let me grow among the wildflowers
let me bust through the pavement
and grow wherever i so please
set my soul free
release me from this world
where society
                           magazines
                                                and tv
tell you who to be
how you should look
how you should speak
is this really the life you want to lead?
where you are a walking copy
a construction of society
being fed opinions
                                   dreams
                                                 and fantasies
strip your face of make-up
and burn the magazine
escape the cage you live in
become the song bird you were meant to be
set yourself free
go sit among the wildflowers
and see how good different can be
Abigail Hobbs Jun 10
Can these wildflowers' scent
lure me to a high of
when things weren't so wild
and we could predict
the oncoming spring
and what this season would bring
I guess, in a way,
the wild times have come to a close
I just have to remember
to stop
and have a word with those flowers
and ask them
when they think I'll spring
The air tells me many things
and I think my time will come
6/4/18
Mary-Eliz May 3
meadow
velvet green
flecked with color

amber sunshine
warming
wildflowers
violet, cream and rose
she is a wild flower
as she feels warmth
from above
as she is trickled upon
by rain
as she grows
from everything she needs
as she shrivels up
from everything that she doesn’t
she soon realizes
that savoring moments
being alive
in only one at a time
is going to help her grow
greater than before
little by little
going back a step
growing again
is how a wild flower survives
she is a survivor
she is a wild flower
M Jan 25
Sit
Sit, stare at wildflowers
Humans have no roots
Chaining us to
Soil
Nothing to save us
From life's trampling boots
As We sit and watch the wildflowers
mrc Jan 15
i could get over you
easily
climb up over my feelings for you
like stepping over an anthill
whilst humming my favorite song
i could pull you off of my thoughts
the way my ratty old sweatpants
slide down my legs at 2 a.m.
i am content with becoming a wallflower
yet again when you tire of my blue eyes
and the way the sun shines
straight through the middle of them
but i just want you to look at me
one last time the way you did when
the "october sky" end credits rolled
just one more time so i can feel the
electricity of locked eyes in a crowded room
look at me again
make me a garden of wildflowers
in the middle of june
Annete Dec 2017
I woke up
To wildflowers at my table
Which you’ve gathered
Dark late night.
Truly beautiful,
Although I’ve got allergic
Like they were warning me
Of who you are.
And only now I sense it as a sign
Yuka Oiwa Jul 2012
Spring comes
as grasses leap forth
and emerald hues are added to the landscape,
with wildflowers peeking up from the
dewy roadside.
The world smells
fresh like worms and earth,
while birds drift down to finish last year’s
seeds.
Yellow rain boots hop
out of shelves and into the puddles,
while mud gathers and plays in the road,
gurgling with mirth at passers by.
The badminton net is resurrected,
regally looming over the lawn,
as the swings squeak joyfully in the breeze.
The fireplace gives a sooty yawn
and falls to sleep.
And in the kitchen, fiddleheads unfurl upon
a hot pan
as the old and sour scent of the earth
settles upon our plates,
spring steps lightly
onto the world.

~Yuka Oiwa
May 6, 2008
This is an old poem I dug out of my computer's memory. Even though I wrote this in middle school I still really like the imagery little me came up with.
how by chewing wildflowers
til your tongue turns numb because
you're enamoured by the way it sounds
when you slur your words.
your gums turn black and
when you smile all i see is
pips and petals stuck between your teeth.
oh you're so pretty.
you're a real loose cannon, tendrils
tethered to every orifice and
every breath smells a little more
like the grim reaper is sleeping
in your mouth. i can see he's
making quick work of your gums.
but it works.
better that than he move into your chest
or burrow into pockets of fat
in your head.
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
You know, this journal does not even contain half of what we know.  I hope we never forget.  


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLV)


Now, while cicadas drone 'neath blue skies' pale
Glance, or to deeper shades of that, what hence?
Remember Starbucks' "Friends Day" for intents,
The prompt last night, as yesterday's detail:
We rode the bike path 'gain whose wildflowrs hail
As wont in clover's pink, and yellows thence
With brown eyes, thistles' purple, grasses dense
On either side, while goldfinch laughed t'avail.
I'd hated these auld trails we knew, as poor
Since Mum's death, but now I belong to you,
Oh! all's sae sweet like ne'er before as twere.
My car'mel fru-fru drink was tasty too:
Cuz I am yours.  That means I can't write fer
All that cuz evry minute's yours who woo.

08Aug17
I'd fully intended to ink that bicycle ride, sweeter than I've ever known before cuz of you, but you must captivate every minute; and to think I didn't realize Mrs. Sitz' prompt of "Friend" was on the same day as Starbuck's Friendship Day special.
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