"crocuses" poems
spring omnipotent goddess thou dost
inveigle into crossing sidewalks the
unwary june-bug and the frivolous angleworm
thou dost persuade to serenade his
lady the musical tom-cat,thou stuffest
the parks with overgrown pimply
cavaliers and gumchewing giggly
girls and not content
Spring, with this
thou hangest canary-birds in parlor windows
spring slattern of seasons you
have ***** legs and a muddy
petticoat,drowsy is your
mouth your eyes are sticky
with dreams and you have
a sloppy body
from being brought to bed of crocuses
When you sing in your whiskey voice
the grass
rises on the head of the earth
and all the trees are put on edge
spring,
of the jostle of
thy ******* and the slobber
of your thighs
i am so very
glad that the soul inside me Hollers
for thou comest and your hands
are the snow
and thy fingers are the rain,
and i hear
the screech of dissonant
flowers,and most of all
i hear your stepping
freakish feet
feet incorrigible
ragging the world,
10.8k
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
The ground bubbled neath, February's awakening
stoic crocuses stood water deep,
so that capriciousness was revealed
The fill ***** over flowed.
So certain the path walked
she wove aconites into her hair
to unghost the prevailing snowdrops.
The dogwood a resplendent beacon
vies to complete the cycle .
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.
April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.
New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.
Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.
More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!
Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 6:17 AM UTC
ARIES: stay away from cats claws and hours past midnight. good day for purple lips and kissing your mothers cheek
TAURUS: your leg hair will grow and it will feel like beauty. you are lost and will not be found and this will feel like being a child again
GEMINI: clocks will move backwards for you today. when his hand catches in your hair, go home with your shoes clutched to your chest.
CANCER: spiders beckon new hope and your feet will crush the crocuses in your front yard. don’t be late.
LEO: today is a day to listen. listen to silence, listen to noise, listen to sobs, listen to laughter, listen to your heartbeat. hush
VIRGO: itchy scars are a sign of past romance bubbling to the surface. avoid broken windows and crying
LIBRA: you will love your freckles in the mirror and when he says he does not, leave him. good day for hauntings
SCORPIO: you will feel it. bad day for fresh-cut flowers
SAGITTARIUS: two chimes means a secret is about to be revealed. watch for smudged mascara and track marks
CAPRICORN: destruction comes with a price. squeeze her hand extra tight when you leave; she’ll be back eventually.
AQUARIUS: you can not be silenced today; this is not always good. bad day for second hand books
PISCES: read your mail and stay out of the rain. avoid gray eyes and sleeping late
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Forsythias flower now,
A shock of yellow petals
Matching my Daffodils.
Pure yellow,
Brighter than the sun.
Galaxies of petal-stars
Hanging from spiral arms.
As numerous as a shoal of fish,
Or flock of birds.
Nature stuns us with its numbers.
Winter hangs on
With chilling grip.
But blossoms like these hold promise
Of warmer days.
My crocuses were first:
Defiant spears thrusting into the frosty air.
And now the second wave is here:
Flower after flower,
Bird after bird:
Robins and Blue ****
Blackbirds and Sparrows.
Pesky gnats are out
As everything awakes
From hibernation.
Yes Spring is here,
Showing us once more
The sheer resilience of Life.
Paul Butters
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
February Morning!
How gracefully you in your nostalgic attire trigger memories
and this profound understanding;
The rushing energies before school
How I wish I could go back and take hold,
Of those hours of pure fantasies that wasn't disturbed
by the thought of my parents getting old;
February Morning!
Maybe your fragrance wouldn't have hit me so hard,
If I wasn't preparing towards a seemingly fresh start
in the lands of the lake poets;
And I now wonder,
Intimidated by your Swift withering,
how life has hypnotized me into singing
words of worth
for the synthetic and tangible shimmering;
I feel you've woken me up from an hazy conscious;
Next year,
If I'm to feel your caressing light again,
It mightn't be from my beauteous and evergreen nest;
Maybe you'll come in a different costume,
bearing a distinct scent
That I'll both adore and hate;
Maybe because
your wind will then carry a cold solitude
and I'll terribly miss my brother and our silly disputes;
while the chaotic kitchen clangs would seem so distant
comparing to the silent heaves of crocuses in outside gardens;
February Morning!
I know if I get to know you there,
My heavy hours in library won't stop me from reminiscing;
Maybe,
Nostalgia would strike me more violently
but this time
accompanying a yearning that'll pierce my heart silently;
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 1:13 AM UTC
Another Nor'easter
dims the sky
while it makes its plans
to howl all night
getting rough with spring
under white drifting blankets
crushing her crocuses
benching her robins
yet again
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
Pens get lost like frost in Boston, if buildings collapsed
I'd rebuild the past to trillions of ticks of the clock ago
before this part of the world became recognized and known,
before any stitched on the American flag were sewn
When the soilage looked like foliage until days passed by and by again
Through April showers which brought May flowers birthing the earth with succulent screenplays of baby's breath, crocuses- a pollen infused haze
turns rays of sunshine up in farenheight
I learned to pull tight on two bunny eared shoelaces and saw faces and faces and went places and places watching the trees beg their mother to leave traces, some green- no orange!- no red,- please!
But you're beautiful my darling, crooned mother
you're not like any other, you're original. A vision-
an extension of me, and you will die
you will die
and when you die as you are now your limbs
will forever be used as adjectives for poetry, stories, emotions
you will die and your spirit will rev up it's engine for another lifetime of a ride
Do not dwell upon regrets you wish to sell or branches and leaves that have long ago fell, or things in this life that did not go so well- like wanting a mac but owning a dell
or dreams moaning groans from the gates of hell
waiting for you to turn off the lights
It fights you doesn't it?
Every something and every nothing
it fights your lungs, begging, tossing
A squirming urge, this need, an insatiable hunt, a crave you can't feed
Leads your fingers to the notebook
filled with castles, legalized marijuana, maybe pirates with hooks- Anything in those pages
I want those pages
I need those pages
I have to fill those pages with this mess of a dress
I hastily waste my precious time with everyday
so I can cover up the dog puke stained
Ludacris way
I feel all the time
Gotta find a pen
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
If I might see another Spring
I'd not plant summer flowers and wait:
I'd have my crocuses at once,
My leafless pink mezereons,
My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet
My white or azure violet,
Leaf-nested primrose; anything
To blow at once not late.
If I might see another Spring
I'd listen to the daylight birds
That build their nests and pair and sing,
Nor wait for mateless nightingale;
I'd listen to the ***** herds,
The ewes with lambs as white as snow,
I'd find out music in the hail
And all the winds that blow.
If I might see another Spring--
O stinging comment on my past
That all my past results in "if"--
If I might see another Spring
I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief;
I would not wait for anything:
I'd use to-day that cannot last,
Be glad to-day and sing.
2k
for Greg Guenther
A giant pendulum in the cosmos swings
and guides each planet on its tether
Earth’s axis tilts toward fairer weather
And soft rains presage new beginnings.
Crocuses push the snow aside, a bluebird sings
of light and darkness held in equal measure.
Pastel fingers on each bough gather
as birds and beasts pursue their matings
Softened fields invite the tillers’ blades
submerging seeds for the rain and sun
to raise into fields of corn and wheat.
The pendulum arcs back and summer fades,
Earth's axis returns to a cooler inflection.
and farmers bow thanks for the harvest complete!
December, 2006
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
cloud floating,
sea dreaming
of the blossoms of
the breeze,
love, the song
has got restless
like the wind,
it is time to
burn the
alleys and
the sun,
the sea sweeps out
songless and
murmuring to
a heavy sky,
roots that have
shrunk, surrendering
flotsam and jetsam
to the sands at
low tide,
cry for the
rain,
spring, no
longer distant,
waits for a
morn of warming
sun,
you, lover of
the spring,
wait for the
crocuses to
breathe
love.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
February a baleful month
dabbed with deep darkness,
the calendar's mortuary
nature's own Gulag.
Its window opens upon
possible impossibilities
none of which yield joy.
Crows plummet murderously
from the heavens
vainly trying to flee
into spring but merely splat.
Roads are crushed
beneath a carpet of ****
Frosted blimps soar naked.
Boots refuse to stay tied.
Your parent's nightmares
freeze your sweaty sleep.
Snow falls like dead swans.
Eclairs crystallize into
lumps too solid to enjoy.
A month of undeserved
solitary confinement
that trembles the soul.
A deep achromatic terror
keening coldness
in a huge white wail
penetrating the ears
until march stops
the madness and hope
blossoms as crocuses,
apricity achieved,
small phosphorescent
dots of desire.
~mce
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
the other day
it felt like overnight
spring flowers had appeared across the meadows
cowslips spring snowflakes crocuses daisies daffodils
they tell me
in a little while it will be spring
no matter that white caps still decorate the mountains
storms blow rain sleet and snow across the land
the flowers know
they will not fold their leaves
grow back into their cozy soil and wait some more
they will defy a few more frosty days
slow down a little in their flow of energy
then blossom forth in all their power
show us that nature’s life renews itself again in force
no matter what our mood might be
flowers will bloom
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
Wind chimes softly sway in the warm breezes
Flowers grow in the fields with tall grass
Trees and roses bud
Water ripples and flows
Sunshine silently hits the ground
Clouds of fluffy white move across the sky
Birds sing in the tall green trees above
Springtime is here again for all
Little birdies build their nests
Daffodils and tulips waltz
Singing a song of Springtime
Watch the lilies bloom
Crocuses unfurl their petals
Crickets and katydids call
To one another on Spring Nights
Silently the Moon glides across the sky
All Night the beautiful Fairies sing
Waterfalls roar
Singing a glad anthem
Little creeks bubble and flow
'Tis a song of Spring
Sung by all
~Marian~
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
And the snow was melting from the hills;
Green was glowing down in the north pasture;
Crocuses were bucking a hard west wind;
Calving was swinging on, and spring barns to muck,
And you were yelling about some thing or other,
The way you always do, or the way you always did,
Back in the day when you were here,
And I was just a lazy kid.
Dad, you remain somehow this giant in my mind,
Sleeping or waking,
I see you still,
Hear your voice,
Watch you running
One job to the next,
Passionate about everything,
Restless and without rest,
Some nameless demon chasing you,
Pulling the rest of us in your wake.
So the last three nights I've seen you,
Sat at table across from you
To discuss my leaving the farm:
You concerned I was a fool to go,
And I convinced I could not stay.
I wish I knew the hold you have on me
Six years gone with you away, and me,
Two states removed and a career nearly done,
Still finding myself waking from dreams
That linger vivid on.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
At daybreak, the messenger was killed by my hand;
I grasped and cleaved the life where it once grew,
Claiming it selfishly for my own eyes to view.
Violet allured and the desire began to expand.
Each morning the secret scent of future days
Secretes whirlwinds of intoxicating haze.
A lustful hunger overtook what was planned.
Before snapping root to stem, a final call before the knell:
The delicate crocuses whispered, “Spring,” then softly fell.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 5:47 PM UTC
Part I
Crocuses sleep under the snow
And harps sing and weep happily of Winter
Tears ***** my cheeks because of the beauty
Of Winter's Prelude
Dogwoods haven't even begun to bud yet
~Marian~
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
it was milk again last night arms sweating teeth on edge and whole body steaming lathered in crocuses
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
the spring after we both killed ourselves ,
I with a box cutter to the wrists and
you by **leaping off the roof
of your business partner’s fourteen-story office** , the crocuses
came up as usual , yellow tongues
like saxophones poking
through the earth .
when you arrived to pick me up ,
I answered
the door in my underwear since ghosts have no need
for either clothing or modesty .
you stood on your tiptoes
to kiss me , and when our mouths touched we felt
that old familiar wound
of self-pity .
at the tattoo parlor ,
so I could get the vertical scars
on my wrists inked back on in a
stronger color ,
the artist
would not let a dead couple through his door .
I pleaded with him that we would tell no one else ,
that we were not like the usual dead , not scary ,
not like zombies or ****** gang members , but to no avail .
at the café where we next stopped for raspberry lattes ,
the other patrons stared at us without inhibition ,
searched the air for the smell of rot .
there was none .
later , at home after the movie in which everyone left
to sit in another theater after we entered the doors ,
you gave me a bouquet of flowers that wilted in my hands
as soon as I touched them .
we were lovers
that had lived and died together , and our date ended as
they always had in life : with both of us trying not to cry
looking at the floor and wishing we could be more
than our shared self-hatred .
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Spring is violently upon us.
The earth sings like a Valkyrie
heralding the dawn.
The anxious wait is over,
The crocuses are alive:
Golden heads thrusting
through dark loamy soil.
Spring is violently upon us
Dearest. We strain and waltz
In the dark, a gathering symphony
Explodes into the tumultuous
beating of drumming hearts.
Punch-drunk, the twits circle
Their nests, the weight of snowy
Linen on our chests, and sunshine.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
Step out of
your frigid bones.
Break into blossoms.
Snow-bells and crocuses.
Tentative daffodils.
Spring arrives
outlining a new world
and all that might imply.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
The aconites are nowhere to be seen
but at least the crocuses are in bloom.
Regretfully the snowdrops weren't in clutching swatches
but were scenic like your smile.
A promise goes a long way,
shared interests and a taxi ride
to Chippenham.
Coupledom is everything.
We learn about one another
in seasonal guises.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
The good ship you,
has flown it’s blue peter ,
hoisted it’s sail ,
Climbed its mast ,
left me as a thing of you’re past .
Last spring you left you’re safe harbour,
when the flowers were all budding ,
and the crocuses had gone .
You left a note that did not leave a smile ,
just a pale reflection of what we had not .
Did I not await alone at home for a sign ?
Did I leave imaginary footprints in you’re mind ?
Was I just to unkind ?
And life has stood still it’s outlandish affair ,
I walked in sleet just to remember .
did I really think you didn’t care ?
Now the evenings pass by without a thought ,
Won’t you help me remember?
If the snow returns next winter and the crocuses are dead ,
If I took a leaf from its flower to remember ,
then I would know in you’re heart at least I’m not dead .
But if the snow settles ,
and there isn’t a call ,
then a yellow crocus pettle must perish and fall .
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC