"blooms" poems
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
My love is vast.
My love is strong.
My love is driven by the thought
of you noticing me one day.
Although I am told that some love never blooms
like flowers struggling during the bitter colds.
I have nothing to offer you.
All I have are my bones.
They hold me up
on days I feel like a bird with broken wings,
but I will always love you with the lights on.
I will care for your wounds
until you're able to fly again.
Until you can reach the moon.
So play your guitar
and sing your songs.
I will admire you from afar
as you carry on.
Don't worry about me.
I'm not trying to come off as a creep
but I love your eyes,
and how they look like dark coffee.
I love the way you speak.
Each word a melody.
Every sentence a song.
I'm caught on your hook.
I could listen all day long.
I'm lost in your music
while you're lost in this madness.
So don't worry my dear,
the flowers will someday bloom.
I shall save these words for you.
I'll read them out to you,
but only once during the blue moon.
You're a sweetheart and a really brave bird.
So walk with me to the edge of the earth
and I will share you all my secrets,
and you will share me yours.
We'll tie them both to balloons
and let them go.
Lay with me down on this pearly dew-drop grass.
We'll watch the clouds travel to and fro,
just stay with me in this perfect spot.
You don't have to go.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
The Sunflower is awfully bigheaded
For being so tall & gangly
With fiery blooms, rough around the edges
He’s quite a sight to see annually
He looks down upon all the other flowers
With his head so high in the sky
This makes the other flowers jealous
But they fail to realize the sunflower lives a lie
Because the problem with the sunflower
Is that he turns his back on the sun
Creating the misconception
That he does not need anyone
But through the circadian rhythm
His leaves continuously change
Eluding the very revelation
That the sunflower causes his own pain
So as the sun begins to set
The sunflower realizes what he’s done
He faces the darkness with much regret
Realizing he cannot live without the sun
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Leaves, sticks, and seeds make up this six foot stalk.
Oh, how she blooms before the flashing lights!
Leaving men and women with a stunned gawk.
Oh, you cause the seeds of your kind at night,
to dream of heights they won't reach; how sadly
try the delusional. But in all kin,
is imprinted least a scar on their psyches.
Sacrificial offer in porcelain
is ritually performed by some daily.
If not for fame, glory, or money, then
to mirror fashion people's ideal beauty.
A cyclic mental disease that won't end.
Shhh.. Here she comes! The first, but not the least.
An appetizer for the famine feast!
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
Friendship is love and care,
Friendship is knowing you are there,
Friendship is a flower;
That blooms sweetly every hour.
Friendship is a gift from above,
Filling this world with happiness and love,
Friendship is like the sky;
Friendship is knowing that you're nearby.
Friendship is from the Lord,
And He commands love in His Word,
I think this world would be a better one;
If everyone knew the Key to Friendship's Sun!
~Marian~
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ----
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
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The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,
Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,
The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
She picks sunflower blooms, humming a tune
While dodging drops of rain
Hoping the move will heighten the mood
And bring about a perpetual change
She spreads the petals in the morning meadows
In hopes the rumors are true
With the yellows and greens, mixed in between
She'll release the color of blue
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
your smile
shines in every season
In spring it blooms
In summer it blinds
In autumn it relieves (me)
In winter it warms
i would not know
what to do
without
you and your shining
smile
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
A warmth breath of the early morn,
A touched of the sun's hand to ones eyes.
A strong love that melted the heart of a lonely souls.
A color of the spring to summer to fall.
A farewell friend in the beginning of the darkness and thy blooms the flower at the far sky.
A twinkled stars in cold breeze in the streets,
and a rising sun that never forgets to open a new life.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
tulip blooms
pebbles cemented into sidewalk
we notice neither
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away
With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise
Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand
Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek
Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Mentally beginning anew,
Shower and storms scramble,
A mind, a mess, stuck in the cold of blue,
Writhing in pain without preamble.
A season after the cries of winter,
The tears of petals shed,
Flows hope once more enter
Where a broken heart bleed.
Relief of breath ooze,
As fragile blooms of forgiveness peek,
Through darken days of self abuse,
To nurture the delicate emotional physique,
Healing in time blind,
Pure instinct survives,
An emotional breakdown of the mind.
Until finally, awaken spring arrives.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
Step into the sunshine my friend,
let it kiss your face and refine your spirit into a golden bar.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
come out of the shadows of your past,
emerge as a saintly being clothed in angelic white.
Step into the sunshine my friend;
let the great sun inflame your soul
with magnificent grace and transformative power.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
wipe the darkness from your eyes
see what miracles the new day brings.
Believe in all the light you see.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
let radiant beams of love ignite your passions;
your heart will bust forth like an exploding star
washing the galaxy with positive energy.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
receive the fantastic glories the day brings to you
and revel in them all.
Step into the sunshine my friend;
bathe yourself in the warm river of humanity.
Recognize yourself for the first time in its watery mirror.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
witness the delicate flower break through the hard crust of earth,
marvel as its fragrant bud blooms.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
experience the wonder in a child’s face,
let them lead you to the next 10,000 sunrises.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
feel the soft rays touch your wounds;
know how the daylight can heal.
Step into the sunshine my friend,
smell the ocean heave against the climbing sun
listen to the wisps of the meadowland's verdant fragrance.
Step into the sunshine my friend;
see the sparrow take flight toward the light,
watch its tireless wings glide on a blanket of rising thermal air.
Step into the sunshine my friend.
Music Selection: Ramsey Lewis
Sun Goddess
Oakland
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jbm
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
Beneath the old magnolia tree
I used to hold you close to me
And there I carved upon that tree
That I loved you and you loved me
Beneath the white magnolia blooms
You cast a spell with your perfume
I believed those wooden words were true
Ingrained in hearts of me and you
But time wears out what boys engrave
Nothing's left of the love you gave
Except that old magnolia scar....
I wish our love had come so far
Yeah, I wish those words were still on track
Cause every spring I dream me back
To tender lips and sweet perfume
Beneath the white magnolia blooms
But time wears out what boys engrave
Nothing's left of the love you gave
Except that old magnolia tree
Reminding me.....reminding me......
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:38 AM UTC
you can either
keep yourself up at night
wondering
"why me?"
you can hide under your covers
and tell everyone
you're wrong and you'll
never be right
or you can see all this
heartbreak
pain
conflict
imperfection
as an opportunity
to emerge from the concealed depths
to the gleaming luminescence
and become stronger
it is your choice to decide
whether to drown in your troubles
or to courageously survive
because the harder the struggle
the more spirited you become in the end
"the deeper the mud
the more beautiful the lotus blooms"
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
Valorous visage,
rivulets of gore seep
glory blooms.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Like a beautiful pink camellia that's how you appear to me
That bloom in chilly August on it's dark green mother tree
So bright and fresh and pretty in the wintery wind and rain
That's how you've always looked to me and that's how you will remain.
The beautiful camellia flower that blooms fresh and young today
In two or three weeks if that long will have gone into decay
For flowers have such a brief span they quickly fade away
But in sixty years of living your beauty with you stay.
I feel privileged and grateful for to have you as a friend
And I will love you and respect you until my life will end
You are warm and kind hearted and well loved and well known
And it's due to you and to you only that into a better person I have grown.
You are wise and quite intelligent and beautiful to behold
And you don't have a gray hair on your head and you never will grow old
And on your sixtieth birthday you still look beautiful to me
Like the young and pretty pink flower on the green camellia tree.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:25 PM UTC
Autumn falls down
Every year,
She wants to be caught
But no one is near.
She becomes cold,
Dresses in snow,
With winter ice
down to her soul.
But then she blooms
And springs back up,
She defrosts and
picks her own self up.
She's warm and smiling
On a summer high,
Her worries, now birds
floating up in the sky.
But summer ends, fall begins,
And autumn falls down once again.
Notice what the seasons are doing,
So when you fall, just keep on blooming.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing—
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay—
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet—
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!
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Ancient gardens where dragons roam:
Guardians of Grove protecting Flower Rose.
In wanders uncanny courageous bone,
Ghost hunting for salvation.
Tempted for the rose, face to face with dragon's nose;
Swallowed by the tales and the mysteries.
A seed untold, yet to follow unfold..
Blooms the next flower in the garden of my dragon guarded home.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
perhaps the most complex feeling
is feeling everything at once
the sympathy of a lover
the cold from a friend
everything shattering at once
residue of a rainfall
pain flares
and the cold blooms
the heat of freezing
the coldness of mistakes
everything finally stood still
residue of a rainfall
the soft pitter patter pulling me through the night
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC