"amaranths" poems
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
2.1k
Seeing you drops me
into a roiling hot-spring (extra-dimensionally speaking) where
the insides are known to welter—their opalescent phospholipids
doing the wave at lightspeeds. Faster. Creating
a ring of light. Now the sound of light. From inside, creating
Me. You
make me light.
Oh the way you came towards me in that vermillion cardigan!
The color was not as fierce as your eyes! But I saw, too,
their softness behind—their yolk. And with mine I asked
as you passed me by
what would happen if I broke the shimmering membrane?
Would your water leak to blossom
the spell-bound violet amaranths that sleep their promise
in Borges’ living garden?
Or would it spill thick in crimson?
The hot sweet density tasting
like a wound freshly opened.
The taste I’ve come to know
when women’s eyes have made me light.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
slice my tongue until the pieces resemble flower petals — until poems tremble on my very lips. on summer afternoons, they will look like the dried amaranths on your bedside table — in a city apartment you left. slice my tongue until the pieces resemble smoky quartz. it will sit quietly — each side showing the wild and quiet ways of aching. slice my tongue until it heals its wounds — until the sunset casts what's left of its light, and maybe my state of decay will finally look beautiful.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 2:08 AM UTC
I know that the
grass is green and
sun red, but sometimes
yellow like dandelions,
and the earth is brown
just like trunks of trees.
I know the skies
are painted in blues
that eventually fade
into mauve, at some point
coalescing into the seas
and limpid waters of
sun-kissed beaches, where
strange exotic fruits would
entice with violets and amaranths
redolent of a night on
some far island, stood
beneath the stars whilst
they shine white like...
a million ways out.
Each one a brush,
showing me the palette.
But everything just looks
grey and dark and
black.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
I do not belong to Democratic Party. I do not belong to the Republican Party. I belong to Love. I am not a citizen of the USA. I am a Citizen of Earth, as we all are, which means that all us belong to Love, whether we're conscious of it or not. There are so many ways to love, and the world needs them all. The world needs as much as it can get. The air needs to be loved. The rills, the rivulets, the streams, the rivers, the lakes and ponds, all oceans need to be loved. I belong to Love. Meadows, forests, hills and mountains, deserts, all need to be loved. Dogs and cats, tigers and lions, moongooses and gorillas, all the animals need to be loved. Porpoises and whales, dolphins and seals, jellyfish and manatees, all kinds of fish and sea creatures need to be loved. I belong to Love. Bluebirds, robins, mockingbirds, hawks and eagles, all our winged friends need to be loved. Tulips and roses, the amaranths and amaryllis, daisies and dandelions, all need to be loved. And all human beings need to be loved, all races, all people with different skin colors, people who practice all the different religions, the mentally and physically infirm, babies and toddlers and teenagers and adults and the elderly, all need to be loved. I belong to Love. We all belong to Love.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 7:35 PM UTC
Human bodies hang in air,
thrive on light and air,
bloom as crops of soil and water,
still need tools to sustain here.
All souls desire strength to sustain,
to harvest crop, to build home.
We get speed to roam around,
hearts still hanker for some food.
A smile is a delicious warm dish,
sincere praise- a bouquet of fruits,
patient hearing, help in need
act as nectar of amaranths.
8th June, 2017.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
now that my days over boil with teeming
and nothing loves me so.... I must love You.
i must not restrain my whimsy, but rather
conjure amaranths from dead soil. Happy yet deflated -
i must come from Somewhere I have been ....
or all places.
or else, be in the clutches
of less Beauty.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC