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Jade Mikaila Feb 28
Church father,
Below a wood, grey.
Regale me with your tales, please,
Tell me of the cold mountain again,
of the fen,
of the moor,
tell me what is at deaths door?
To the second circle I will go
to sin in the whirlwind and throes
of passion.

To be prescribed at the gate
by Minos’ tail— two times around,
I would live underground.
As above, for courtly love,
so below, I would willingly go.
Kewayne Wadley Mar 2019
I revere you when I lay in your grove
I am but in an infinity of comfort.
Sealed in open space,
It is in this grove I am found.
I dance in the graduation of being.
Being there,
The expansion of reverence.
A love affair in complete darkness
Before the height of merchant eyes,
Peeking over the horizon.
This moment becoming more precious, more scarce.
I revere you in the occasion that we are firmly planted in the ground.
Just below the grove I am laid
Just below the surface we are rooted.
We are felt.
Our survival depends on it.
Without you I cannot begin to exist
Nikos Kyriazis Feb 2019
My monastery is nothing
but crimson dusk
poured inside the veins
of this grove

Love to drink the liquid
from the evening's injection

My body's organs to be dried
with purple blood
K Balachandran Jul 2018
A coconut grove,
With one tall wind turbine;
Every wind blows amused!
K Balachandran Jul 2018
A coconut grove
With one tall wind turbine.
The wind blows amused!
Scorching bullets
Pass us by
Like dancing faeries
Around our heads

You covered yourself
Like a bullet proof vest

Dragon's breath is unleashed
Are we living among the dead?

Or dead
Among the living?

Where wolves,  griffins,  and lions

But never surrender

Bullets fly
They want us

Or maybe

Who knows?

Can **** us
At all

The enemy
Will die
Of certain heart attacks

With AK bullets

God's will
So is seared
We can
Do it all
And rise above
Our fears

Deep within
This blood
Coursing thru our veins
Lies the Hunter
Among the hunted

Those within
This grove
Are seeking


To overload

Among the safety
We run,  we hide,  we search
So that those of us here
Will rise
And never die

Please cover
Like a Bulletproof Vest!
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Tulip in a Grove, alone in Spring,
Like young girl's hearts, it's a fragile thing.
Too bright for its dark abode:
A brilliant corner on a lonely road.
Petals, like shields, rise up as guards.
For all that lives wants to part
The Tulip from its Spring.

But look, there, in the greenish gloom,
There are other colors in this furtive room.
In twos or threes, they stand apart,
Each guarding their own and another’s heart.
Bright heads like maiden’s reticent mane.
Each shines for the other’s gain.
For Summer comes too soon.

- 2011
Tulips began appearing in our old garden, nearly hidden between two old Yew trees, after my mother raked away years of dead leaves. How they shone in the gloom beneath the dark evergreens!
Juniper Zed Jul 2017
Dimly glow the fireflies
In the densely wooded grove
The creek beside the promenade
Sounds like the whispers of the cove

In its solitary peace
The carp repress confessions
In the quiet emerald water
Live sorrows and obsessions

And when the cicadas buzz
They are like a music box
Young love is their handle and springs
They are the muse the world mocks

The melody of passion
Bleeds like the sap of the trees
On lukewarm nights of dancing stars
Love enters the world as breeze

A pair of lovers awaits
To live together at last
And as the date comes closer here
The future is not colorfast

Life's hourglass so expires
And there is not one who grieves
His final rest is too costly
So now he floats with the leaves

There's no wedding to foresee
Thus the bridge became of use
Her toes hang off the bridge again
But this time she holds a noose

Oh the irony of love
It's as the cicadas sang
"Be joyful now in summer's heat,
By our love, we all will hang."

The silly girl hanged herself
And she hung there not alone
Cicadas sang her melody
As her neck skin removed from her bone

And so she hung there quite still
Until her corpse decomposed
Her tale was not quite as haunting
As the music the cicadas composed
K Balachandran Apr 2017
this flowered grove looks,
a grand bouquet from above
storks, quiet , dozing
Austin Bauer Apr 2017
I long for myself
and for those I love
and for those I lead
to be like the
wild sequoias.

Let our reach
be high and vertical.
Let our roots
be firm and intertwined.
Let us be
strategically planted
in deep reservoirs.
Let our bark
be thick and resilient.
Let our seeds
be released
and germinated
when the fire comes.

Yes, let us be
an enduring grove,
outliving difficult
seasons and enjoying
the plentiful.
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