"Forsythia enflamed,"
Keith Collard 

Forsythia enflamed,
with unbudded rose,
together in bed,
together they grow.

thorn on bark climbed,
coming of red rose,
but yellow flames,
outed long ago.

Fiery petal pendant,
and rose hips,
in same bed,
but never to kiss.

Together in bed,
hugging in the cold.
no more vain red rose,
no more gold to behold,
but together in bed,
and together in the end.

"basking 'neath forsythia,"

Bereft of beauty
these distorted yesterdays
I run till I drop
basking 'neath forsythia,
heralding in seasons joy.

"Forsythia grew near the concrete walkway"

There it was in the middle of nowhere
All grown up with wisteria vines
In the summer when the wisteria would bloom
It looked like a beautiful fairytale
Daffodils once grew beside the concrete porch
And azalea bushes too
Forsythia grew near the concrete walkway
It's yellow blooms I used to pick
In bouquets for my Mom in springtime
Two or three bushes bearing white flowers
Once grew beside the house too
Inside it looked Victorian
Even though it was built
In the 1940s or 1950s
How surreal and dreamlike
It did look inside and out
Even though when I saw it
It looked like repairs were a necessity
The floors needed to be torn down and replaced
The house was in dire need of electricity
And in want of being cleaned and organized
Bags of trash and other things
Needed to be sorted through
The house needed a new roof and ceiling
The ceiling and roof were falling through
Some of the floors were collapsing
Or they would crumble if you tried to put
Even one of your feet on one of the brittle floors
Yet that was my favorite home of all
And I miss you since you were torn down
Just last summer
It seems longer or shorter in some ways
In other ways it doesn't
Even though I never lived even a day
Inside of your comfortable hominess
My Mother and her sisters and parents did
My Dad courted her inside those very walls
Which were torn down just last summer
I wished I could have lived inside those walls
Replaced only what needed to be replaced
Keeping as much of you as I could
But you were destroyed
And I never had a chance
Oh, how I miss you,
Dear little rustic country house
Which was like a home
And felt like home inside


Sorry for such a long poem, but I couldn't help it!!! ~~~~~<3
This was written for my Mom's childhood home!!! ~~~<3
It was destroyed/torn down last summer
And I miss it!!!! ~~~~<3
Even though I never lived in it
And I only saw when it was in an unlivable condition
I always wanted to fix it up
And made it my goal to do so
That way my parents and I could live in it
Happily ever after!!!
After all my Mom lived in there the longest!! ~~~~<3
But sadly, it was destroyed
Before I ever got a chance to feel
What it was like living in it!!! ~~~~<3
Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading this poem
About the house my parents and I called
"The Old House"!!! ~~~~<3
"buds of forsythia"
Nat Lipstadt 

Central Park transformed,
a natural stadium
of tourists, strollers,
drunk on:

spring beer Buds,
buds of forsythia

maps upside down,
smiles right-side up

they don't even notice,
'walk on by,'

the white shirted, black suited  
unicorn playing the accordion

or the

imitating Charlie Chaplin,
playing both her instrument and
her hula hoop,

ah Central Park,
your air is like
a first cup of spring,
a first morning coffee,
a fresh breath of
a special new,
if you know
how to
just be,
in NYC

Just another true tale of life in Manhattan...come walk with us...

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