey night,

Our last trees: you set ablaze,
And the grass, your kindling,
The birds and bees are dwindling,
We're left in this steel maze,

Are the streets and city lights-
Enough to guide you home?
When you choke on cinder, too-
The sun won't be alone,

And when your last fire dies away,
And the ice makes it's return,
And my sun can't shine from the afterlife,
It'll be too late to learn.
zb May 30
music soft like honey
notes drops of nectar on the skin of your wrist
the bass is your heartbeat
and the warmth of my hands on your cheeks

could we stay here forever?
you and me and the ferns
sunlight drifting in
you and me and our greenhouse
this moment is a thousand years
or, i wish it was

i can see us in my mind
dancing to music
that's been stuck in my head
for years
you are my daydreams
and i am the whispers
exchanged between us,
two souls in a glass house

my fingers find yours
you fill the negative space of my body
i reach up to touch your face
you smile gently, and i feel it

the melody of our song is
the rush of blood in my veins
when i hold your hand
you press my hands to your chest
and i feel the bass of your heart
Francie Lynch Aug 2017
Every misused glass of water,
Every slight at sons and daughters,
Every successful missile test,
Cars idling, cows lowing,
All the chemtrails we don't see blowing,
Every dent, every theft, every lie and mocking jest,
Can't be held tight to the chest.

Distended stomachs, cardboard boxes,
Soup kitchens and needy churches,
*** slamming and alternate choices,
These and more need our voices.

Add the carbon in our air,
Two-headed frogs warning, Beware,
The paltry state of our bees,
The fires devouring our noble trees,
The motors on our inland lakes,
These and more will not wait.

All that crawls, swims or wings,
All of us and everything,
Is everything to all,
There's no time to hesitate,
For I am the aggregate.
We are the aggregate. Every sparrow that falls has its effect.
Vexren4000 Aug 2017
The greenhouse,
Bustling with The hum of summer,
The flies and caterpillars,
Butterflies and  Flutterbys,
Flowers blooming,
Desperately calling for insects and pollinators,
As the cat prowls the land,
A stray hunter,
Finding and foraging,
Mice and Rabbits his targets,
He prowls the land,
Searching for a meal,
To drop at his master's feet,
An expert killer,
Hidden in suburbia.

©BAS
hannah delight Mar 2017
Greenhouse
Scaling flowers
A buzzing for pollen
Pinks and magentas ****** the space
Growing
Mia Lee Feb 2017
Last night I told you that
maybe someday I'd like to
marry you if that was
ok with you

and then I said sorry
you told me not to apologize,
that the feeling was mutual

Since that moment my feet
have been at least an inch
off the ground,
maybe a foot

You described yourself as
Beaming

I could imagine light shining
from you, gleaming
glowing like through
the ceiling of a
greenhouse

Maybe one full of ferns
and black eyed susan's
for the colors
In your eyes

I think
Maybe
If it's ok with you
we could get married there

We could stand between the
rows of flowers and ferns
and the he light would
fall over us like a blanket
and everything would
smell fresh,
and new
and you would be
beaming
AJ Feb 2017
The house was big,
Too big for a divorced family of four.
It had sickly, pale yellow siding
With cracking paint and a long archway
That led to a round, asphalt-covered
Backyard.

Most days the trees
That rolled out into the little valley
Alongside it were barren and spiny,
And you could see through them, all
The way to the quiet road that cut
Through the growing houses
Below.

If you were lucky, you would have seen
A few kids shooting airsoft guns,
Running through the fallen leaves,
Leaping atop all the muddy mounds of dirt
Next to the creek, but they
Have lost contact
Recently.

If you were to climb up the little green hill
That rose just next to the mouth
Of the house’s driveway,
Cresting along the edge of the cul-de-sac,
You would see a greenhouse,
Brown, with splotches of dirt
On the windows.

If you opened its flimsy door,
Which was usually locked,
You would see all the uncut tomato plants,
All the sage and spices,
And you would probably wonder
Why they were not harvested
Yet.

But the people who owned it
Usually bought their groceries
Rather than grew them.
Wes Rosenberger Jul 2016
Enter the greenhouse.

I love it here. From the gritty soil
to the abundant moisture.

Yet my palms are sweaty,
my green thumb is sore.
Classical music is to growing,
as is a kid to a toy store.

For once, a life-size terrarium holds me,
instead of ants who see grass as the trees.

Constrained, but so free.

This world remains a prison, but it contains both you and me.
Alma Tsuy Apr 2015
nicolette,
again! ****,
I go left, again.
the saying...
I go left again.
the same -
I go left again.
then...
I'll go left,
a gain.
tagged #Greenhouse
at January 19 2015
12:45:06
whatever that means...

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