#daffodils
Fifth Sunday of Easter
riding the Easter Tide
The Good News
a sharing in Gods life.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 9:27 AM UTC
As squirrels frolic
Spring flowers burst in the sun
Not where I planted
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 9:47 AM UTC
Daffodils sway in golden array,
Through winter's chill, they find their way.
With petals strong, they dance and bloom,
A symbol of hope, in every room.
Their resilience shines like a beacon bright,
A reminder of beauty in the darkest night.
In adversity, they stand tall and proud,
A testament to hope, forever loud.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 11:55 AM UTC
I felt something between a kiss and a knife ****** which became our embrace and I'm not sure if I sank into it or if it sank into me but we enjoined and it drained me of my anxiety and filled me with a sense of confused childhood, a migration path and a kind of transitioning, bringing me grief and joy in equal portion. And yet, and yet. And so, and so. We walked then, more entwined than Spring and Winter, and just as conflicted, knowing this too was our purpose, and that resolution might only come at the turning of Summer's solstice, calling us to begin again.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 1:45 PM UTC
Golden globes form hollow hearts,
acting as a lantern in part.
A tailored dress, and ruffled gown,
make walkers heads, look down.
Parading past the riverbank,
for children’s smiles, we have them to thank.
They return, year on year,
standing tall and firm, without a fear.
The petals stiff, yet soft as silk,
hundreds on hillsides, flowing like milk.
Gleaming in the morning sun,
and boldly still, as the day goes on.
But all good things must come to an end,
the petals wither and the stalks bend.
They fold down and return to the earth,
until next Spring, when the daffodils rebirth.
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 9:40 AM UTC
Far gar away
In a distant
Home
There was small
Home of nest.
In the lane
Of avenue park.
Dracula tark
Was laying on
Cradle with
His napkin.
And his mother.
Cream piccacio
Pistachio post letters
Were written
In red ink.
dream day
Of morning Daisy darling
Of how about the first quartz
Cotton neated in the
Meridian.
Sew a tail and skeir
And shirt elf.
With a self
Courier clean.
Life is still with still water to lay
In the fluroscent green mushroom.
She bothered fresh trout.
As sea sinks grrp and feep in thru
Metropolitan Time
As another option is rest
The pinnacle capital oaf.
Thru elf and drui
She shook thru time bar machine
Connection nest of birds sleep
Morning Daisy darling
Deep with the wolf wild
Rift and feep.
She sew by mracth
In mracth office ghoul
Nip.
Sew on porch for digital graffiti
Sew the pinnacle moppal.
Cruto linto in cruris British
Linen fabric for the best morning
Luis Miguel Angelo de Annette .
Luminary luminous intensity interval training.
Le petit peu kitto
Mtui maroon Kangaroo
Kite orange frontier Dracula sklein Sklein
Graphics tedd
Sawna.
Wonder fog vanished
Into thin air conditioning from village
Scout scopby became very popular among them were unavailable
Misc items were
Burneey
And lyonss
In the march fog the village sweets
A rusted tinted windows of office
Birds of prey upon this information to come home and feep and lyonss and drui the pinnacle capital oaf the wolf wild rift.The clunging and plunging on the turkey there were roosted rooms were breed wild caffe Nero.
Bridge quest of prey office ghoul and lyonss.
In roosted rooms
Smell of coffee brew.
Like peanuts of the hast thou wilt and feep I will not Sent 📤 the
Last updated
Wednesday Oct.
Oak carey was living
On stone porch with wild cattle.
Stone cold Steve and lyonss
Were freezing cold.
in the night post of office ghoul
Last updated Wednesday Oct.
Church Street had a carpenter who vanished on sale of paper roses.
Poliferated nest paper.
progress.
The carpenter tastes the blood not thewooden peanut butter crafts of holy sky.
Philosophy stone.
Life is past always tastes good
Bitter nut ahead times faster c.
Life taste as wine when clouds
Hits nine mine is still with still
Still lake always frozen fish.
Jumping Mango goes out of wall
Sailor needle fixes needle always
On tailor clothes.
And tailor fixes needle always on
Car and cards.
Rest sunshine
On widow's
Window .
Greyhold
And
WhiteBound.
Tadpoles always borne
In mud often reaps
Fertile soil.
Hair of yellow rose
Fights my souls.
🤢 Nasty peanut
In mouth.
Drink water
It might water
A rain.
Art secularism
Always breed
Soveregin
Dogs.
Paddy fields paddling towns
Rice green mushroom greener
Daffodils yellow
Red rose harbour
A Nasty 🤢 peanut
In the ship
Flakes harbour winds windshield
Nevertheless
Regins an Island yellow.
Lost vapour
Wafer
of moon.
Sense of
Essence.
My name sulokona
Did it smell rose or
Lily .
The old lady asked
The sparrow
How ease
Was for you to taste
Peanut and not
The butter.
Butterflies replied
Tadpoles can't fly.
She never meant roses
She meant alike Ghost
nosferatu .
Life taste like
Maid if milk
Is condensed.
Life tastes like wine
When are soccers are red.
Scottish Church Zcottcon.
Life is easy winds and chair.
We Brooke
Seek and hence.
Hence of fence
Clocks flocks
Grapes 🍇 vine
Rush a soul rest
Sunshine today.
Lfament paper.
Lqcent
Lacquers.
Leave and lie
Lwing.
Nosferatu.
Crescent presario.lyme lyme no more
Rain rain couch.
Is his hand frozen and not feasted or ******
Lbrooke.
Lamenting lights
Saved Dave.
Lucui lucui
Ls femme de.
Lerie aritum.
His chest 🧰
Like 🦈
Elite flights.
Pippi cotton
Shirt.
Eyes of blue
Isabelle.
In the plight ofiss Carrie
He took chance
To mingle with a
Empty box.
He was the
Bailee.
And the plight of Miss Carrie was worsening.
Miss Carrie
Was flair woman 👠
With no tic tac tickets .
Miss Carrie was of a miniature
Featured woman .
She wore mostly blue.
He was watching as in the
He could ***** at any moment.
He was the bailee.
He took chances on Lily his daughter but she everything she
Tricked him .
He was in closet watching me every single moment which disturbed
Miss Carrie conditions.
Our sister Miss Angela lead us every very moment except Miss Riya
Who finched on every single grape we ate
Miss Carrie was carrying away by her suing thoughts one day she would nathe.
Said Miss Blue heaven Jasmin.
Russian rouble
Lopard Serennials
Mr Mosta tried to take **** 📼 instinct on his late wife Poppy and now his daughter Lily.
passenger train journey and nestes
Lark crust
Salted peanuts biscuits.
Russian man and woman.
stew by herwin.
Were nested.
Holce nest forests.
srew and Racula.
❌
swaerk.
Cris Carter Gayle.
Dracula bram.
Dracula tark and I used the black ink cartridge filter.
serw and I am going through deep water 🌊. Landscape and my beloved castle wife .
Dracula sklein and my beloved mother.
Nestle waters.Milk cartoons .
Life is just a journey
We all are sailors.
Never tear a notebooks page.
The panic art of black note.
Church Street was Black as clouds
As well I want my darling
To romance
And sailor drape crape forester
Lampshire cxon
Sew the black mittens and jacket of office gust busy as usual we will you
And the bird Penny trail mail 📬 💌.
Two laughter together.
Hyenas come
Dogs crawl.
Dracula Sabbath
Bat Arches.
Church of Christ.
Stew respect। Demands
Attorney.
We will you.
Bogle and Dunnie.
The grass is green
Day is sunny
Rain on the porch
Christopher Mcqueath
Life reaches of goals
Pladin and I
Nest of cuckoo
Nest and bread .
Life taste of newspaper
Metropolitan square
Bill and mouse.
Bar and office
Nest and tea.
Caffe and Latte.
katte and my beloved mother.
Nero.
Paint on the porch
With wooden chip.
Lime green light
Night grass
Chopper wood
Twinkle lark the Dracula sklein
In the house of
Evening
Bingle watch the
Catel
Vatel.
Caffron and Cassior
Conditions application
Fortnight Jack vatel.
Vettel and cortel.
cold water bottle 🥶.
Caffec and Cortex.
zenkinly machintoch.
April flowers
Pollens of pills
Nest of cuckoo
Monkey darling
Dancing police
Crest of hill
Pollens of pills
Nuggets of the
Chicken biryani
I was cooked
Carfin and wax.
Sew.
Nest of cozy
Caterpillar and the plight of Miss Carrie was carrying out the plight of Miss you too.
Nest birds of prey
Preting on petty money.
News of afforestation in
Grand vitara and
Dracula sklein guitar song
On play and loop .
Nest the best birds of prey.
They shall encounter with
Harbingers birds.
zest of creak of
Ofiss door
Slightly better to be
Caffre nestum.
Porch birds couldn't say good bye
To darling Daisy.
Laying cuckoo's eggs 🥚 on Daisy Nest.
Carl Zeiss and larkinsky
In affecfit graffic and the cotton bird Penny
Nerco Merci beaucoup pour la Belle Isle vule
Con station
Front load washer for share abhram crift
Grace green gr.dracule
Mint vintage
Cappunuchio
Fretta Fiesta
Minl mint vintage
Krist craffe
Krist craffe
Dracula nule
And nuke metting
Litras.
Graffucci grand craynola
Netta vest butterfly
Intj curing
Hinking
And larfour on roll grale.
Zetta and feeping
Nicote miscule
Notchre
Loche and I graddic
Lint.
fressia and grass is rest.
Mint the green
Light the blue
Batch.
Peace.
Cruyff and lyonss.
Nostalgia critic.
Murci and cruic
Kraft paper roses
Lafer hijle.
Serbian bear
Nicote.
Sew.
Nest of fig .babble tree.
Zion crunch
Fretish fresh
Mink lashes
Lionel Richie incognito
Kast draculr e
Hyenas howl
Low crunch
Pistachio green
Yolks folks Isep
Greegreen
Yera
Nature and brink.crush creat.
Saw the wolf.
Wood beams.
Zarf carf.
Card linetto.
miskin restitue
Carrie conditions for hospital.
Gopal krishna Rudra
Feep in betters
Vetter.
Crusade fest on drive
Nest a carpenter rusted tinted glass.
La espenza. ☕
Wooden chip
***** a trap.
Night a bulb.
Bulk a bed.
Draw a skirt.
Draw a shirt.
Draw a tie.
Put a pant
Put a shirt
Put a tie
Put a time watch.
Graphic card.
Cross ❌ road.
Savour a orange.
Mix sugar milk eggs vanilla
Baking soda orange pulp.
Ferfule with a carmer
Put in a tin box .
Bake for 39C.
Deàth come
Slowly as
Winter waves it's first snow
Gentle graffe
Blue waves
Sea of life
Drown me
Take me to heaven
Where sky is blue
Raphael sing
Angel weave
Wednesday kite
Lamps blue with oil
Glass and milk castle
Brown wings
Brow and bow.
Ink of Latin
Now runs dry
From Friday
Fever.
Somebody insert
***** .
How the arrow was shrap
I could see.
How the blade was green
My mother couldn't see the
Throat.
I could cloud
But no rain
Appears
Justice for cobbler shoes
Irony
My mother screechs.
Laughs turning blue
Black raven growls.
Frocks for women
Shoes for men
How to put a touch to
Grieving AIDS.
From the plight of Miss Brooks.
Knuttle the shuttle
Kettle the tea
Bell the day
Morn and morning
Daisy blue
Blurred rain
Railway carriage
Late
You promised
Mr to my mud House.
Grand Curtis.
Flake of snow .
Nest of Vettel.
Nest of Neet.
Was kite flying
So high
You throttled
Her waist
Purjury premandes
Maiden a man
Received a throttled
********
Is woman
So Curry
That you crawl
Into her ******
Like snake.
A tough leatherette
********
Why death so wicked
I wanted a white
But you Black clown.
Allow the just
Winds to take their
Course.
Brindavan.
A climate to clear
The planet wearth.
You cry
You cry
He comes like gangster and a enuch
To carry to his trucks of
Rust and filth
You choke
They choose to feed grains
To feeble birds.
An nut *******
For the duck.
She is dizzy
Let cence
Feed her ******
Go to alter to ❤️🔥.
Friday night grass.
So cool.
Snake game were designed
With Lizzy.
Rest in test
Of armed men from
Salt island.
Walt errings
Goose feeding.
University lost the ferocity
Of holiness
Which now licks torn head.
Fool the porch light
Fool pope
Fool bearings fruit
No I never want
Sn erection.i
Wear white clothes
And maintenance of
Dasi.
My white clothes were
Drained into cobbler's ink.
I smell like an animal.
Death and draughtsman
Drag into van to take dungeons and dragons dystopia.
Burning lamps
Cry with savage .
Hello ma
Pinkiiss white colour.
You look so tired and weary
Am I a burden?
I was busy making financial security and build houses.
You are very faint.
My YouTube doesn't
Work
Pa the Koala Australia Debasish Biswas.
Ma Lenny Italian I was getting mad how God made with out mother.
I was researching ghosts, though my spirit anime is bat.
You look fragile and weak.
Now your re old
I was selling popcorn and chips
To build bank.
Chunks of wood for
House building.
And you know tea ☕.
Ghosts were confusing and cheating
And molestation
That's sparked a revolt
Though ghosts are white
And we love wearing
White that's the other side of coin .
I wrote a book about dracula
Dey has become blackboard because of chalk.
My earlier boyfriend.
Samir lepcha.
Ravinder Singh is my new boyfriend
Else the board gets black.
Many darling but fannie larita is perfectly.
Though a child without mother is a blind person.
I got a new job at
Carlington.
Butcher and satin saints
Of India.
Puffy.
Puffy.
Puffy.
Found a church St.Anthony .
Bricks and garlic kiss from India.
They induced drugs and matchstick.
More often people take advantage of orphans.
PA Debasish biswas fought drought heat and heat and humidity to -----
Cgicken colt Ford
Mint mint TIN.
Verse বীণা
কলাম
গ্রাফিক graffiti.
Pie পিচার্ট.
রেড red.
গ্রীন green.
পেপার পেপার paper ----
Flinch worth vs Flinch wood.
Co।nc.
Collect and Ann cilor.
Color a boat with board gets roosted and read in lingt
Gust of wind sugar
Flip Clip an article
Crust your pencil
Skirt your lane .
Sew well -------++++-------
Crust pizza and hust wheat flour
Fish masala Curry and turmeric powder .
Salt salmon.----+++-----
Never stitch a murerer cloth.
Caffe boyeour
Serpin ceicast
Lepin rapkin
Nestin nit nut biscit biscut
Lop cop nopdrop.Drop Letter L in post box. Bag filk will nestilint.
Mint green.
A sreach for mother ends with
Bag of notes and key .
Mother's often give white Saree price as for weeping Willow .
I give you a white page and wgite tea.
Drink and draw.
Old clothes and toys are much better---
Linn mint green.
Raphael.
Nest of tables team.
Crooks of ducks.
Binging crater
Crafter.
Lauret.
Linette chocolate.
Lenny.
MSN.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 6:58 AM UTC
In the hush beneath powerlines,
through fractured stones,
no gardener knelt to bless them.
No springtime choir sang.
Still, golden heads rose,
leaning towards the shadowed light,
the kind filtered by clouds
like a half-remembered memory,
or a lullaby hummed to a ghost.
Roots thread through ruin,
tasting rust,
sipping rain
that fell before the world began.
They were never meant to be here.
And yet
yellow ablaze in the rubble.
A flicker. A flare.
The petaled armor of hope
unfurled against battle-smoked skies
as if the world exhaled
and breathed them into being.
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 6:08 PM UTC
_Chapter I: Disappear Politely_
There was a town with one stoplight
and two churches that hated each other.
The first church tolled its bell louder.
The second buried its girls quieter.
It was the kind of place where grief
was passed down like heirloom silver:
polished, inherited, never touched—
except to prove they had it.
Where the girls learned early
how to disappear with grace.
They say the first one—Marlena—
just walked into the lake,
mouth full of wedding vows
no one had asked her to write,
and her prom dress still zipped.
The older preacher saw her go under—
didn’t move,
just turned the page in his sermon book.
Said later:
_Girls like that always need a stage._
The parents told their daughters
not to cause trouble.
Told them to smile more,
leak less,
bloom quietly,
be good—
or
be gone.
Then cried when they vanished.
Then lit candles.
Then said things like
“God has a plan,”
to keep from imagining
what the plan required.
_Chapter II: The Girls Who Spoke Wrong_
A girl named Finch refused to sleep.
Said her dreams were trying to arrest her.
One morning they found her curled in the middle of Saint Street—
like a comma the sentence abandoned.
A knife in her boot,
daffodils blooming from her belt loops—
like she dressed for both war and funeral.
Finch was buried upright.
Because *God forbid
a girl ever be horizontal
without permission.*
The sheriff was mailed her journals
with no return address.
He read one page.
Paused.
Coughed once, like the truth had teeth.
Lit a match.
Said it wasn’t evidence—
said it was dangerous
for a girl to write things
no one asked her to say.
No one spoke at her funeral,
but every girl showed up
with one eye painted black
and the other wide open.
Not make-up.
Not bruise.
Just warning.
Chapter III: Half-Gone Girls & Other Ghosts
And then there was Kiernan.
Not missing. Not dead.
Just quieter than the story required.
She stuffed cotton in her ears at church—
said the hymns gave her splinters.
Talked to the mirror like it owed her something—
maybe a mouth,
maybe mercy.
She was the one who found Finch’s daffodils first.
Picked one. Pressed it in her journal.
It left a bruise that smelled like vinegar.
No one noticed
when she stopped raising her hand in class.
Her poems shrank to whispers,
signed with initials—
like she knew full names
made better gravestones.
Someone checked out Kiernan’s old library book last week.
All the margins were full of names.
None of them hers.
They say she’s still here.
Just not all the way.
A girl named Sunday
stopped speaking at eleven,
and was last seen barefoot
on the second church roof,
humming a song no one taught her.
Sunday didn’t leave a note.
She figured we’d write one for her anyway.
Some girls disappear all at once.
Others just run out of language.
Clementine left love letters in lockers
signed with other girls’ names.
Said she was trying to ‘redistribute the damage.’
She stood in for a girl during detention.
Another time, for a funeral.
Once, Clementine blew out candles
on a cake that wasn’t hers.
Said the girl didn’t want to age that year.
Said she’d hold the wish for her—
just in case.
She disappeared on picture day,
but her face showed up
in three other portraits—
blurry,
but unmistakable.
The town still isn’t sure who she was.
But the girls remember:
she took their worst days
and wore them like a uniform.
Chapter IV: Standing Room Only
They say
the town
got sick
of digging.
Said
it took
too much
space
to bury
the girls
properly.
So
they
stopped.
Started
placing
them
upright
in the
dirt,
palms
pressed
together,
like
they
were
praying
for
revenge.
Or maybe
just
patience.
The lake only takes
what’s already broken.
It’s polite like that.
It waits.
They renamed it Mirrorlake—
but no one looks in.
The daffodils grow back faster
when girls go missing—
brighter, almost smug,
petals too yellow
to mean joy anymore.
No one picks them.
No one dares.
The earth hums lullabies
in girls’ names,
soft as bone dust,
steady as sleep.
There’s never been enough room
for a girl to rest here—
just enough to pose her pretty.
They renamed the cemetery “Resthill,”
but every girl calls it
The Standing Room.
Chapter V: When the Dirt Starts Speaking
Someone said they saw Clementine
in the mirror at the gas station—
wearing someone else’s smile
and mouthing:
“wrong year.”
The school yearbook stopped printing senior quotes.
Too many girls used them wrong.
Too many girls turned them into prophecies.
Too many girls were never seniors.
They didn’t bury them standing up to honor them.
They just didn’t want to kneel.
The stoplight has started skipping green,
like the town doesn’t believe in Go anymore.
Just flickers yellow,
then red,
then red again.
A warning no one heeds.
A rhythm only the girls who are left
seem to follow.
Some nights,
the air smells like perfume
that doesn’t belong to anyone.
And the church bells ring without being touched.
Only once.
Always just once.
At 3:03 a.m.
Now no one says the word ‘daughter’
without spitting.
No one swims in the lake.
The pews sigh
when the mothers sit down.
Both preachers said:
“Trust God.
Some girls just love the dark.”
But some nights—
when the ground hums low
and the stoplight flickers
yellowyellowred—
you can hear a knocking under your feet,
steady as a metronome.
The ground is tired of being quiet.
The roots have run out of room.
The girls are knocking louder—
not begging.
Not asking.
Just letting us know:
they remember.
And—
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
Deep custard coloured daffodils
True harbingers of spring
Tall mustard painted trumpets
A joyous star-like thing.
Bright gold encrusted promises
Carried on the wing
A portent of emergent life
That a daffodil will bring
22.3.25
SE
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 6:22 AM UTC
Daffodils:
Little yellow trumpets that herald the coming Spring.
They shyly rise above the earth until, fully grown,
Then loudly proclaim
That Winter has turned on its heels
To give way to longer, warmer days.
And when their fanfare fades away,
the sweet peal of the bluebells can be heard,
Drifting across the early dawn.
And snowdrops smile,
Knowing that Summer will soon be here.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
I hope to awake on an open field
Where children play on swings,
Watching people walk their dogs,
And all those kind of things.
I hope to see yellow daffodils
In their thousands all in line,
Followed along with bluebells,
A blue sky and sun that shines.
I hope to see those people
The ones I used to know,
Instead of sadness in their eyes
Now is a smile that always glows.
I hope to see those animals,
Cows, pigs and sheep
Grazing together without any fear
Knowing they're not food to eat.
I hope to see a different world
A world that we've never seen
One with peace and harmony
The way it should have been.
I hope to awake on an open field
And I hope that day will be
With all those lovely people,
And my true love waiting for me.
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 11:37 AM UTC
For you,
From my terrace garden,
I bring a bouquet.
Of daffodils,
And
Of daisies.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC
O Spring season of love for every plant and beast, from early March till later May the charming guest would feast.
In mother nature you’ll see the signs of all Divine designs. You will see the beauty on every face including yours and mine.
Daffodils will sway in open fields and lands that have declined. Flowers shall blossom and roses will bloom on every stem and spine.
Stallions will tease and gallop away in single pairs and lines. Even the birds their mates would mock before they do combine.
You’ll spot the fish of every hue in every pond or lake, but monkeys would scream and run away from every coily snake.
The crocks would stretch on river banks in search of warmth and shine, even the bears will lazily rest under the shady pine.
lovebirds will flirt and build a nest on every woken tree, music would play and bells would ring in all the lands and sea.
When young are born or even hatch they’ll match the colours of spring, parents would feed and nurse away as the young will proudly sing.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 9:23 AM UTC
Summer is loading full
just one bit more
London is On!
Busy bus only 20 miles
per hour
tube it
take the underground!
Meet down the various clouds
though the sun oft
picks on the gray paintbrush
the bumble bees fly on bright path
daffodils are yellow
eyes are black and white.
The colour plate is full
down the cloud
go by underground!
Aug 16, 2023
Aug 16, 2023 at 9:46 AM UTC
I'm a hopeless romantic, and an incredible paranoic, i'm in this pool of daffodils and all I think about is you,
Lover you should've told me the truth, it'd be easier on me,
as it'd be easier on you,
now I can't forget, I've made so many plans, and you're all I see,
this pool of daffodils keeps getting deeper every second,
and you're turning into a stranger, as I'm losing sight of you.
If it really wasn't meant to be, I'm okay to make it so,
I hate the cold of your words when you seem to realize we should've been done for quite the long while,
and I hate that I can't stop thinking, I want to drown inside of your blue eyes,
instead of this endless pool of daffodils
it's what you do to me, and you don't even know,
oh, if only you'd join me in this daffodils pool,
because I know that,
you're the one,
with the embracing giggles,
and the silly ways,
the only one I want to be held,
floating in this pool, of daffodils.
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 12:27 PM UTC
Decaying and forgotten
The daffodils have turned rotten
His hollow mind
Too young to be left unseen
He sees the twisted horrors
That no one else seems to see
They exist where no one wants to look
In the corners of our smiles
And the coldness of our breath
The twisted horrors drive him insane
They push him to the edge
Decaying and forgotten
The daffodils have turned rotten
Neglected
They lay
No life to display
One time they stood tall
And now they are one with their shadow
Maybe he will fall too
Becoming one with his shadow
Or maybe he just needs to dream..
