I walked outside to smell some flowers,
Their anthers blowing in the breeze
But while my plan was to sniff them for hours,
What sprung up?
It wasn't weeds.

As I bent down to smell the roses,
And the brilliant, white daisies
Suddenly I felt a tickle in my nose
What really sprung up?
My allergies!

O these tender,
delicate,
intimate
moments
with her!

I lie face deep
in her beauty,
frolicking through
her lovely-petals,
kissing her wantonly
inside her open
receptical.

I am a witness
to her glory,
such sweet swollenness
unfolding in raw splendor.
And with a mouthful of her pistil
& my eyes fixated,
I tenderly swirl her style,
gently nibble her stigma
around her white filaments,
taste magnificent anthers
loaded with
her sweet
delicious pollen,
I feel her explode
into the wind.

O thank you
Dear Lord,
I swallow Heaven,
which quite simply,
is sublime.

Hummingbird-hawk-moth and honeysuckle
Dewey aroma wafts, whilst luscious colors lure
Tubes of flower half full with nectar buckle
Furred insect cares not posy’s thoughts impure
Yet lured, yes lured, to stamens ***** quite more

Fancied moth puts out its long filigreed tongue
Anthers reaching for coveted wings to dust
Objectifying prey, tempting juices corolla young
Wild waltzing flight circulating pollen in lust
Honeysuckle’s sweet sensual seduction a must

Qualities as these voluptuous encounters
Reveal to mind complex ****** intricacy
Flower employing moth as vehicle mounter
Carrying to other blossoms pistol’s ecstasy
Nature’s chance romantic dance of delicacy

I looked into the center
into the circles of gradient color
the pollen, sun gold anthers
sepals green, holding close the petals
smooth stemmed, impossible heavy heads
beautifully in rings around trees
the honey sweet blossoming spring
busy with new born bees
that fly in fragrant dream
discovering lilies bright as sun
watching bees with flowers become one.

String of raindrops fall to its quite melody
Rhyme with the breeze of a vocal splendor of black daisy
To the tune of every bee sip the nectar while accessing the anthers and pistil
Made music to a garden of daffodils in April

A sharpen affection piercing a stone amethyst
Asunder of its composure with a helpless catalyst
A scattered pieces spells the truth of an essence is out of worth
The antidote of intoxication has been futile a miasma to a path


Gaze into a night sky grid-like segments of stars in sight
A semblance of a two sign that shines so bright at night
Vast Ocean of complicated happiness sinks a deepest peaceful loneliness
Wide-ranging terrestrial of verdict congeal with annoyance of fate


Precession of equinoxes changed twice a thousand years
A tenth cycle in which Pisces and Taurus situate vertigo in twelfth mensis
A Supreme Being fills the gap of distant in a long period of time
Keep on tenterhooks as the time goes by

A buttercup was beautifying
for the afternoon dance
her cheeks were flushed with water
the garden sprinkler had thrown on.
Her petals were fully stretched to a softness
that even the  butterflies slipped when they trod upon.
the sun beams bounced off on the mirrored smoothness
and a bumblebee looked on hovering above with second thoughts
envying her golden locks.
She bathed in the sunlight turning every cheek for the warm rays
batting her long anthers dipped with thick orange powder.
I watched her shake her hips to the folk wind tunes
tip toeing into my heart
slowly
her yellow liquid lined eyes delving mine
making me smile
when I have almost forgotten how.

“It was so quiet, one of the killers would later say, you could almost hear the sound of ice rattling in cocktail shakers in the homes way down the canyon.”

William Garretson was the gardener of 10050 Cielo Drive, in Los Angeles, a summer house rented by Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate. He lived in the guest house on the property. On August 9th, 1969, members of the Manson family visited the residence and brutally murdered all the inhabitants, as well as Garretson’s friend Steve Parent. Garretson claims he had no knowledge of the murders that night. He is the only survivor of the Tate Murders.

your screams sounded
like fiberglass breaking
an almost impossible noise
like a hemorrhage at midnight
i was walking through the garden
and i swear
i heard the neat click
when he severed the phone line
if only i had known

i have thought up one hundred scenarios
in which i saved your life
but there is only one
when i don't
and every night i try to justify this reality
because i could have sworn
the sound of their boots
on the steel fence
was the telephone
ringing

when they saw the headlights
swerve over the lawn
steve was as good as dead
shattered like a lightbulb
under pressure
four shots pressed into his forehead
a candid bullet kissed him faceless
his absence was
a tell tale piquancy of slaughter
i lay in bed that night
and turned my face to the wall
when i heard the screams

tell me i reek coward
say the raw red skin of my knuckles
shaved away from the foundation of my raised veins
as i sat through another police interrogation
are nothing compared to the red poppy
that blossomed in the center of his chest
call me callous
but i will never forgive myself
for trimming the flowers
that sat innocent on the coffee table
in the middle of a mass grave
all i can say is
i was just the gardener

i found her
blooming on the living room floor
the baby cut
weeping from her umbilical cord
still attached to mother and father
by a rope traveling from neck to neck
thorny slices of fetal skin
peppering the carpet
blood sprays still wet
were soaking into the wooden door
sadism comes in many
limp limbed contortions
but only one color
and i saw *HIS smile
carved in the cavity
of her stomach
i swear to god
i wish i could say
i didn't see it coming

i found the severed tendons
of his fingers
suspended in the eerie light
of the swimming pool
pruned like overripe plums
the remnants of his face
scattered across the driveway
like taraxacum seeds
their bodies all
hanging like wilted stems
broken xylems hinged to sepals
by threads of sap
running down uprooted ligaments
there is not enough therapy in this world
to cure the silence in the garden
upon the aftermath of execution

the shapes of murders' footprints
left raised beds in my shoulder blades
manure smeared ***** across my lips
every flower i have ever planted since
has languished in the smell of your corpses
melded into the callouses
of my finger tips
i am just the gardener
and i am all broken anthers
petals shriveled, toxic
call me a survivor
but there is blood inside my filaments

i don't want to sound like i'm whining.

and oh heavens i don't want to sound like i'm complaining.

and oh no i don't want to com across as someone who is ungrateful.


so tell me why do these people get what they want

what gives them the right to do this

do they even know

do they have a clue of what they have done

one positive for them is the destruction of anthers life


im sorry for what we did

what ever it was

was it bad enough to deserve this


my family has been split apart

my dreams have been questioned

the friendships i have were compromised

nothing will be the same

and its their fault

my pain is their fault


and they have no ******* clue

light escapes without a source,
around the petals with a silent force,
the anthers and stigma stand up and applaud,
a new flower is born, a gift of god...

Disarray and disaster, distrust and discord
The tools we use to shoe how easily confused
Fragile and frightened we truly are

   Flounder through life hoping beyond hope
Stumble into a friend to safely guide us through
Remembering all the while how afraid we are

  For what we dont understand and what we can not see
We flinch and flail hoping to keep the demons at bay
Hoping they wont see us cringing in the corner of your shattered mind

  Frightened and frail I stumble into reality
Bleeding bruised and broken I search for you
Regretfully I ask of thee to take me in this insipid little child

  Please you must understand how fragile is mine soul
Plead with thee I must do help me return from this tortured place
I'm in here some ware hiding find me help me back upon my feet

  I trust you know ware I am you will surely find me there
You can help me to understand yours and mine fears
I'll be waiting for you there just under the fringes of reality I hide

  Misdeeds and misgivings anthers life held limp in your hands
Time wasted worrying about what you cant control or understand
You want what others cant have and give nothing for what you cant get

  My fear holds you captive a bond unbreakable by love or trust
Your will to survive in an imagined world plagued by guilt and loathing
Became your weakness became your pain your enemy my friend and foe

  This is ware it all will end ware I am and you begin
This is the place ware we feel love the same as ware we feel hate
That blurry line between real and imagined the gray between your lobes.

She moves like she's one of the amorphous personalities painted somewhere
Along the angled framework of her body pattern:
Handcrafted with the vivacious energy inherent
In my far-seeing dreams the vision of a long-ago queen of the holiest swamps
Traversing them coldly, shining her starlight to dispel all my awful ugly nightmares.
Riding sidesaddle with the billows of morning
Hair wisped about by the wind and blowing watercolor across
The beautiful blooming valleys of her crescent-shaded eye frame.

And weaving out from the delicate anthers of slyly tangled lashes
Comes the glittering deep ribbons loosely noosed about me with suction,
And it turns out that I can survive for ever without food or water
From only one such glance.
Lost in that glassy prism container like an obedient insect, forced
To love himself because all his misfortunes are waved away and explained
By the invisible guiding lines raised in joy at each corner of her faintly blushing lip-land.

Well, Breath-Stealer, even if we can only meet softly now -
A vanishing semblance caught by cold air on our exhales perhaps - soon,
Our individual apparitions will flesh themselves out of the nowhere of time coincidences
And out thankful togetherness can coagulate like feather cracks in crystal:
Two human forms finally able to ignore the vase between them
Sooner than the closest oceans that wave to us,
And surer than sunrise.

The summer air, I fear, brings a sort of mania.
Starting with the breath of mother nature's warm breeze
through my car window, and ending with my face pressed into the ground.
A sort of emotional and drug induced black out. In between is a madness.
Flowers bursting from their shy buds inside the bones of my arms.
Fireworks up the filaments and out the anthers.  
Sparking the tribal chants and patterns trying to live inside
my white blood cells. Forcing them to expand
and break, releasing a fever for sun and soil.
A sort of combustible stage production inside my veins.
Yes.  The summer air, I fear, brings an awful mania.

The most ****** colors
exist in flowers.
In orange lily
and white crocus petals,
colors that arouse insects
into an ecstasy of pollination.

Have you ever seen a bee
make love to the pistil
and stamen,
or see a bee dance on anthers
as light as it's buzz?

I once saw a field of sun flowers
never take their eyes off the sun
while a weightless hummingbird
kissed each one on the stigma
with eyes fixed on the yellow
of the flower it loved
for just a moment.