Sweet, succulent Elberta Peach
It's tell-tale blush within my reach
It's that time of year again
A peach to die for and then
I have to have another,
The ultimate peach, brother!
Sweet, succulent Elberta peach
It's tell-tale blush within my reach
8/8/2018 - Poetry form: Octelle - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
I killed my cactus,
distressed and helpless;
it'll never survive regardless.
I watered it more than I should,
for some reason it withstood;
as more affection is never no-good,
but intentions are often misunderstood.
one time I changed its ***
and had a second afterthought.
I then changed its soil,
yet I'm stuck in a turmoil.
these weren't the changes I seek,
for I loathe its spines -
so cluttered and bleak.
maybe I should have gotten
a tiny potted succulent,
or plants with stinger;
perhaps I never even had
the green fingers.
I have friends who were stuck in an unconventional relationship - abusive.
they believe they were changing each other for the better but couldn't differentiate their wrongs and rights.
side note: was asking opinions on what hobbies I should take up, some friends suggested caring for succulents - told them I couldn't even keep a cactus alive.
Kalanchoë, finally you bloom!
Welcome little foreigner,
To the corner of my room.
With frangipani flame
And crocus-gold effulgent.
Strains past succulent skin
Though your petals grow
Just to hold it in,
Fiery blood escapes
Past watery blocks of ester-swell
And you exult with me
In a wintry cell.
Dedicated to the first bloom of a pretty plant that feared might never bloom, which finally treated me to one blossom in winter.
Im a plant
too much sun and I wither
too much shade I wilt
keep me by the window where you work
where the morning sun is filtered through blinds
where you wont always be
but will be consistently enough
place me where you forget me
but remember just enough to smile and water me
I am a succulent
not a hardy cactus
but a rosette
too much attention
too little attention
a drop of water at the wrong time
and im dying
driving down an old country road
dust flying up behind me
trying to make it home
before the setting sun
miles passing by my window
quickly like years of my life
the winding road reminding me
of all the curves in my daily struggle
always on the go and in high gear
no time for the little things
time constantly ticking in my ear
my mind drifting with the waning sun
and a tiny shack comes into my view
with a hand painted sign
that says “PEACHES”
normally I would have gone barreling by
but something was calling to me
not really a sound but more of a feeling
I pulled over to the side of the road
the dust climbing up my city shoes
as I walked over to the sign
there was no one to be found
just a worn old basket
with the biggest peach
I have ever seen
I reached for it and as I held it
it caressed my hand
with its silky skin
I brought it to my mouth
and it playfully touched my nose
with its wonderful scent
my mouth aching for one small taste
of this forbidden fruit
that had been laid as a trap
I couldn't resist its calling
and I closed my eyes
the first bite was ecstasy
warm sweet nectar
filling my wanting mouth
dripping down my chin
it was like biting into
the glorious scent
filling me to the brim
sending me on a journey
and exploration of my senses
and in that moment
I was free
from the hustle and bustle
of everyday life
the late afternoon air was alive
with the music of mother nature
the wind blowing freely through my hair
listening to the wind
tumble through the open fields
long grasses swaying in response
I slipped my city shoes off
feeling the soft grass between my toes
and took in the pure air
as it danced in my lungs
I don't know how much time passed
as I stood there
just me, mother nature and that one peach
I no longer cared about the time
or even where I was going
I just soaked the moment in
not wanting it to end
that one succulent peach
a small reminder
of how precious and sweet
life can really be
If you'd just pull over once in awhile...
an unread book,
a pair of broken headphones,
the shirt of someone who is perfect in my eyes.
a bic lighter,
a glass of water,
a succulent that i could never seem to keep alive.
condensation forms on the surface of the table
as the water begs to bring life back to the plant,
but the lonely plant only speaks of the sun
and the way it desires his light.
— The End —