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 12:01 PM UTC
So sweet the daffodils,
You placed upon my grave.
Thinking of us all timed,
Lost soul to you to save.
Darling, where were you, all,
So close to me of thine.
Floating, flying, the rose,
Away from a birthed vine.
You placed the wrong flowers,
Thinking you cared for me.
Hand sprouting from below,
Grabbed upon you to see.
So sweet the daffodils,
For you & me to share...
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 2:34 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel as though
writing poetry
is like throwing scraps at the dogs.
Have I satisfied my mind's hunger to write?
Not until
I can say
that I've written
with pride.
For the only way to be full
is to be brave enough
to swallow
my own
words.
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 12:37 PM UTC
forget me nots
purple and sweet
taste of perfection
**** and neat
Daffodils
as sugary as frosting
Growing with weeds
evil, secret, and mystery
Roses
they are the ones
they are the people
petals of blood
If they are flowers
I am a Dandelion
I take everything from everyone
and I am always lying
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 5:48 AM UTC
Can you listen to it?
The cry of the wind,
outside.
Its is calling for you, to break the bars
to feel the freedom, to do the wish.
Have you ever attempted?
To see what do you want,
To say what you like,
with no burden of words.
To find yourself in other's eyes.
And hold your heart, out of the cage.
What, do you think?
Would you come with me, to head towards
the unexplored, unto the new Sun.
to the land of daffodils and wilds of pine.
Where you can be you,
the wind is you and the rain is me.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 3:56 AM UTC
Yellow and lime
Distinct in rhyme
Have raised their heads before their time
Wordsworth's words sought in kind
Intent rearranged as the gaze has changed with age
Do Daffodils cheer me up?
Not so vast in a public park
For experience raises expectations
or am I the holder of a colder heart
further inline set to depart
A voice stored inside reminds
with a twinkle in his eye that
'Variety is the spice of life'
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 12:55 PM UTC
xxxxxxx
Lonely I am not anymore,
Obvious was the need of a companion,
Tears used to roll down as if I chop an onion,
Unending is the happiness in this poem,
Sadness, I have forgotten you.
I now manufacture more happiness,
Shying away from smiling is nonsense.
Thoughts of mine finally orient east,
Heavy thoughts morph into light ones,
Estuary of sadness into a sea of gladness.
Becoming one with her, I am,
Expanse of the rising sun beckons me,
Sit we shall with one another,
Thickets of Selection Grass await her.
xxxxxxx
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
...whence? I know, I know, you've the florist's packet of preservative mixt for your cut flowrs don't you? Good luck.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXV)
Lo, tulip capes so thickly clustered they'll
Ne'er blossom, like sardines is it from hence?
Wait greenly by the back stoop for a sense
Of April in the wings. And jonquils' hale
Green tendrils wait likewise for that detail
I guess, as maids whose innocent suspense
We fail to notice, full of vain pretense'
Auld lies as if such might at last avail.
Girls have been known as flowrs, since oh, in tour
God's Scriptures told us that, I spose. Aye, do
Men ink laments of this or that as twere
It's thus: "...her virgins, pure, deflowrd--" they knew.
These latter days we are taught lies, (in poor
'Scuse know by instinct) and cut flowrs down too.
29Mar19a
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
sigh as evidenced by which pieces "trend" being depressed is tops, while beauty is left to rot. Whateffer.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVII)
Blue skies. And golden light with shadows' pale
Forms on the yellowed lawns and blacktop hence,
Sweet minutes whose eye seems tis April's, whence
My heart yearns 'gain to walk free and avail
Me of which blossom? Daffodils to scale
Shall send green nubbins up til for intents
Their frilly golden heads can nod from thence
To playful breezes while wee violets hail.
Yea, soon Magnolia petals shall bestir
'Gain to soft winds, and pink-tinged satin woo
Thoughts of a bride upon the aisle as twere.
For now we'll have our refried beans and do
Dessert in birthday style with cake in tour
And ice cream for the Ides of March' ado.
15Mar19d
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC