"bloomer" poems
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!
Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!
To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!
The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!
Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
Twice the fool is the runaway
Who hides his trail, as he hides his ache
All bottle and pills, temporary sleep
Insomniac daze and cheap dinner meals
Static lies on a stationary screen
Radio chatter can’t feed the famine in me
The world is aflame
With no one awake
Sunrise slumber
I fall unconscious to the restless on midnight pavement
Breaking bones or breaking bottles
Selling skin or dealing dust to lost souls
Hearts tucked and folded from the cold
Future oblique
I dare you, predict my dreams
Late riser / never bloomer
Packs a bag, a change of clothes
To deadbeat joints, and dead end posts
Been as many years gone as daily cigarettes smoked
Bloodshot symmetry eyes
I see in every passerby
Like the whole city gone up and left their troubles behind,
You and I
We’re cerebral projections
Locked into motor whirs, recursive disintegration
Status acknowledged, clean cut
Black and white since day one
Mould breaker, you’re told you’re out of line
Gutter graves or veins, stay your place or fall behind
The only constant is the throne
You sit upon or come to view as your body’s own
The red light stare, blue flicker flares
Blare on your skin, like prisms, colour wear
Better to fade to grey than know yourself
For what you truly are, just a shade of catch and tell
Dire straits
No deviation
Full advance
Or desolation
Empty eyes
Golden restraints
I don’t want wealth
I just want change
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Through lines
attach themselves to me
I'm a zip line zipping through the canopy.
Zip lines
through lines
My life in dots and dashes.
There was that darkness
before I was born
don't remember much about that.
Parents were through lines
for a long while
then they died
grandparents before
they all had their time
through lines
zip lines
strings
the true string theory.
Homesickness, school, bullies, too
the Sunday Night Blues
riding those zip lines
through lines
what are you gonna do
they aren't leaving you.
************
Resignation
private fantasies
too private to tell
through lines too
on the old zip line.
The voices in your mind
that's been a through line
through and through.
Poverty that was true too
that's what happens when you
peak too soon
and
you're a late bloomer too.
Children, the through lines
children of children
and you too
through lines zipping through
along the old zip line.
Poetry, a through line
sharing secrets
sacred circles
those are through lines too.
Body parts
hearts, limbs, lungs, guts and toes
though those tonsils
had to go.
Every breath
Every heart beat.
My through lines
your through lines
we all got'em
parallel points on parallel lines
I can't say
I know we sometimes together zip
along that same highway
then one will fade
and one will go away.
But where we all meet
each day,
I can say,
in the molecules
of every breath we take.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
This is the house where lonely lives..
skeletons in my closet, my only friends..
I might just lose it, it's evident..
Give me an angel heaven sent..
I keep sending prayers god won't answer it..
Maybe the address is wrong, return to sender..
I'm never sober anymore I can barely remember..
What got me here, and with who..
Predetermined destiny, not for me i pick and chose..
What's to lose..when you lost it all..
Prisoner of my mind, and these 4 walls..
Build me up to watch me fall..
My phones disconnected can't accept that call..
Leave a message ill be back one day..
When I make you proud like i always said id do one day..
a man of my word I won't take it back..
It's never good bye even if I don't make it back..
Ill see you one day later than sooner..
Such a pretty flower, it was just a late bloomer..
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
There is no more straddling state lines for you.
You are no longer teetering on the edge of
life and death
because you are now deader than my father’s
dead bell heart. You are laying in a morgue and
I am sitting on a train, miles and miles from you. An
early bloomer, a preemie baby boy, you are
one day too soon.
I am watching the trees of Arkansas of Missouri of Illinois
pass me by, but you are being
whisked
and
twirled
and
whirled
through the stars.
(I am trying to imagine what it must feel like to
explode into a supernova, to
implode into a constellation.
I am trying to contemplate what it means to
reach
i n f i n i t y
and
n i h i l i t y
at the same time.)
Careening headfirst towards the midwest, I
am heading towards a home I no longer wish to go. I have
spent my night in a daze between
asleep and awake,
listening to a man snore and a baby cry, and nothing is stopping
me from thinking about the steps in post-mortem care. I have
seen dead bodies before. I have touched dead bodies before.
I do not want to come in contact with yours.
My problem is not that you finally finished your
transition from boy to skeleton,
my problem is that you did so without
asking your mother’s permission. I read the
Book of James the night before your surgery two years ago
and forgot it the very next day. There is nothing I want more
than to swim laps and crochet scarves and write bad poems and
become void of all the information that I currently hold.
I want to forget that I knew you.
I want to forget that I thought I loved you.
I want to forget my attachment to you so it won’t
hurt as bad now that you’re
( d e a d ) .
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
The crimson on your petal has lost its aesthetic appeal,
Once smoothly textured, you’ve become prickly,
One touch that could make medicine ill,
Bloom they say like the flower you are,
Regressing back to a seed only dilutes your potential by far,
If you were a planet, you would be called Venus the reluctant star,
What happened to the passion that runs skin deep in your hue?
Your thorns express the type of painful beauty,
Only those that are admired from afar can do.
Indeed the light that shined on your peers,
Will find its time to shine on you,
But patience is only a virtue if the outcome flourishes,
Into the type of majestic beauty,
Only a great late bloomer can do.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Your mind, a stubborn child
Thoughts kept single file
So you force a trial size smile
To erase regrets that go on for miles
A struggle to regain power
Your heart, a delicate flower
Beats silent with repose
A passionate rose
Draped in thorn
Truth, naked, as the day you were born
A late bloomer at best
Thick skin
A bullet proof vest
Your words, carefully crafted
A tongue like a clever assassin
Sarcastic responses
A witty subconscious
Day dreaming of white picket
When your in between thoughts on the fence
I’ve put the ball in your court
But the only game your playing is defense
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 9:44 PM UTC
She was planted
just as the rest
"Why do I look different?"
She liked her tea,
but wanted company,
so she painted herself pink
She laughed at inside jokes
she was outside of,
nodded at words
she didn't know,
even said some of her own
"Please no one see I'm not the same"
She waited until next spring
every summer,
but every year,
had to paint herself pink
"I'm surely broken"
she believed
for too many years
"...to find the right seed"
"...just a late bloomer"
she heard
Next spring,
she learned her name
Parade tulip
in a field
of cherry blossom trees
"Is there somewhere
a someone
who will love me"
she wondered from time to time
but she still drank her tea,
and stopped painting herself pink
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 9:39 AM UTC
Missing a glimpse of her
Was just as bad as being late.
My feeling flown all over the place.
The punctuality of being at the exact place at the right time.
Missing this glance everything falls out of place.
The sudden challenge of tomorrow.
Being on time, this moment left behind.
Admittedly I hurried the next moment.
To miss the same glance.
My feelings all over the place.
To think, flowers are never as late as they seem
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
My mother would have told you I came in the dead of winter, on the coldest night of the year, and hit like a storm, if she had remembered it.
But she hadn't.
Asleep for several more months before my heartbeat would wake her from her deep sleep, I was born screaming.
Overwhelmingly solitary they called us. But your voice sounded like raspberries and honey, you smelled like summertime and love, I couldn't tell the difference between the two anymore.
Our cousins in Asia tell us this kind of infatuation is unheard of, say I must be going mad. The Northern family say I need someone to keep me warm at night, and I knew it had to be you. Mother said I was a late bloomer, six years into my life until I could love you the right way, I was tired of destroying all the things I touched, with more claw then palm.
I would swim oceans for you, over the coldest currents, paw over paw until my body sand. I would eat a diet of creatures one' one thousandth my size for you, all year long if it meant making you mine. When I thought I couldn't have you, I waded, restlessly to my stone swaddled basin and slept for so long when I awoke I swore months had past.
I would shed every inch of skin, every single hair follicle, 9,677 per square inch, make myself naked, for you.
But you left. Almost as soon as you came. Like a thief in the night, far away for far too long. But you said you wern't the type to mate for life. But I've expanded my rage, a 60 mile radius around the length of my home, and I'm waiting for you.
You'll be mine again.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Why are you trying to be someone that you’re not?
Why are you pretending to be happy that you’re really not?
Why do you keep on lying to yourself?
Why is your life very complicated?
Or you’re just making it too complicated for us to bother?
Maybe you’re just emotionally damaged by your own selfish doing?
I get it, that you’re hard to deal with, I get that.
Still you don’t have to push us away.
You don’t have to be so alone.
You know we’re here to listen and guide you towards a better way.
We stick to you no matter what they say and what you’d become.
Because we know it’s still you, it’s a part of you.
We love you just the way you are, nothing can change that.
If you gone to a bad start, then let’s start a new better one.
Maybe for you it’s too late to start a better one, but life’s too short.
Let’s enjoy it, lived the way we want it to be.
Ha, you’re a late bloomer you say.
Nah, you’re just one of millions out there.
People learned new things every day;
it’s never too late to learn. That’s one of my principles.
You’re doing good, listen to your good side.
Listen to you pure soul. Hear its plea.
Flip every bad into an optimism to strive for the better.
You know we can, because we believe in ourselves that we can.
Come let’s do this together start a new beginning.
Free from prejudice and judgments.
Let’s thanks sorrow and pain.
Without them we can never achieved who we are today.
Life isn’t easy, we know,
but we learned.
© Pax
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
Go on and take a second while I tell you a story
The story bout a boy who wants to get in the glory
trouble maker from day one, his mothers only son
he'd be out gone havin fun until the day was almost done
Started ballin in grade eight, wished he'd started ballin sooner
as far as girls went, he was the latest bloomer
Girls attentions what he wanted, can't resist them when they flaunted
he found a lucky dime, and now his cousins basement couch is haunted
Average grades class, this boy wasn't doctor
needed to make some dough so he got a job at foot locker
had two parents, but he hardly knew his father
his dad had always tried, and that made the boy try even harder
to make his parents proud, and so the story goes farther
It seems like no one really knows
how far their story goes
Lifes a stage, you do your shows
until the curtains close
Back to this punk *** he slept his way through each class
days started to go fast, and soon graduation passed
He's as smart as a stool, and he acts like a fool,
watchin clone high in a pool of drool, ya this fools a tool
gets a a job selling speakers, the retailer's route
meets a caucasian brother thats so white that hes out
for two years thats his life, he works and he plays
months start to feel like weeks, the weeks turn into days
looks like his life is over, trains gone, he missed it
but this boy flies first class, he at the airport with his ticket
now hes in a town they call a city, all the girls are lookin pretty
failures not an options, its time to get gritty cause...
It seems like no one really knows
how far their story goes
Lifes a stage, you do your shows
until the curtains close
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 5:52 PM UTC
The love of my life
Is a simpleton
Lagging behind
The timeline of life
Late in acquiring ownership of tangibles
And other worldly nonsense
Society deems necessary
Making him feel inadequate
A late bloomer
With a heart riddled with regret
And hands that carry the burdens
Of his forefathers
He is a knowledgeable man
Of a quarter of a century old
Humour pours out of him
So much so it should be unlawful
He is a composer of melodies
A metal head of sorts
A homebody with an affinity for alcohol
A lanky physique
That adds to his appeal
Pale brown eyes
That glisten multicoloured hues
In the light of day
Darkening blonde hair
Coffee stained teeth
A sincere smile that warms your heart
And the most exquisite nose I have ever seen
He tucks away his bloodied
Bruised heart
Always guarded
Masking his true nature
So he can be “that” guy
The noble one
He belongs to no one
Someday, soon.. he will
I dread the arrival of that day
For he will never be mine
To worship
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
I've got daydreams
of you pushing our lips together
and I realize I am a late bloomer-
I have gone so long without
the realization that
I can feel comfortable
being wanted, that
I can crave people touching
me gently
and while I know it will be hard
not to flinch,
I am at long last
allowing myself to feel
desirable and
to desire in return
you may never use this power but
in thanks for the clarity you
have returned to me,
I give you the permission
to touch the art.
To lay your hands in the arch
of my spine,
rest your head on my shoulder,
and fall asleep next to my steady heartbeat.
This is not something I
have ever given, and
it is new to me
but you are beautiful in such a way
that it makes me feel pretty
just sitting next to you.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
A pink shock
cooled by the turquoise
laying underneath
paint drops
flicked to a fro
revealing road ****
wonder
and a lava sky
Hold still
unravel your mind
So many questions
starting with,
"I like the pink hair,
Why?"
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
I first felt her flow as Blue Lady tea steeped on a delicately crafted doily.
Cranberry Orange Scones paired with doll-sized cutlery.
I’d be excused.
A late bloomer,
steeping slowly from the flowering buds of my very own teapot.
Mothers, sisters, friends, daughters together
sharing a Blue winter in that tea shop.
When at fourteen, womanhood gifted
me the first of many
moments.
This would spark my wondering why women weren’t known
solely for their strength, rich in resilience,
like the blackest tea.
As Blue Lady steeped steadily from the table to the lady’s room.
Anna Blake
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
Sweetheart, let's take things slow.
Don't worry about tomorrow.
because tomorrow is a million miles away right now.
You have to understand that I'm a late bloomer,
with a lost mind.
So please be patient with me
because I am still blossoming.
I know you are ready to run
I know you are ready to fly,
but please don't let me fall
because I've never been brave enough to try.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
The night it welcomes me and wraps me in it arms
I have no reason to fear the night, with it's moons' aluring charm
The stars they do a dance for me along the midnight sky
And I lay back and watch the fireflies blink by
I hear the cricket's synphony
and it seems they play it just for me
I close my eyes for just a spell
and can't escape a tantilizing smell
Moon flowers my favorite
and you see, they bloom only at night
just like me.....
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 8:13 PM UTC
tiniest blossoms of red-bud understory woven through bare trees
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
Boom.
Melted explosion,
Flammable implosion.
It’s shaken upside down,
But instead of not recognising it,
You analyse it.
You just outdated aging,
You can’t just see things,
You’re doomed,
But living the nothingness,
Cause nothing lasts more than this,
Cause everything heads off,
Once you open up,
Late bloomer.
Keep it down,
And bloom to the last boom.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC
from the garden of despair
you've been transferred here.
you little flower.
you little symbol of hope.
there's no need to shed a tear.
there would always be peace here.
you late bloomer.
i know that you would cope.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC