"annes" poems
you wish to sell me roses
my pocket tells me queen annes lace
you dream for something delicate
my hands accustomed for rough
you ache with quiet longing
but i hear your untold groans
your desires are not unique
not a rose within the weeds
your plight is universal
unwanted in our garden
be gentle with our hearts
that attempt to ease your woes
flowers and weeds both grow by the roadside
each bloom in spring from sun
you are not unique within this life
roots, stems, pollen, pedals, blossoms.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
SIMPLE BEAUTY, EVEN AS A ****
You look at a violet
in a field growing free
the color of purple
is a sight to see.
But that violet creeps closer
and jumps in your grass,
and you can't seem to **** them
they just last and last...
SIMPLE BEAUTY, EVEN AS A ****
You look at Queen Annes lace
my favorite **** for it's white and lacey
and reminds me of Edelweiss.
Mix it with a field of violets
and what a sight to be seen.
But as a **** it just won't leave
they pop up everywhere,
just like the sweet violets...
SIMPLE BEAUTY, EVEN AS A ****
You look at a field of dandelions
bright yellow everywhere.
It's really quite beautiful
as I sit and stare.
I think how can this beauty
be called a ****
but when the fuzz flies
and up pops a single dandelion
I then know it's a ****
~~~
by judy
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
My husband went into the eye
Of nothing
No post card
No message from imigration
Ill send him my corn money
And peel mangos in chilli powder
With his daughter
Until mayday ends
Our stomachs lauphter
If he finds a way in again
Ill meet him at St Annes
Out side of the park
Under the oak shades.
If he finds a way in again
Ill promise to keep this family together
Eternaly.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
I love the long grass
A shady summer tree
The sound of childrens laughter
Because it's free
Summer moons
At the end of June
When the crickets are all you hear
But most of all I love the fall
And the turning of the leaves
Give me fields where daisies grow
And Queen Annes lace in bloom
Golden rod that gently nods
And of course my Aster Blue
Aster Blue I remember You
A true heart open wide
There's a special place in Gods embrace
For one so sweet and kind
And so I love that time of year
When the asters come to bloom
I know that you are out there too
Sharing the same moon
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 10:15 AM UTC
Columbine came first
Followed by pink cleome
Pretty invaders
Self-seeding landscape rulers
Growing wild like Queen Annes Lace
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
‘She’s but a waste,’ some might say,
The antiquated demons perched
Atop her ***** shoulder,
howl those words effortlessly.
Oh, how they mock her; a doomed admonition-
A pitiful, wretched villain
Incapable of standing still.
‘She’ll rob you blind,’ they might whisper,
From the highest peak of their
pedestals and podiums,
Scrutinizing her wiggles and writhes, ruthlessly.
Oh, how they taunt her; a mirrored representation of ego-
A reputed captivation ****** sober but for now
Idly biding her time
‘She’s insane!’ they’ll declare,
Lounging in their Queen Annes,
Finalizing her score, most offensively.
Oh, how they wallop her; casting pebbles from their pristine form-
Upon the ribbed web of her spiritual coop
Faust, lying in wait.
‘aha!’ they’ll proclaim
From the rusted thrones of purity
Tallying her blunders to the nth.
How they scream through bitten tongue
Into that, what is left of her vitality
Cascading into degradation
Feeding her indignation
Gripping her last temptation
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC