#freshness
Among the thorn and leaves,
See what come to heaves:
A Red Rose!
Full of colours and aroma,
Proudly held high in its red chroma.
A red rose is a sign of love,
Like secret messages sent by dove.
When I see it;
It fills my heart with joys,
That's why planting roses with my granny I really enjoys.
Soft petals hold a freshness hue,
Of love that's deep and courage true.
Unbowed by storms, it learns to stays,
A red rose greeting every day.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 9:39 AM UTC
in my new existence, I seem to be seeing the world differently
I have rememberings of a time that no longer are there
that part of life changed at some point
do I want to know when that was
do I want to move on with the existing reality
I need to not forget
I need to stay with eyes wide shut
taking in all that is new, with the memories of forgotten eternities
allowing myself to welcome in the freshness of new routes
Brian Hill - 2020 # 251
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
a poem never writes itself,
but will guide us.
its sinister intent half-mechanical, as if by formula,
yet imbued with fresh shock
and sound. a word
settles on the bones
and then another--- another.
their emergence rings hollow
before unison and rings
loudly as a whole.
cascading rhythms,
parsed onto pen-pricked page,
gasping for more
and wanting less.
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 8:30 PM UTC
I saw someone special
Today morning
OK they are daily guests
Whom I do
Love to welcome!
But they create that
Joyful music
Take away that stagnancy
Engulfing me
Create moments of
Guilty lightness
During the long hours
Of sitting in the exam hall!
The Vedas see in them
The manifestations
Of our inner self
The body ,a bird
And the inner,another
Watching the other
Enjoy fruits of life
OK let's come back
As a boy,whom
I do love to chase
And catch
O they're but
Lovely birds!
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
As I fall onto the pile of freshly dried clothes, I can feel the freshness seeping into my skin. The comforting warmth flows through me in the dead of winter. More... and more... and more. I never want to get up.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC
*Deep in slumber
these days
cannot open my eyes
dreaming sometimes
of what I do not recall
But slumber heals me
from within
I do not forget when awake
but helps me to smile again
with a new sign of freshness.*
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
In this life
We have love
We may not have had
The passage of time together
The years of naivety
Youth or freshness of spirit
We have not caressed
Our younger bodies
Enjoyed the sanctity of being as one
When our skin was smoother
Our touch was softer
Our hearts were open to receiving
More congenially
A time when we may have
Chosen indiscriminately
This led us down a road that was
Perhaps
Right for the time
Yet now outgrown ~
The model of love
We have the maturity of mind
Still the tenderness of heart
Enjoying the ability to cherish
That which the Universe brings us
We have more complex bodies
That savors the relaxed
Appeasing, sensuality of **********
Remaining as a priceless work of art
Instead of the rushed; less intense
Inexperience youth often brings
We have each other in what will be
The ultimate love of its kind
The last known to us in this lifetime
Our twilight years, may come and go
But we have love that lives on
Forever recorded in history
The mistakes of the past rewritten
Because now, in this life
We truly found ~
The model of love
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
*I welcome the breeze
From the distant land
Brings fresh happiness
Lifts the veil of doubt
Reveals the inner beauty
Many rich aromas unknown
Intoxicates the senses
Travels through unknown corridors
Not even the corners spared
Soul breezes along with pleasure
Some unknown music notes
Hits the heart with marvelous grace
Intermingling of two waves
Brings harmony and peace
I welcome the breeze
As I surrender to the weightlessness
My soul feels loved and joyous
Tears of joy mingles as sweet droplets
Floating with the sweet breeze
Fresh breeze from afar
To which I surrender at will*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
thinking of times
when walking for a mile
took you into a different world
climbing a hill
through clinging underbrush
filled you with apprehension
of what might be awaiting you
beyond the crest
then
to slowly open up
the pages of a book
was always more
than just a ritual of escape
the not so casual touch
of a girl’s hard breast
a boy’s lean hand
upon your shoulder
sent shudders down your spine
of inarticulate hot expectations
and brought wild images to you
at night
in lusting isolation
to keep this core
the sense of awe
of wonder and excitement
alive in you against the waves of many years
is not an easy feat
yet worth the while
it makes you see
when many just walk by
life’s gracious beauty of small moments
* * * * *
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC