"carnation" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look—
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings—
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick—
like a carnation each holds in her hand—
they mount the lonely street.
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Symbol: The goat
Opposite Sign: Cancer
Meaning: The achiever
Modality: Cardinal
Element: Earth
Ruling House: The tenth
Ruling Body: Saturn
Motto: I build
Birthstone: Garnet
Color: Brown
Metal: Silver
Flower: Carnation
Fragrance: Spearmint
Lucky Day: Saturday
Numbers: 3, 4, 9
Lucky Colors: Red, Pink, Purple, Blue
Lucky Flowers: Cyclamen, Plantain lily, Fittonia
Capricorn is: persevering, patient, conventional, practical and disciplined. Capricorn can be practical, unemotional, sober, orderly, controlling and manipulative.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Have you known the winter days?
Late February falls like frigid snow
Merciless undertow
Of evergreen and alpenglow
And grey ground pavement walking
Like Grocery shopping
and weak chai tea
Moonlengths from all family
And surrounded like strawbury temptation,
Late night lamp light contemplation
And drowsy-dampened mornings
Grey glaze of diluted boring
Spattered over every orifice
Charcoal eyes, platonic kiss.
Pull your bow to shoot and miss
Tell me all this is is what it is
And I will tell you, “okay”
(but you know this isn’t what I wanted)
Hide the roadsigns
Blur the guidelines
This is how I love you
Have you known the winter days?
Late February fell like fire on hell
And shook me from my sleep
Ashes cover snow-banked heaps of rubble
I slice my wrist on the sharpened stubble
Of your half-assed beard
(this is how I bleed my dear)
This is how I bear my soul
******* smile
And dominoes
Carnation cults
And buried bones
(This is how I build your throne)
Hide the gravestones
Burn the rainbows
This is how I love you.
And have you known the winter days?
Late February fallen like Lucifer to the underworld
We both knew I wasn’t altogether that typeof girl
But we pretended anyways
Alcoholic halo haze
And foreign intervention
Of somewhat insidious intention
And the legitimate logistical question
That defined our discourse on fear
(this is how I think my dear)
This is how I speak my mind
All that grey
Those missing roadsigns
Smoke and soot and
Blurry guidelines
And Gravestones gone
And rainbows ash
(and we are never coming back)
This.
This is how I love you.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
The music that’s been formed by his voice
Is lifting my body to the sky
Merging with the carnation pink clouds.
As my body sways within the northern lights
Dusts from the fairies of the north
Brightly gleam my face.
Stars are seducing us
And formed a line
Of a sensational beauty.
Light danced on the waves
Of the arctic oceans as they did
In his eyes.
His hands moved with feelings,
In emotion.
We floated among the words
That bounced between us.
Two drops of Jupiter
Looked at me in a way so heavenly
Oh darling ,let me float with you.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
Spanish
La princesita hipsipilo, la vibrátil filigrana,
—Princesita ojos turquesas esculpida en porcelana—
Llamó una noche a mi puerta con sus manitas de lis.
Vibró el cristal de su voz como una flauta galana.
—Yo sé que tu vida es gris.
Yo tengo el alma de rosa, frescuras de flor temprana,
Vengo de un bello país
A ser tu musa y tu hermana!—
Un abrazo de alabastro…luego en el clavel sonoro
De su boca, miel suavísima; nube de perfume y oro
La pomposa cabellera me inundó como un diluvio.
O miel, frescuras, perfumes!…Súbito el sueño, la sombra
Que embriaga..Y, cuando despierto, el sol que alumbra en mi alfombra
Un falso rubí muy rojo y un falso rizo muy rubio!
English
The amazonian little princess, a vibratile filagree,
—Turquoise eyes sculpted of porcelain, little princess—
Called one night at my door with her small hands of iris.
And the trilling crystal of her voice was like an elegant flute:
—I know your life is gray.
I have the soul of a rose, the dew of budding flowers,
I come from a beautiful country
To be your sister and muse!—.
An arm of alabaster…then, in the sonorous carnation
Of her mouth, softest honey; in a cloud of gold and perfume
She surrounded me, brash horsewoman, like a deluge.
Oh honey, freshness, perfumer!…The sudden dream, the shadow
Which intoxicates…and when I wake, the sun that falls on my carpet
In a false ruby very red, and a false ringlet very blond.
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~~~
Quivering horizons
A palette of picturesque love
stipples weary seascapes
in amethyst ribbons,
pink carnation reflections
blush upon lip glossed beaches
caressing blue skies' gaze
and flip flop yearnings,
quivering horizons
of bougainvillea blooms
drench our hearts,
so we pause silently
as a poetic sunset
paints a masterpiece
in twilight brushstrokes
inspired by our
euphoric daydreams
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
I just woke up on a train I shouldn't be on
I'm stuck in this seat,
To the left there is no one
To the right, there is just my shadow
How peculiar to have a shadow when there is no sun shining through the train
The windows are tinted and the sky outside is murky
I can see the land around me is barren with no greenery
My legs are starting to ache from sitting so long and I feel a fiery rash spreading on my chest
the pattern is floral, like carnations in bloom
My chest is swelling up to my throat
Something is expanding in my chest, stretching and burning
Something familiar but foreign
And just like that a carnation bursts through me completely disintegrated. In my lap I try to put the pieces together
Stuck in this seat I take out my mirror and look at the hole where the carnation lived
Deep inside, something the size of a petite ruby, little and plump was beating.
Louder and louder I could hear it in my ears,
the swelling is subsiding around my neck but I don't think I'll be free of this chair for a long while
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.
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He gives her a pink carnation
It's the first prom she'll ever attend
She's waited so long for this moment
So she can't wait for it to begin
Her daddy says, "Have her back by midnight"
He says, "Yes sir", as he opens her door
When she sits down, he pulls from the driveway
As the bottle rolls out in the floor
She says, "I didn't think we were drinking"
As he held the bottle to his lips
She says, "Stop it, what are you thinking?"
He says, "Come on just take a couple sips"
She promised her dad that she wouldn't
And she always tried keep her word
The sound of a car horn blowing
Was that last sound that she ever heard
The ran off the road, down the embankment
And Into the side of a tree
She didn't know that he'd already been drinking
And was as drunk as he could possibly be
He gives her a pink carnation
It's the first prom she'll ever attend
She's waited so long for this moment
So she can't wait for it to begin
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 3:41 PM UTC
Striped carnation (refusal):
I have long since discovered that the fires
in me were never going away.
The heaviness, from refusal
to spit the ashes.
Queen Anne’s lace (fantasy):
I thought you put out the fire last night
but you weren’t there.
Willow herb (pretension):
How long have you been gone?
I told myself as many lies as I could handle
but none of them ever worked.
Scabiosa (unfortunate love):
We’ve built enough bridges to take us nowhere–
tell me again what we’ve become:
trembling hands,
trying not to spill blood on what was left.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I want to feel those feelings,
those indefinable feelings
of hopscotching
towards it,
one foot in front of the other
to experience
the maudlin aqua-eyed
moments in rain,
jeans
and midnight skirts.
Taking every step necessary
to evade black lakes
down your cheeks,
hot blood on my fingertips.
And there'd be a song,
cordial and soft
on the piano,
delicate
like carnation petals,
writing lyrics
on each other's arms
in multi-coloured ink,
letters that hop
up to our elbows.
How to feel what it's like
with another one,
opposite and the same
all at once.
Cheerful dreams,
placid days
on streets, in homes
with brown drinks,
single and un-single friends
who say 'I knew you two would...'
and to show our love
our hands would touch
and our lips would touch
and the lights would rise.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
I potted your healing purple verbena
comforting scarlet geranium
never will forget you
pink carnation
the roots were dry
so I added new soil
watered them good
they'll survive
your granddaughter
brought them here
along with "Phil"
the ancient philodendron
he's taken up residence
close to her bed
his elephant ears
spread wide and listening
I thought you would
be pleased to know
she loaded plants
until the car was full
that she did find
a bit of solace
in the garden
you left behind
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look—
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings—
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick—
like a carnation each holds in her hand—
they mount the lonely street.
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*Waking up amid the rising twilight
A rush of fervent fever I start to feel within me
Human nature has unlocked the latch
And the passionate flame begins to immerse upon me
As my curiosity sparks to explore the shady sheets beneath*
*Wandering aimlessly along a promenade path
Where the full moon rules
And soft curls of winds recede
I feel like countless days have cruised by
And then by chance
A prominent glow before my unworldly eyes*
*You run my luscious hands across your chest
Your sweet scent and taste both so divine
This rush of warm heat upon our faces
This exciting feeling is no mirage
Bathing in carnation at this moment
Soaking deeply in love we are
And I leave the rest to magic*
*This magic spell we can’t resist
As we grab each others’ hips so tight
I feel it soothing so smoothly down upon me
To experience this magical sight
I can’t help my own rush from showing
And how it feels
It feels so fine
As I am relieved of this
Fleeting fever from my mind*
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
EVERY year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.
In a last will and testament Andrew Jackson
remembered a friend with the gift of George
Washington's pocket spy-glass.
Napoleon too, in a last testament, mentioned a silver
watch taken from the bedroom of Frederick the Great,
and passed along this trophy to a particular friend.
O. Henry took a blood carnation from his coat lapel
and handed it to a country girl starting work in a
bean bazaar, and scribbled: "Peach blossoms may or
may not stay pink in city dust."
So it goes. Some things we buy, some not.
Tom Jefferson was proud of his radishes, and Abe
Lincoln blacked his own boots, and Bismarck called
Berlin a wilderness of brick and newspapers.
So it goes. There are accomplished facts.
Ride, ride, ride on in the great new blimps-
Cross unheard-of oceans, circle the planet.
When you come back we may sit by five hollyhocks.
We might listen to boys fighting for marbles.
The grasshopper will look good to us.
So it goes ...
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Every good thing shall happen...
like Friday nights and party rush
surprise calls from a long-time crush
auburn leaves and a cup of tea
cozy couch and a good movie
a sweet embrace, granted wishes
locked up hands, friendly kisses
perfect music, fireworks galore
passionate poetry, books in store
skinny-dipping, pineapple juice
mountaineering, romantic cruise
stick-it notes and scented letters
white rose petals and silver glitters
dusty slip-on and faded pantaloons
sweetened berries and tasty prunes
smooth raps and slow rock hits
magnetic charm and awesome wits
11:11 verses and chicken bones
starry night skies, pebbles and stones
a perfect score, crispy pizza crust
locks and highlights, passionate lust
skirts and pumps, pictures of us
Halloween treats and wedding fuss
hot cappuccino, jam and jelly
first paycheck, winning the lottery
chocolate mousse, ice cold drinks
ocean waves, seductive winks
silk and laces, laughs after cries
cool car drifting and belly butterflies
left hand scribbles, messy hair buns
Oakley goggles and water guns
funny jokes, late night talks
rainy days, twilight walks
flickering lights, vintage cars
logs in swamps and monkey bars
a hopeful daybreak, latte aroma
fogged up glasses, squeaky veranda
carnation in bloom, warm summer breeze
slow ********** trimmed cypress trees
naughty kiddie play, blindfolds and tricks
mistletoe and acorns, fresh and fancy kicks
baked salmons and grilled corn
ending fights and a newborn
free-verse poetry, an orchestral song
a stranger's smile, a dancing throng
finishing a novel, Luna's glow
binding friendships, December snow
but the best thing for me, I'd like you to know
is to tell you finally that I Love You So.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Across the river a humble beauty grows.
The once still stream vigorously flows.
Pink carnation reaches its bloom.
United meadow rebels against fume.
A top familiar soil roots blanketed by earth
Tall brown oak with branches to hearth.
From cold winter winds to warmth of spring lights.
Peace of morning velvet to restless summer nights.
Along its golden shore the tree sits in wait.
It’s seen all from times of marry to tears of hate.
Yet unyielding thankful for everything it owes.
Experiencing it all is what makes the tree grow.
Small bird of blue crossed many miles.
Never alone he had help through his trials.
Mistook his own love for thoughts turned colder.
Truth reveals now it was a heart grown older.
Ambition climbs into an endless sky.
This once broken bird can now finally
Fly.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
His kisses were long and soft.
They were softer than the carnations he got her everyday.
But Alas ! Those kisses were false and those carnations were imaginary.
She looked at the watch as she tallied the last account for the day.
His existence was unknown and their love was unfound. She removed his picture which she had lovingly pinned on the wall.
Heavens cry and clouds sing,
She got the prince but she lost the ring.
They never found his dead body.
She still remembers how he chose the carnations for their wedding reception.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
CARNATION: Every frill in her dress is another piece of your heart broken. She withers in the winter but heaven forbid you see her at her loveliest in the spring.
VIOLET: Her voice sounds like steel cutting through velvet. You squeeze her tightly until she blooms in petals of blue and purple.
DAFFODIL: She's a field to run across but be careful that doesn't take you by surprise and lull you into daydreaming for the next 200 years.
SWEET PEA: By the time you lean close to her an inhale her scent, the sky will have already begun falling; she will have already transformed into vapor and taken refuge in your lungs.
LILY OF THE VALLEY: You'd expect to see her floating around in twos and threes, but she'd rather be hidden behind tangles of ivy, where you'd never find her.
ROSE: Be careful that when your hands are grazing her hips that you don't cut yourself because a woman hides her most important weapons under a layer of secrets and maybe there's more to the waistband of her skirt than you'd like to believe.
WATER LILY: A siren of the sea, she is lilting, singing a sad song and hypnotizing you, but you don't know any better and you want to see if she floats in your hands like she does in the water.
POPPY: Kiss her softly and when she collapses into pieces at your feet, scatter her in your bathwater and pull the drain plug and forget about her forget about her forget about her forget
MORNING GLORY: She stretches in the morning and sunlight rushes to touch her and the stripes of rays on her skin make you remember all the reasons why you woke up everyday for a reason other than habit.
MARIGOLD: Beware of the girl who covers her mouth when she smiles. Sometimes, it's because she doesn't want you to see that her heart is in her throat, but other times she's just trying to hide the fangs.
CHRYSANTHEMUM: Her clothes fall like petals in the depths of secrecy, but if you plucked them off the ground one by one, you'd still never know whether she loves you or loves you not.
NARCISSUS: You only love her because you see your reflection in her eyes and all she ever wanted to do was drown you gently.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Headlights hang.
trapped in eyelashes
aspirations wandered above
struck down into
the musty grass of a church lot
there was no mercy to be had
I swore it heaved
the floorboards bled purple,
Clocks tore themselves apart
while the frothy whispers of flowers
haunted the humidity.
to get lost here
among the carnation sky
would almost be better.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
For many years he'd traveled far,
a merchantman by trade.
His Mom passed on while he was gone-
she sleeps there in the glade.
Now he is home with tales to tell
of his trek on the Ocean Blue
but the one face he longed most to see
is not there to tell them to.
So he sat down on his duffel bag
beside her well tended grave,
and spoke his stories of the sea
when others might have prayed.
He left a white carnation there
upon her bed of clay.
It was well watered by the tears
he shed for her that day.
He said his last good byes to us
and turned back for the sea and the shore;
He'd search for peace on Neptune's deep
for Home wasn't home anymore.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
“while resembling you
looking at it with my heart
I’m discomforted
by the weight of tear-like dew
on wild carnation flowers”
“beyond measuring
the thousand fathoms depth
may the sea weeds
keep growing to be so deep
I’ll be merely a caretaker”
“you only dip
into shallow waters
in my morass
my body is totally submerged
in the ways of burning love”
“clouded
by affairs of the heart
I am lost
hello! Why doesn’t someone
ask how I am?”
Murasaki Shikibu
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC