"botanical" poems
The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing --
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.
Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history --
Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietàs?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.
36.1k
heard a voice as i died
in the cold moonlight
forty phantoms
breathing through me
and this wasted life
holds on too long
like a piano from the dark
and a mystic chord
i froze and woke in tandem
with the underscore
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Are acceptance and approval synonymous terms? It is important that we give adequate definition to that which blocks our winding garden path, where foxgloves, lupins and a multitude of botanical dreams can blossom into a gorgeous array of ****** captivation.
If we embrace that which is repugnant, then possibility may not be confined to the cradling arms of the mistress of death.
So, my judgmental and moralistic companion from the sands of Jupiter – if your daughter is a raunchy stripper, then keep your expectations on the leash and preserve your anthropological connectedness, otherwise you may veer into prickly thorns of certain detriment and thereby lose her attachments.
It is incumbent upon us to nourish those fragrant plantations with a careful approach, so that beautiful reproductions will abound in a bouquet of resolution.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
The Key To Success
A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal,
A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special,
Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk,
This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk,
The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal,
Land Of The Ganga
In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself,
The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves,
Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers
The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main
attracter
A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
In the springtime
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
Walk under trees
With new buds blooming
Walk over puddles
With old ice melting
Walk along pathways
Of bustling microcosms
Walk through fields
Of flowers reaching for sunlight
__________________________________________________
In summertime
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
Climb up the mountains
Breathe in thin air
Descend into valleys
And search Nature’s secrets
Let flames warm you
Let stars awe you
And never stop growing
But stay as you are
__________________________________________________
In autumn
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
Botanical tableaux
Delights all the senses
And reminds us
Nothing stays the same
Don’t fight the breeze
Let your curly hair surrender
But in joyful revenge
Crunch leaves under foot
__________________________________________________
In winter
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
Wear a vest
To keep your heart warm
But dance in the snow
And honor every ray of sun
Speak only in whispers
So I have to lean in
And visit me often
Because a year seems so long
__________________________________________________
I miss you
Come walk with me
Hold my hand
Hold me close
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
I love your curvaceous contours, whilst physiological precipitations calmly shoot their nectar across longitudinal and latitudinal expressions of ontology.
How seductive are your displayed features of blatant enticements.
I truly give thanks for your explicit revelations, where blatancy and discretion collide with dialectical icebergs.
So, my friend of uncertain deliberation, put it on the altar of sacrifice where botanical skies of elliptical infernos resound throughout the classical universe.
I love this revealing and scientific corridor of acknowledgement.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Once I went to a place
Where the sky was azure
And the water a turquoise jewel
Botanical trees so lush and green
A calming breeze soothed across the skin
Like a blanket of peace
And I wondered if this is on Earth
A landscape of this world
Then what must paradise be like?
It is said to be beyond what anyone can imagine
Dear Almighty
Let heaven not forsake me
Let it not forbid me
Nor spit me out
Reject me after the trials of my life are over
Let me not reach the end of this tunnel
To never enter the light
It is You who knows best my Lord
For if heaven was easy to enter
There would be littered bodies
Of willing sacrifice
To sit along the rivers of wine
And enjoy eternal youth and beauty
Where there is no thirst nor hunger
To be amongst the company of Angels
And the best of nations, tribes, people and tongues
Standing before Thy throne
Where Messiahs have awaited
Enjoying eternal salvation
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
Your voice has a choice.
Your tongue is moist with juicy, fruitful words.
Your lips chirp like harmonious birds;
building botanical gardens inside some
beautiful person’s head somewhere.
You could distinguish old flames, smother your pride
ignore all blame… Or
you could turn something worse.
Go postal, find trouble to immerse
yourself in.
Do you even try to scale the value between a blessing and a curse?
Did it sound more exciting when I said Congratulations first?
Is your mommy and the tv well distraction from the hearse
all of us blindly ride in.
We’re born into a society claiming Life, Freedom and the pursuit of happiness.
I feel no freedom in our flags
when more blood falls on clothing tags of women who were “just asking for it”.
I’m desperately clinging onto the pursuit of happiness,
but my hands slide off like butter fingers pursuing monkey bars
The greasy kind of disappointment you can get at
McDonalds for a dollar
I’m a little confused where the donations are Ronald?
$27.6 billion in revenue,
yet every seventeen minutes
another person pursues death as if it were their
only chance of freedom
and you’re squeezing your red clown nose
thinking of what new toy to impose
on the children buying Happy Meals.
The 111th richest corporation in the nation
has the audacity to serve deep fried pink slime
and call it a happy meal.
At the same moment,
a stiff insurance business suit is denying
extended treatment to people.
People:
dying to learn how to tame the monsters in their heads,
dying to learn how harming themselves harms their families health,
dying to learn how to fight enemies who sing them to sleep at night.
Thousands of children men and women
who are in so much pain.
Plastered with close-lidded visions
nightmare doorknobs with creaking hinges.
Some violent, some explosive, some ******
ostly misunderstood combinations of the above.
Some, accidents stained with blood.
Some, knife twisting in their back, broken oaths.
There is more freedom in valuing the pursuit of life
than happiness in living for a dying pursuit
Congratulations, we live in a society
where the living die with a side order of either
painful awareness or
numb naivety.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
orchids exotic captured
the man's botanical eye
they were so beautiful
in display
with delicate petals
and a scent
of heady romance
the wheelchair bound New York
cop saw defining evidence
of the exquisite
bloom
his heart elated
by the flower's
gorgeous
loom
there under his real
name of Raymond Burr
he established
an orchid garden
on a Fiji island
the climate perfect
for growing
and nurturing
the plant species
arresting of sight
so sublime
its vision's delight
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Botanical garden of love,
show me the path back to life.
Show me the path to righteousness,
not the path to the knife.
Botanical garden of love,
in all your beauty,
if I abide by the rules,
will you free me?
Botanical garden of love,
grow unto me.
Make me one with your beauty,
only you can set me free.
Botanical garden of love,
paint me with the skies.
I wish to never be forgotten,
by her soft brown eyes.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
Scale the walls of knowledge, if you will, my Western friend of ambivalence.
But, before we leap into the crevasse of botanical diversity, it is important that we understand that the smoke reveals beings which traverse physical paths of obscurity.
So, we must relax and give careful attention to the details with which we presume to be confronted.
Interpretation is a concept that reminds me of chocolate-covered mint fondant.
It is all in the power of the suffix, don't you think?
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Twenty-five trips around the sun and feeling as if life has just begun
Solar consciousness experienced within botanical biochemical synergy; quite an exothermic symphony
External Prajna helping the light body activate; seeing sacred geometry in a pineapple and longevity in an apple
Metaphysical abilities blossoming like the flowers in May; interconnected connectivity emanating from the colorful array
Idiosyncratic and unpredictable mind; sublime thoughts in a polka dotted realm, infused with light sitting under an ancient elm.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
arboreal
capitulation
to the last saw;
just lying there,
rusting and dull,
a senile serial killer.
a dirt water droplet
circlestalks the sun
like a vulture.
wild flowers
split the concrete
like jackhammers and
the vines hang low
over city streets,
while unmaintained
botanical gardens
shrivel and decay,
breeding mushy immensities.
bears hibernate in subways
and deer flock in herds
and oh, the birds..
the birds.
spiders hang webs
from ancient clock towers
while moth returns
to chasing moon.
dams crumble,
the water flows,
sea reclaims the shore.
but the
eldest
trees
still weep
when memory pains,
and so surrender
to the saw,
however harmless
out of hand.
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 1:43 PM UTC
In my voluminous botanical garden
Sits a vegetation, of luxuriant foliage
Gently dancing in the wind
As a yellow canary sings lyrical notes
Fluttering freely, leaving me with a grin
Aiming beautifully, when capturing the essence
From one bud to the other
And nothing could compare
As he lingers graciously
Quite lovely, as I stare
Upon the richness, of the light blue skies
An unforgettable scenery
With clouds in puffs of snow
As the sun slightly peeks
And my heart, thy certainly stole
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
i never got to love him—
i never got to love the man who would cause a botanical garden to grow in my stomach.
vines to grow throughout my lungs until flowers sprouted from my lips.
the thorns grew thick and wrapped around my vocal cords.
that’s why when you left i couldn’t speak,
i couldn’t say anything to make you stay.
therefore, i picked all the flowers, softly from my lips,
as a final farewell—
a few daisies to remember me by.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 9:51 PM UTC
i know, it's not exactly mesmerising
such bounties with such curdling
crudeness, but that's how it is,
with eyes vectoring into the above,
cobalt, the highest pinnacle of the depths,
a shade like any other,
and then seeking the horizon, the dilution
of the formidable shade into Arctic...
a near white, but not exactly white,
not exactly worth metaphor that's a kindred
of white & black as lack & lack...
just the see-through colour for the allowance
of possessing eyes, not near melted mirrors
of mercury, but by day,
the highest peak blue in hue of cobalt,
and when walking from the mountain's peak,
the eyes spot the Arctic and Adriatic mist hues
outlining a bordering of all things elemantal...
the transparency of the whole dynamo
on being grounded from all elevations,
before dipping into the seas' shrubbery...
for indeed the sky makes use of the close-up, apparent
green shades of the sea, or the Thames grey
without an earl on a royal gondola worthy a parade,
nearer then the grander colour scheme,
but up from space, indeed, all is blue and all is green,
and all is sandy suntanned bronze
and seemingly serene; lest we forgot the dollops
of skeletal, floating in cloud - those scouts of Antarctica;
but from the elemental blue of the sky
receding into the seas of mirrors via arctic into white
if not seemingly see-through, there too i spot
the antidote of white nearing the pristine state of
claiming being see-through, a crow's
bleak colour of being shrouded
in celebratory mourning: the pupil of my eye, black,
and all the world around me, the flattened earth
of my iris, for no astronaut i am to imagine it otherwise,
from a perspective of such heights reached by
fellow man, if i am to be so humbly grounded,
i'll imagine it counter-productively as thus.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
a swindler, sneaky yet gentle,
disguised as an island in the Mediterranean,
i think i may have left my heart there
in the pale limestone and the hissing
accents and the sun oozing into my skin
i wonder if there grows a garden of hearts,
from tourists wandering stumbling
onto late night buses on the coastlines
whose hearts have found a second home
under the limestone ribs
a botanical garden of our blood pumping organs,
what would it say on my description?
a gentle harvest, grown with 5 days
and mitski's pink in the night
and the waitress's soft smile
on the lantern lit streets of valletta
now i'm home, heartless, and yet
sickeningly longing for you,
a thief, a monster, to steal it again
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
Have you ever been impacted by the feminine vocals of this plight of legalistic acquittal?
Let us travel northbound along those east coast beeches where the historical presence is tangible and innocent sexuality is exposed in oyster-bars of cobbled awareness.
Acknowledge the fragrance of the hanging-basket in English country gardens, where nectar is extracted by nocturnal mammals.
Do you have any suggestions about the outcome?
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
He professed he was a professor
He knew all the flowers by name
The greater stitchwort from the lesser
Deadly nightshade and alpine fleabane
He said he would build her an Eden
The envy of all learned men
To find the plants they would be needing
They walked on field, hill and fen
He said it would be just like ground force
He told her to stay out of sight
He said it would cost her of course
He vanished into the night
If ever you meet with this fellow
And get filled with botanical cravings
It's for the police you should bellow
And hang on to your jewels and life savings
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
you placed flowers in my heart and bees in my stomach
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
Leave me to breathe and I'll write you poison
Of the darkest roses that bury me in your thoughts
You and I are poets of tormented thorns
This plethora of verbal abuse
Our building blocks for emotion
Gives us the power to captivate the very soul of innocence
And unto darkness we reign
For an eternity
Of true thorns
And a rose by any other name
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
He runs out of the bathroom after a 20 minute shower
leaving puddles of warm water trailing through our home.
"Smell me!" he says as he pushes his head under my nose.
"Smell me. I smell great!" I do and he does.
"I used everything in the shower. EVERYTHING!" He is so proud.
Later that night, as I take my shower I find:
all 5 bars of soap still partially lathered,
every shampoo and conditioner bottle opened and askew,
and all of my sample envelopes ranging from Healthy HooHoo to acne cleansers, botanical shampoos to magnetic hair rejuvenation creams,
all tore open and empty.
For this, I fall in love all over again with a 12 year old kid.
And he smells great!
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
at the Missouri Botanical Garden
The earth paused in its orbit
that peaceful autumn afternoon
as we strolled the garden paths
cloaked beneath a veil of cotton clouds.
We walked through a kaleidoscope
of hanging globes of spectral mums,
Hypericum patches lined the trail -
their red berries exploding into golden stars
and sartorial toad lilies had
donned their finest freckles.
Across the garden lake,
grasses, maples and burning bush
embellished the opposite shore.
a maple leaf floated by
like a delicate raft
painted gold with scarlet trim.
This was the hour the world stood still
in the tranquil grace
of an autumn afternoon.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC