"aster" poems
Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.
Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.
The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.
The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.
There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.
Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.
We know that we need to rest and we were tired. We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, we forced our children to sleep.
Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.
We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken.
When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.
Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.
The problem with being awake, when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.
That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.
A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.
Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.
Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.
I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used. I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?
‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.
We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.
Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?
That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.
Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.
There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is ******
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally ****** to be destroyed’ and that scared me. **** There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.
What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?
There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Sitting at the balcony, a sunset to her face
a scent of chamomile, an elated memory rephrases
frolicking aster's in autumn color graced
the imbue of old feelings, her craft of curtain lace
Spinning a rustic harmony, the rustle of leaves
dips a chocolate pudding, her smile swept by me
a dessert like sky, the billow swirls in place
our grandkids tag-along to the hounds that chase
An old love song, a diary of stories we made
halcyon, even her face freckles and her hair is gray
she gave me fields that kisses spring and fall
our magic remains forever, even our time is called
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
We sighing said, "Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him;
The Genius of the wood is lost."
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose.
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent
And turned to poetry life's prose.
"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine,
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
"To him no vain regrets belong
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen,
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene;
Seek not for him -- he is with thee."
4.6k
she’s so phat!
can’t deny
a simple fact
it’s worth a try
to start anew
all that we knew
to forget
for good
or for worse
i don’t need a purse
have all the mon
in the world
all the gold
so cold
make it warm
love’s a storm
has no form
but a sphere
wild deer
still dreamin’ of ‘em
ain’t no Eminem
just a young man
of arms
charity and alms
such a rarity
in our selfish world
of calamity
unthinkable disaster
tulip, rose and aster
make your heart beat faster
like a drum machine
Dash Berlin
voice and beat
so neat
that girl
a friend of my soul
rhythm
with no blues
happiness
i choose
to carry on
fighting
for what’s right
sleepless
day and night
shaken but not mixed
i still get my kicks
from palm reading
all my wounds
are bleeding
with red wine
guardians of time
lost in their stride
stick to your pride
follow your dreams
anguish sins
belittle the devil
within you
there’s a universe
of wisdom
an ocean
of beauty
get no *****
but acclaim
your name
done in clay
on the walk of fame
let’s call it a day
21.05.2012
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
I brought her back in again
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
The things she endured!--
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing ***** at her,
She leaning out of her *** toward the window.
Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--
And that was scary--
So when that snuffling ****** of a maid
Threw her, *** and all, into the trash-can,
I said nothing.
But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,
I was that lonely.
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Think me not unkind and rude,
That I walk alone in grove and glen;
I go to the god of the wood
To fetch his word to men.
Tax not my sloth that I
Fold my arms beside the brook;
Each cloud that floated in the sky
Writes a letter in my book.
Chide me not, laborious band,
For the idle flowers I brought;
Every aster in my hand
Goes home loaded with a thought.
There was never mystery,
But 'tis figured in the flowers,
Was never secret history,
But birds tell it in the bowers.
One harvest from thy field
Homeward brought the oxen strong;
A second crop thine acres yield,
Which I gather in a song.
3.8k
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race, of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side:
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
3.5k
There is an old hymn
this world is not my home
an old friend freely sings
its lyrics but she’s lonesome
never full of joy in her place
ready to depart
but a strong heart keeps her here
for us to talk
and laugh this year
not last or next but now
with both cheer and tears
in our eyes
and on our cheeks.
We’re not waiting.
In this long float
we can smell the fragrance of aster
not before or after
but blooming in our spring
upon this glorious encircling stream.
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 9:14 AM UTC
342
It will be Summer—eventually.
Ladies—with parasols—
Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes—
And little Girls—with Dolls—
Will tint the pallid landscape—
As ’twere a bright Bouquet—
Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian—
The Village lies—today—
The Lilacs—bending many a year—
Will sway with purple load—
The Bees—will not despise the tune—
Their Forefathers—have hummed—
The Wild Rose—redden in the Bog—
The Aster—on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion—set—
And Covenant Gentians—frill—
Till Summer folds her miracle—
As Women—do—their Gown—
Of Priests—adjust the Symbols—
When Sacrament—is done—
2.8k
Our once baron land
nothing but blackened sand
Tis now a place of beauty
So come take my hand
so we may stroll through our garden forever
Along the crazy paving pathway
We shall stroll through our garden togeather
Flowerbeds of
Salvia
Delphinium
Coneflower
Cosmos
Alyssum
daisies
Aster
Clavillia
Hollyhock
Poppies
Just to name a few
So come sit with me my love
on our swingseat made for two
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
Nicky, the neighbor’s dog, drags a road **** home.
A beautiful pelt like those fox shoulder garments women wore in the
forties.
But the head is crushed beyond recognition—maybe it’s a fox and that’s
why Nicky, a canine, is conducting this wake on our front lawn.
Loretta, my wife’s mother, is in the hospital again. Forty years of Crohn’s
disease has finally broken her.
It may take some time but she won’t bounce back from this episode.
None of us are sorry to see her die, not even Loretta. There will be a
thunderous downpour during her last hour.
I like the story about the nuns hitting Peg in school–contumacy is a sin.
Emile and Loretta considered it an inappropriate punishment for their
cherished adopted daughter.
So they pulled her out of Catholic for public school. They did their own
thinking about discipline.
Early Spring, peepers all night, then the birds take over at dawn.
Soothing—the mourning doves.
During this half of the year, May through October, we live in a green
bower.
We turn the house inside out, move into the mountains.
In their annual order, flowers appear in the understory: coltsfoot, hepatica
and trillium through to the end, late purple aster, spotted joe pye and
pearly everlasting.
We let Nicky nurse her road **** watch over it, roll around on it.
Don’t let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in the passing lane.
Jan 16, 2024
Jan 16, 2024 at 7:35 AM UTC
In the ocean I saw her
A frail wisp of a wave
A silver bodied dolphin
That I forgot to save
I saw her in the ocean
I wish I hadn't though
A blackened hollow apple
Frozen in the snow
In the ocean I did see her
I swear it to be true
A golden haloed angel
That fell into the blue
I did see her in the ocean
So many miles away
A dingy brown eyed gypsy
That I once turned away
I look for her in the ocean
The part of my soul lost
A sickly whitened memory
That to the sea I tossed
In the ocean I look for her
A fallen shooting star
A purple midnight aster
That I left on the tar
In the ocean I found her
A crimson coated shell
A keepsake from a rainy walk
That from my pocket fell
I found her in the ocean
Grey she was to my despair
My bright lightning beauty
That had lost all her hair
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
Being devoured by black holes, the last star, used to be gleaming upright. Dancing and dancing in harmony of an oval ladder of the milky wayward.
Brilliant
Smart
Honorable, alight
but…treacherous, unkind…(destiny)
Diffuse disharmony to astray aster entangled in abstruse cosmos of profound dignity each and every side.
And, now…
She…
buried in cold soil of nasty livid dust.
How?
o…Profound dignity, look up and countdown. From ten billion to one,
none is as brilliant as the last shining one.
Not in the galaxy (ia) – the last emanate of big-bang award-
but…
in our mind was any black hole allows to suffocate the lustrous kind.
our last- this is our pray-be alive and shine….on and on...rise and shine.
you are always alive in our mind.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
*My Wildflowers
He has gone now.
And the world is less
for the loss of him.
When we met
he would only
bring me wildflowers.
Flowers that he knew
every name and variation.
Bluebell. Daisy aster
Cone flower celandine
Colts foot.
Every possible flower.
He knew them all.
Your dandelions have
Infested the gardens
Since you have been gone.
Blowing light feathered seeds
Into the breath
of summer winds.
The children you gave me
Are scattered in the world
like wildflowers.
Blowing carefree and wild.
Rooting where they are happy.
People call my garden
a **** patch now.
But I love it
Just as I loved you
My wildflower
For the wild unbridled joy
You brought me.*
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feel question ‘Whither?’
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
1.9k
A drowned beer-hauler was hoisted on the table.
Someone had taken a dark-bright-purple aster
and clamped it in his teeth.
As I cut outward from his breast
under the skin
with a long blade
and removed the tongue and palate,
I must have touched the flower—
she slid into the brain which lay nearby.
I packed her in the cavity in his chest
amid the straw stuffings
as he was sewn up.
Drink yourself full in your vase!
Rest softly,
little aster!
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 6:28 PM UTC
My lady lies
Crying upon the bed
Her tears spill over the pillow case
- A pool of blood.
She smiles
The light wavering
Cold...
Darkness appearing white
Grey to the careful eyes
Not blinded
By that false smile.
Drum rolls.
The sounds of thousands matching
The whispering wind
The tainted earth
Shifting
Day turning night.
The mask of happiness
Clouded sorrow
Delicate glass actually hard
Harder than diamond.
Nothing's unbreakable
The tears fall.
She comes with the midnight
Her eyes gently gleaming
The sounds of waves crashing
Her voice soft
The salty sea winds rustling through leaves
Her touch luring
She comes with the rising of dawn
Her kiss wanting
Souls entwined
She comes with the calling of sleep
The blackness growing, her smile yearning
Above, a raven flies.
She stared in sorrow
My dear lover,
Silent screams echoing through the hall
Hands reached out
Not touching
Hesitant and withdrawn
Tears gone with the first sunshine.
A single lock upon the bed
The colour of brass.
They stood in rows
Armoured or in black
No face smiling
No eyes glowed.
The night was dark
The air was still
The ground cold.
Nobody moved
Many cried
But not the soldiers.
The war had claimed most
And not all the survivors
survived.
The general already buried
His lieutenant dead.
This they would do for their queen.
To shed a tear would be a sin
To cry would suggest weakness,
With her soft brown eyes
She died a heroine.
There should be no sorrow
An old friend has gone home.
A moonless night
They funeral over and most had left.
Within her ash coated ebony tomb
Brass hair untouched by the wind,
Forever Aster-scented
She lies.
Clear liquid
Drips down my cheeks
Landing upon the grey stone
It's raining,
Yet the sky is clear.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
Angels of heaven sing and dance in this place!
Here, beautiful and bright sister sun herself,
Seen between roses and cherry blossoms,
Has a brother moon.
Sister and brother shine day and night.
Rivers, streams, Flow through hills and mountains,
What a calming place.
Blue eyed angels run through fields Of beautiful aster and daisies.
Green grass sweet apple trees.
Magpies fly so high in a bright blue sky, Like guardian Angels.
Here is a dream, a fairy-tail, maybe a fantasy.
Can this be real?
I'm in a happy place.
Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
142
Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled—
And no one made reply.
Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again—
Whose are the beds—the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?
’Tis Daisy, in the shortest—
A little further on—
Nearest the door—to wake the Ist—
Little Leontoden.
’Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster—
Anemone, and Bell—
Bartsia, in the blanket red—
And chubby Daffodil.
Meanwhile, at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied—
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.
Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids—
Rhodora’s cheek is crimson,
She’s dreaming of the woods!
Then turning from them reverent—
Their bedtime ’tis, she said—
The Bumble bees will wake them
When April woods are red.
1.6k
Garden roses
my heart is a bunch of thorns,
Sweet white Lillie
my love is of ornamental peace,
Oh my Aster
the brightest star in the dark,
My sweetest Daisy
so affectionate sweetness of your hope,
These tulips are such
a touch of my purple violence,
For blue Iris
is stuck inside of my shadowy eye,
In this paradise,
please my dearest children, keep away
all of those weeds.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 2:39 PM UTC
Lavinia were you walking in the park?
Arm in arm with that pompous chanticleer
Singing in your sweet ear, a Sonneteer
Tongue-teasing rhymes told by that knave Petrach
Your ice blue eyes bright lit by sudden spark
Even blushes on your soft cheek appear
As if you found his every word sincere
Repeated in his carriage after dark
Master of dark magic hidden in verse
Your velvet rose virtue is your treasure
Lock it away from enticing word
On that vile poet will I set a curse
Venus come down and thwart all his pleasure
Especially, I beg his days be numbered.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
On a firefly lit night, the clouds a quiet grey
Plants blowing from the wind of an ending day
With the calming darkness of an eternal evening
Lit by the fireflies from late May
Dancing flames flutter above the field below
Little stars on the ground shine with their glow
And we'd catch these stars in our little hands
We'd admire their beauty, then let them go
There was a faint warmth that lingered on our skin
And a smile that made us dizzy, like a never-ending spin
You could smell the flowers from a distance away
Then wonder if this is where you should've always been
With laughter circling all around
With a light in the night near the darkened ground
With a heart racing from exhilarating excitement
With the despair of a dream that'll never come back 'round
The clouds, now less loud, are not shaken by a shout cheerful and wild
And now the old flower, whether rose or sunflower, are now not contently watching a child
An ember, thought to last forever, burned down to an ash
A memory, thought to last forever, disappeared in a flash
The fireflies still glide with their pride above the darkened ground
In their flight, lighting up the night, a night now with no sound
A memory, gold and bold, that we didn't know we made
In the wear and tear of life was sure to fade
It's fragile beauty danced up and down the trees
Moonlit night clouds with a serene breeze
Though that day may seem like it could go forever on
Our perpetual dreams are now perpetually long gone
Time seemed to move slowly, yet it was only going faster
As I held in my hands the bright petals of a radiant purple aster
If not for those fireflies, we would not be able to see
How this late evening in May would be stuck with us eternally
If we could go back one more time
Back to the night of the firefly's shine
If we could go back to that golden night
Then that would be the most wondrous sight
Though we were all there as kids, just to play
We have no more need to go back or stay
If I returned there, like we had always swore
There would be no one there anymore
Firefly lit nights seemed to last forever on that late evening in May
But like the firefly's dimming light, not even time was there to stay.
Oct 2, 2024
Oct 2, 2024 at 3:41 PM UTC
There she was, her eyes bright and shining buried in her rosy complexion of which was indecently shown through the discharge of the temperate winds longing like lost military men to taste a woman's sweet words once again. She held in her delicate fingers, thin and unsteady, a chain of sweet nothings that trailed after her scrupulous footstep as if solely existing for the chance to be in her superlative presence. Gladiolus, Poppies, Aster, Delphinium, Orchid, Peony all linked together in a perfect array of scent and color reflecting the consummate image of the girl that led them. The world accompanied her to a cliff looking down on a cold river, the scene smothered with the orange glow of sunset and the sky clear of all but the unwavering flap and call of the birds who claimed it as their own immovable kingdom. She walked to the edge of the land and twisted around, her heels grazing the edge of everything and nothing; life and death; to fall and to walk. Slowly she tipped and her gaze caught mine. I cried out in my head Ophelia, but nothing came to my lips, cold and thin. As she hit the icy drink she smiled, her flowers cast above her about to disappear forever along with all other sweetness worth living for in Denmark.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
13 shades of blue
With strokes of brush
****** in leathery paint
I Colour me treize
Hues of blues
Into the blue yonder
Runs my mind
Picking for my throes
Carnations blue
Cerulean paint I
Silence of my orbs
Dandelion desires
Shimmer sapphire hue
Laughter echoes
Waterfalls Periwinkle
Meconopsis curiosities
Walking avenues
Rocking plopping
Dances my heart
As morning glories
Jewelled with dew
Electric energy, glacial blush
Reflected from mine zaffre soul
Clematis colored my Aster touch
I - a blend of Majorelle blues.
© Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015.
Please note that the poetry is copyrighted by Law.
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Fairy thimbles = related to fairies
Aster flower = healing
Morning glory = borns in day dies in evening
Blue hibiscus = splendour , serenity
Clematis = mental power, courage faithfulness
Dandelion = happiness
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC