I was a bouquet
Of forget me nots
You forgot to water me
And so I died
Right before your eyes
You took my lifeless petals
Pressed me between pages
And as the story goes
You forgot I ever stood center
On your kitchen table
No longer can you remember
The name of the book
Or the author
In what art you hid remnants
Of our love
I hope one day you will rediscover
And when you do
I hope it takes you back
To when seeing me made you smile
And stop to admire the beauty
You had known to captured
Before you let her die
every nook is full.
Bouquets of stars
flower over the Moon!
Lo, unleashing every
bit of the inky night
the sleeping beauty
to wake soon!
Go to the nth degree
when everything is full
look for somewhere new!
It's a full circle, full-blown
but a ceaseless moving world
to one more new angle!
Roses are red
Violets are blue
But now so am I
And it's all cause of you
Now instead of the roses
My writs are blood red
And the violets have stained
The side of my head
You hug me and cry
And I say it's okay
But you always come back
With your violent bouquet
Please no more bouquets
i am a ****** ryhmist
for i arrange words in a bouquet
in hope that flower of syllables would bloom
to give you fresh-cut flowers scent or unsavory stench
but again, who cares?
words are meaningless
so here i am
trying to make sense out of nonsense
saying nothing more than cries for help
Stood in the doorway,
a delivery guy.
A warm buttery mirage,
reflects in my eye.
A yellow bouquet,
this girls favourite treat.
So lovely, it's beauty knocks
me off my feet.
A spray in the background
of lilac, well matched.
A card with a ribbon and
I lift it to read it,
what does it say?
To Sara, Happy Birthday
and have a great day.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Happy Birthday to me.
Older but none the ******' wiser.
Yellow Daffodil: Protecting and still. Encouraging on the mountain, encouraging down the hill.
Red Carnation: Vivid aspiration. A candle incinerate. Nature inspirate.
Blue Periwinkle: Glisten and twinkle in dew. You made me love to read and read in love. Happiness from above.
Three flowers of my colorful life. It wouldn't be, without primary.
The flowers you planted
Bloomed all over my skin
Grew wild in my head
Their sweet nector filled my veins
Until you went away
Your garden left for dead
Forgotten by our original sin
Now all that remains
Is this single bouquet
And true love disenchanted
Into the wonderment of your autumnal mind.
Where the skin of your grief sheds its leaves.
Is the song of your sea bound into colourful light?
The Shepherd breaches the flock of your dreams,
And the pastures breathe a sigh of relief,
As your tears of morning dew
Glisten the parched landscape.
Does your bouquet of *****
Lay wistfully in the wilderness?
The skies of blue that reside in your eyes
Serenades the coming of the tide,
Harvesting the fruit of our labour of love.
Is this a wind of smile that turns into a voyage of valiancy?
A flock of thoughts liberated with a cry of exclamation
As your fears of autumn blue
Are exiled into the rapacious wind.
In your heart is a bouquet
Beautiful in many ways;
It is one always in bloom,
Your love gives it golden rays.
It's made of understanding,
Gentleness and TLC;
It is well known for kindness,
Your virtues give it beauty.
This bouquet has much power,
Light in hearts it does infuse;
It's a bouquet I treasure,
That I'll never want to lose.
This bouquet I sure treasure,
It means very much to me;
Its beauty excels sunshine,
Around it I like to be.
The bouquet found in your heart,
Is a bouquet highly prized.
Each day it gets lovelier,
This my heart has realized.
Smell of lilacs bloom
to no end—a nebulous glow of
purple, perfect, and unperturbed—your
poem of lilies with caution tape
snug in my backpack—
your pollen hundreds of miles
away—a firebrick orange
sung again and again. A cotton
blow unlike anything colorful
—a white puff of dandruff before
the rain—a bouquet for
your spring stitched
stem by stem.
Her crown is a bouquet of condensed sunbeams
Fine strands of elegance fringed with golden light
Beauty distinguished by curious imperfection
With love legibly written in the wrinkle of her brow
the only flowers I
survive in my
I think I
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast
has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
heaving with song
The mystical feathered troubadour's
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;
rousing a lonely heart's esprit
to fly away unfettered
in constellations of song
How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
when you wish upon a star
Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!
Rolling like trailing thunder;
tucked and tumbling ―
blossoming with an unearthly joy
A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
dreaming of that shapeless
w h o o o o s h ―
~ uplifting wings ~
Suddenly ― gliding freely,
upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song
Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle
... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
if my heart had wings
imagined by: Jesse Stillwater
blessed be the agony
of love unrequited.
blessed be clutches of wildfire
through this forest.
for after its flames were tamed,
planted a bed of wildflowers
in its center,
wildflowers of every color:
blessed be the agony,
blessed be the wildfire, the wildflowers.
for it made me kneel down
i've gathered a bouquet.
Make me a paper flower
Cut and folded perfectly
Choose your favorite color
So part of your heart will be with me
Arrange a pretty bouquet
Don't regret that you can't buy them from the store
I don't need ones which wither away
I know that your heart (and the paper flowers)
Mean so much more
she was queen for a day
brought to you
the Red Cross
to lift off
those painful foot corns
and lets not forget the good folks at
for those aching back muscles
yet doesn't burn
and comes with a handy dandy applicator
she could have anything she wanted
all she had to do
was ask for it on
after becoming the winning contestant
for a life more tragic then all the others
the competition was stiff
who would break hearts the most
and get the biggest ovation
for all who came to see the suffering
and move the needle
which lady of endless sorrows
would be the gleeful queen
of white knuckle terrors
of the race to the bottom
and i was eleven years old
the winner was wrapped
by her very own glittery subjects
in a plush royal queens cape
and placed upon her crown
a twinkling tiara
and bestowed a bouquet of flowers
from the magnificent
Carl's of Hollywood
she a mottled exhausted woman
withered by life's harrowing cruelties
hollowed by fear and heaping despair
flickered like staccato lighting
on black and white TV
for all of America to see
house wife goddess
of the vacuum cleaner and handy scrub
would flop herself on the couch
with a jin and tonic
put her feet up
hair in curlers
for the squabbling brood
and her very own tyrannical
huba huba hubby
king of her cracked castle
grab a pack of
Pall mall reds
QUEEN FOR A DAY
QUEEN FOR A DAY
Miss Clarice Williams
trembling almost to the point of tears
implored humbly for a gurney
so that her fifteen year old son
who was mentally slow and shot in the stomach
could be rolled outside on the porch
and feel the sunlight on his face
for the first time in years
they lavished her
with the Bomgardner Hydro-level cot
for the paralyzed
sure that it would do just the trick
a miniature transistor ham radio
so you could even
hear what there sayin
all the way in Japan
a Teltape tape recorder
and a brand new
automatic laundry machine and dryer
from the nice folks at Westinghouse
but thats not all
a star studded vacation
where the stars stay
at the deluxe knickerbocker hotel
where you can lounge at the pool
or your own royal suite
and have dinner
at the exotic
Polynesia Beach Combers
Wicki Wicki Room
all the way in the land
Sledding, a white flurry of glitter
Glass trees throw soft needles a-sprinkle
A blissful silver rocket. It all flies by
Sparkles of diamond on the ceiling or sky
Radiant light, its fate to be wrinkled
by the dim labyrinth of this shining prism.
Gray aurora, dancing in the diamond rain
Iron curtains hide the truth
Glass and pains of steel, in a prism of gray
Do you see windows or mirrors?
All I see, a magnificent pane
A merry toast! To all I say cheers,
with a smile worth its years.
Lift your brittle glass as you would lift a curse.
And drink heartily from the once molten, crystal sand.
Drink the guile and drink the hate
Drink the lies of shame and berate
Drink to see that a flower in gray
is a prism for life, not a fancy bouquet.
Your are the sun to my day
The moon that creates the waves in my ocean
The flowers in my bouquet
The whimsy of my notions
The smile that brightens my day
And the thought of you sets it all in motion
Beyond the sea, a white rose stands
outside a vase, away from hands.
Too pretty for a picture frame,
a large bouquet, or window pane.
Still growing, life is hers to gain:
the warmth of sun, the cooling rain,
the water droplets, oxygen;
beauty will flourish best with space.
A trademark warmth she wears so well
like sun rays on a daffodil.
She laughs like shamrock by the well,
as infectious as a breeze among bluebells.
I see the child inside your cries of joy, behind your smiles at boys.
Beneath the skies, above the noise.
You breathe in life, and it's all yours.
infectious laughter is like the breeze in a field of bluebells haha
Birthdays are a time to celebrate life
I hear your name everywhere
Your whispers in the buzzing of the bees
Your exasperated sighs in the beeping of the cars
Your ecstatic storytelling in the humdrum of random noises
I see you in every hue
Your calm demeanor in shades of blue
Your road rage in shades of red
Your cheeky laugh in shades of yellow
I taste you in every way
Your kiss in this smooth black chocolate
The warmth of your hand in this bowl of soup
Your icy stare in gulping this cold water
I smell you in every scent
Your warm hug in this cup of coffee
Your compassion in this bouquet of Stargazers
Your glistening eyes in this cigarette
Doctors, please help me
I have the rarest case of synesthesia
When it comes to you,
My brain malfunctions
My senses, once numb, feel everything
All at once
In the most passionate and
In the most heightened sense
To feel you in everything.
To experience you in every way.
My eyes only see you
My nose only smells you
My tongue only craves you
My ears only hear you
My brain only perceives you
Is only in the form of you.
I heard Pablo Neruda has synesthesia.
So i wondered,
What is it like to feel everything in all kinds of way?
Original title: Syn[an]astasia
bound into a bouquet of
lilac—your colors used, not actually
seen, invisible but still true.