"fertilize" poems
A man is like a flower
Starts with a bud
Blossoms into its nature
Natural ecstasy and perfection
In time it wears out too
Finally falls off the tree
A natural process
A natural phenomenon
Naturally the man
See as a flower
All the nature of being
To the base is the same
The intelligence the man puts into saying
That he is only the creature of importance
And everything in the world are the resource
Resource to be consumed by himself
Is the false flag he is raising
And is in the denial of the very nature
Anything which is resonant
And synchronous to the nature
Has the time in nature to the eternity
Whereas if not
In accordance to the nature
Sooner or later
On the verse of decay
On the verse of extinction
I see the human race is in the path of extinction
As civilization denying nature rather than glorifying
Human beings are far from the true essence
And are not synchronizing in the heart
Of the very nature
The so called intelligence
is what humans praise and glorifying
A lot full of ****
And it is a shame
We see the population of human species
To rise and rise
So may presume the statement
I just stated to be false
But seeing the thought processes
And so called intelligence
Is setting the human species
To a sense of decay
The step to the human race to demolish its own race
Is a unjustified intelligence in itself
The truth and laws of nature
Being in shade
Humans incorporating thoughts
As a tool of destruction
Rather than construction
In the field of criticism rather than motivation
In the field of extinction rather than sustainability
In the field of destruction rather than collaboration
And effort in maintaining the continuity
Of equilibrium and resonance with the nature
On the contrary
Making critics and complain about the others
Not realizing all are the part of the whole
Is creating a challenge to the nature
Going off beat with the nature.
We shall know
Anything not synchronous
And not resonant to the nature
Nature wipes out sooner or later
We cannot accept the very fact it is true
Even seeing our own life
As a child
The bud to the flower
The youth
The perfection in being and entire existence
The new ideas and new world
The fruit of generation brings about
The generation to come
To fertilize the seeds of the existence
The old age
To be renewed thoughts
Nature wipes out as per the plan
of its own
Accept it as a reality
As it is the truth
The sharpness of flower
Remembered as the youthfulness of flower
The bud is treated emotionally
With care as it is to be the perfection
In the time to come
The flower to be wiped out is respected
As it was once a perfection
Once roared the magnificence of itself
Upon this very world
The being-wiped flower doesn’t ask
For its claim in the now world
And indulge the new with its now state
But appreciate the perfection once it had
Make believe the youthful flower to blossom
And accept its own existence in the present.
Every species and beings
Are in the nature of being
We are no different from the other species
We are no superior and at the same time no inferior
To the other species
And not the other species to us humans
Everybody and everything
Is the part of the whole
The whole is the nature itself.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
An Epithaliamium
So Man, grown vigorous now,
Holds himself ripe to breed,
Daily devises how
To ********* his seed
And boldly fertilize
The black womb of the unconsenting skies.
Some now alive expect
(I am told) to see the large,
Steel member grow *****
Turgid with the fierce charge
Of our whole planet's skill,
Courage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will,
Straining with lust to stamp
Our likeness on the abyss-
Bombs, gallows, Belsen camp,
Pox, polio, Thais' kiss
Or Judas, Moloch's fires
And Torquemada's (sons resemble sires).
Shall we, when the grim shape
Roars upward, dance and sing?
Yes: if we honour ****
If we take pride to Ring
So bountifully on space
The ***** of our long woes, our large disgrace.
8.8k
Pull the weeds, plant the seeds
this is what the garden said
choose what stays
choose what goes
be mindful when you do
the silver oaks darken the sun in the mind
trim the trunks, so light may you find
the bindweed traps the heart
clip the vine, free the art
the poison oak stings your delicate hand
let the goats eat these weeds right off the land
the pompous grass clouds the soul in your eyes
pluck these weeds before they set and rise
the deadweed piles darken your spirit
compost the weeds, lighten your merit
plant the seeds of love, hope and color
water with nourishment, fertilize with wonder
and you will warm the heart of another
and then,
begin again,
pull the weeds
plant the seeds
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC
I think I finally understand.
I'm the part of you you'd never felt worth venturing
And you're the part of me that I always desired,
That driven connection we have,
Its like two souls intervene so magically , so effortlessly,
That magnetic field we resonate ,
Is connecting us beyond what we ever expected,
No pressure, No negative intuitions,
Your spirit rejuvanates my spaces of unfurnished emptiness,
Your honest acceptance of me is chivalrous,
Need i say much about how comfortable we ease ourselves to let it go,
That deep spiritual connection we have is something i want to cherish,
I love how you throw off your inner thoughts at me,
Your love is enticing, so sensual,
I want you to indulge in my overflowing appetite of love for you
Let me love you inside out,
Allow me to counterpoise your darkside,
I wish to reside in the space between your heart and loneliness so that the two may never meet again,
You started a war in my heart, and I can't let it end now baby,
I am going to surrender to your carefree love,
Temper me with your protectiveness,
I wont be able to resist your soul,
I want to be in your circle of growth,
Fertilize me with your pureness,
Your ravishing personality amazes me,
Oh sweetheart,
Our craving and desire for one another light's us up whenever we meet eyes now. I never want that to go away,
For all that we had in the past, For all that we have now, lets allow our hearts to lead us into this path of perpetual love. <3
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
~**My portrait was painted by Jackson *******
<|>
“***there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and perception is only your truth.
Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips, you make them into paintings that hang in your own private museum,
but signed by me as first passenger***”
<|>
when did I write these words?
can’t recall, though undated,
they seem all too familiar, and thinking that if I didn’t,
I should have…
for the title of this ‘poem painting’ has lain in quietude,
a resident in my file of
“someday writs, awaiting,”
when the itch demands you will
essay
**the admixture of words and swords
that will cut a newborn corded reciprocity of thee and me,
an unbound bind that ties and frees us
from and by our shared senses…**
today, an inadvertent blinding sunlight stumble is demanding a
fulsome scratching
<|>
the portrait of each is the irrational intersectional of splats and drips,
each viewer, reader, filters the image through a common
uncommonality,
which is as it should be,
**for if we are each created in His image,
how glorious is the diversity of our deities,
each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau
of a small planet, insignificant but
uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,**
human
<|>
the précis of this conundrum conversation bewilders,
a single word drops,
of plaint, paint, blood,
a seconds blush blurred
that is the building blocks of imagery
I state is mine,
but now realizations swiftly fertilize,
**the portrait is not of me,
but of me blended into thee,
and this poem,
is our composition**
that hangs in each of our primary
museum,
newly re-titled,
A Passenger, Realized
Sep 14, 2023
Sep 14, 2023 at 7:10 AM UTC
walking down park
amsterdam
or columbus do you ever stop
to think what it looked like
before it was an avenue
did you ever stop to think
what you walked
before you rode
subways to the stock
exchange (we can’t be on
the stock exchange
we are the stock
exchanged)
did you ever maybe wonder
what grass was like before
they rolled it
into a ball and called
it central park
where syphilitic dogs
and their two-legged tubercular
masters fertilize
the corners and side-walks
ever want to know what would happen
if your life could be fertilized
by a love thought
from a loved one
who loves you
ever look south
on a clear day and not see
time’s squares but see
tall Birch trees with sycamores
touching hands
and see gazelles running playfully
after the lions
ever hear the antelope bark
from the third floor apartment
ever, did you ever, sit down
and wonder about what freedom’s freedom
would bring
it’s so easy to be free
you start by loving yourself
then those who look like you
all else will come
naturally
ever wonder why
so much asphalt was laid
in so little space
probably so we would forget
the Iroquois, Algonquin
and Mohicans who could caress
the earth
ever think what Harlem would be
like if our herbs and roots and elephant ears
grew sending
a cacophony of sound to us
the parrot parroting black is beautiful black is beautiful
owls sending out whooooo’s making love ...
and me and you just sitting in the sun trying
to find a way to get a banana tree from one of the monkeys
koala bears in the trees laughing at our listlessness
ever think its possible
for us to be
happy
Nikki Giovanni, “Walking Down Park” from The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1996 by Nikki Giovanni.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Women are very strong and powerful
No one can convince or confuse me
to think otherwise
I think Nature is not very nice to her
When she chooses to not fertilize her eggs,
she goes through pain every month
When she fertilizes her eggs, she has
to deal with changes in her body for
nine months. And then, childbirth pain.
Even the society is not very nice to her
If she's qualified for the job,
give her an equal chance
And pay her what she truly deserves
Also recognize her for her hardwork
But we know that's not how it goes
Against all odds, she still stands strong
Lots of accomplishments in this world wouldn't have been possible without her
Without her, the entire society will fall to the ground
Let's give her the respect and
credit she deserves.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 2:19 AM UTC
A whole new spiral,
Trees upon a coil,
Ink from leagues,
Written feathers,
Drizzled down as oil,
Evermore,
Nevermore,
Less is more,
All.
Reverse inside-out,
Springs before fall,
Trojan powered horses,
Mother Nature's fickle,
In life we really are all,
Trapped within a pickle...
Steal the base,
Capture the flag,
Always run the risk,
Chess played on a checker board,
Hands turned into fists...
The endless stairs,
Rise & fall,
Chutes & ladders,
Poles,
Elevated,
Reciprocated,
Orbital magnetic pull...
This way,
That way,
Three rights make a left,
Two of either,
Horizontal shift,
Four times,
Stuck in circles...
Full Moon,
Half Moon,
Crescent Moon,
**** cheeks...
Face cheeks,
Two lips,
Uranus,
**** facts...
The Owl asks "Who?"
Not how many licks,
Cracked.
Tongue twister,
Riddle fister,
******* fcking dcks...
Creation.
Destruction.
Under construction,
Living life,
Chasing death,
Don't forget to function...
Playing hooky,
Hooked on phonics,
Telephone,
Hello?
Lose the "O",
Cheerios,
Rolled away,
Hell.
Pacific Bell,
Pack Bell,
Liberty Bell,
Cracked.
Xs,
Os,
Hugs,
Kisses,
Followed crumbs,
Smacked...
Cacophony of words,
Magnified to deaf,
Pantomime,
Mr. Mime,
Jynx,
Hypnotic crest...
Abra,
Kadabra,
Apply directly to the forehead...
Water your brain,
Fertilize,
Extra fries,
Exercise...
A to Z,
1, 2, 3...
F*cking A,
We say...
Today is here,
The end is near,
All come here to stay...
Escape rope untethered,
Weather altered sky day.
Gaze at stars,
Hollywood floor,
Rich,
Poor,
More...
Life is great,
Life is crap,
You decide,
Not me...
Cause all I see,
Is cacophony...
No sense inside of "we"...
Here we are,
We've come so far,
RELAX...
Have fun at last...
Half full,
Half empty,
Shattered...
At least we have the glass......
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Once I had a dream that there was drought,
I never believed because I had a doubt;
If that soon happens, I might die about,
For I am just a vulnerable flower waiting to sprout.
The next night, I had dreams that reign;
At first, I thought it was a mild and a light rain,
Too bad, it became a storm and it gave me pain;
Oh no! I am just a vulnerable flower and it might grant me bane.
The third night, I had a dream so true,
That once a gigantic wind came through;
Clue is to be ready but unfortunately, it blew,
Halt! I am just a vulnerable flower and it made me blue.
By the morning, I realized and already knew,
That it was just a flashback of yesterday’s dew;
Standing still in the sandy earth as crew,
Made me realize, I am just a vulnerable flower and it made me new.
Weeds beside me might steal the rain from me,
But, still, it’s not enough for them to be happy;
For too much rain rotten our freshness’ quality,
But I am just a vulnerable flower keeping my identity.
When the sun smiles is for me a glimpse of happiness,
That even a vulnerable flower must be given sunshine’s bless;
Thus fertilize with happiness to avoid multiple mess,
For I am just a vulnerable flower who needs caress.
What I want is just a particular time,
Where rain and sunshine meets in the rhythm of the chime;
The rainbow is what I am waiting for a time of prime,
For I am just a vulnerable flower who dreams sometime.
If love could be just rain and happiness be sunshine,
I’ll give you excess of it and give me assurance that you’re mine;
Enough rain and proportion of sunshine must be given to my vine,
For I am just a vulnerable flower as balanced as wine.
If my contentment be a rainbow, then let it be you,
For you have given me rain and a sun’s smile too;
More than that, the remains of love is dew, is what I hold into,
For I am just a vulnerable flower, contented to have you.
If I could be just a flower, then it would be better,
I might color your day and make it even sweeter;
Brighten your face and make your heart even lighter,
For I am not just a vulnerable flower, but I am a flower and a lover.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
Swing high, swing low
To the different birds I say hello
Then monsters come to devour the pretties
They grin and show me teeth full of flitties
Swing high, swing low
A demon pushes me onto a spiky pillow
Then cotton candy softens the blow
and turns to blood
Swing high, swing low
I really do not know
Why the female body causes so much distress
When the moon decides that it's time to fertilize
Swing high, swing low
There are no seeds to sow, so
please, hormones, just leave me alone.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
The writer is
bound by the Oedipus
cauldron stewing can't relax
--all women are mine--
but this doesn't stop the bloating bubbles.
But the writer did not invent Wonderlandia
--no double-sided tape or wrong number or sloppy poetics.
Wonderlandia was born from the ***** of the stars
--our fathers,
and the void of space,
--our mother's womb.
the writer
was busy staring at the girls that walked by
ditch diggers for renovations on Euphoria.
The hippies are disappointed in this current Wonderlandia,
or they would be.
Their dreams had dirt in the mud,
they walked upon. Our Woodstock
is celebrity interviews,
reservations failing,
political satires--the last ring of change
sold at five cents a word. Period.
the writer
says it understands and writes:
"Sticks shaped from elitism
rare.
Usually a vibe too brittle,
breaking in battle.
The bass thundered robins.
The snare's firearm stabled the swift,
electrifying beat.
The brass was addiction
to the crowd's ears.
All before the elitism was born,
a symphony was constructed in the drug's head."
the writer
knows about D. A. Levy and his revolution,
we all felt that voice, so the writer replies:
"Did you hear about the John Lennon poser
waving his gun on TV?
While listening to the Beatles, you
sit and watch the vagabond cry.
He says, "Counter-culture is dead, entombed
in a metal casket.
We need a new flame. Those watching TV
get your hands out of the basket."
the writer
walks with grandma Alice
by lakes,
thrilling dementia
"Don't tell me what taurine
and caffeine can do to my heart.
I can have alligators in my rib meat
eating away at bone marrow.
High? That's your question?
Hi...I am a float
in a useless pond
bordered by malnourished trees.
By the love of hell you better not
fertilize those ****** trees
because if I die
the alligator of my ribs
will dine and take your ****
girlfriend straight to the vet.
I thank you for asking though."
the writer misses
the syrup in the tree completely
I am not your beatnik
or future idol--burn your 1970's classrooms away.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
You hear the sound of your skull c r a c k i n g.
That’s
all.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
I wanna grow old with You
I am living for You
I am serving You
But Lord, it's all because of Your grace.
Like a tree,
I will be rooted in You
Deeper and deeper
Will fall in love with You
The wind will blow
But surely, I will remain
Standing still
Knowing that You are my God.
I will grow higher
Upwardly, You'll see me
Some of my roots
Will be lateral
Grinding itself to the ground of Yours
To Your promised land.
I will be like Redwood Tree
Interconnected with other roots
We'll have the connection of love
Of great encouragement
To strengthen each other
That none may fall.
I will grow outwardly
That I may bear fruits
That will last forever
Taste my labor oh Lord
May I please You.
I will grow inwardly
There's a hole in me
That only You can fill
Lord, I will love You more
The more empty I am,
The more broken I am,
The more you'll move.
I praise You
And I will rise for You
And flourish the Kingdom of Yours
Help me indeed
Fertilize my soil
Give me the living water
I exalt You!
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Desires aren't ripened tangerines
They do not fall off the tree when they are ready
They do not fertilize the roots below
They do not shrug off the sense of un-pickedness,
just like that,
Not like tangerines do.
Desires unspent are starving termites.
They bite into living bark
And burrow into the breathing deep
Past rings and rings of precious age.
They corrupt the tender core
And, soon, no new leaves grow
And no more fruit drops.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
This is a time of
separating paths
but pacts need not
be broken.
You and I will know.
Know all the cars
that cross the border
past the weathered sign.
Welcome To A Brand New Place
I can see your face
reading the words
but your lips don't move
your eyes don't blink.
Stand over the bridge and
let pebbles fall into the river.
I needn't hold on
to these former times
I find they remain.
This is a time.
Blessed are those able
to relinquish control
to the trees.
Blessed are the trees
whose falling leaves
fertilize the soil.
You sit there
steering wheel in hand
facing something and saying
so this is God
I am a mere child
once more.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
I throw my words to the compost heap
with the rinds of so many others.
The poetry that has been deciphered
til there is no surprise left.
I ***** them in to incubate
and fertilize the fields of my heart.
Then I shall glean them
to harvest the poems of my Soul.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Some day your rolling obsidian waves
will fertilize the ****** shores of my spirit
but for now i sit with dead dog eyes
turned upward
and opened wide
Searching for eternity
in the bursting plumage
of your midnight lotus
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 10:33 PM UTC
What man would buy me a ticket,
and into a cocoon where moss bites?
I would sting like bees on buds,
or ***** rushing to fertilize, create
an angel no other gentlemen touches
with white hair, eyes like sesame seeds:
she seems more attractive than the
woman he made love with, for certain.
Looks unnatural to swim in a pool
when a waterfall can pour ice onto his
head: just as viney-things drape me.
I am but a fair girl, have no color.
He could not love me beneath green,
there is no comparison, me and trees,
but he does, and I feel April will return
sooner and ruddier than anticipated.
May will bark like a dog: on my knees,
cradling children who hold vanities up to
my forehead, I boast a bellyful of bugs,
brick-hued and even with red stripes;
I think they must wear sweaters to bed.
How noble in our thirty-six months!
We cuddle baby slugs, not counting sap,
then burp their brothers, spout-mouths.
He is, in fact, the man that would do
the unthinkable grey-lipped love,
authors gather inspiration from and
snakes slip, spiders webbing shapes of:
cocoon with our metamorphosis in mind.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
Maybe someday people will speak of a great group of logical poets. It will be a group though. Maybe a help group for the more fragile ones. Not the type of fragile you are...the type that breaks. Carry on army, and tend to your fellow army members' wounds. Maybe someday you will see that you have fake bullets. Fully automatic, with hollow points and full metal jackets
You like my poem, then i'll like yours
we don't have to call it reading
even if yours could heal my sores
mine would be all i'm needing
i like your whole style of no style
nothing to do with form or function
you say it's not a one way street
when i see you at every junction
to be honest, it fills me with fear
hitting like becoming my being
then i will get roped into even more
when less is all i'm seeing
because this group is the real world, on a page, in cyberspace. My mind isn't real, because you can't see it, and it can't hit the like button for me. I must be as insane as you think i am.
It tickles my pickle to see the same poets that pointed at me years ago writing the same exact poem over and over. Talking about writers block like it's real. I stick to my guns and my guns are automatic. If you have a block, you're not a writer. You are still used for building though. Building what you hate, building what i love. I know some are blocks of **** but they fertilize, at least. Thank you truly. If you hadn't kept putting me to sleep, i wouldn't have had so many awakenings. I do see the good, in blocks. One thing about a big block is that it gets cut into pieces, to make smaller blocks. Then you get mixed in with other blocks that you want no part of. I guess then, you and the other blocks just stand for that one building. You know...the 1 million square foot ranch. It has a basement, but no upstairs.
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 11:04 PM UTC
I like to think I'll find peace for me
resting beneath a sycamore tree.
I can't feel its roots burrow into my body,
sapping me of my strength.
No
No
No
No
No
Can't you see?
There is peace beneath this sycamore tree.
Look at how it shelters me
in the shade, so I can't see the sun.
No
No
No
No
No
What on earth are you telling me now?
This is just a simple sycamore tree
it is not acting sycophantically.
I'm not held down, it's protecting me.
No
No
No
No
No
*It wants your death to fertilize its growth.
You're rooted to the sycophantic tree.*
Just go, there is nothing here for you.
I'm corrupted, leave without me.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
Black. Ugly. Growing.
It mustn't be allowed to fertilize.
It must be felled with a well aimed blow.
In the midst of the dozen red roses,
It is the Black Rose covered with thorns.
Pain. Blackness. Piercing Intensity.
I wonder. I beg. I plead.
There is no progress, only decaying emotions.
The only release possible presents itself.
Nonexistence.
Thoughts piercing my skull,
Whirling 'round, seeking escape.
Finding none, they make their own exit.
Pain ends in unconsciousness, unconsciousness in....
Nonexistence.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
When you make a
Chili dog you never
Forget to slice the onion
Into translucent white
Slices and make sure
Your mustard is dotted
With brown flecks
Make sure you have a tall
Frosty beer the color of
October sunsets
Lay back in a chair
And kick your feet up
For me
When your song comes
On your headphones
Dance like a chimpanzee
Amongst Ikea furniture for me
Don't think of me
When the sky is stained
Pink orange and aqua
Think of something better
Something that is real
Something whole
That doesn't want what
Everyone else wants it
To want
When you stand next to
My coffin
Throw an orchid for me
Or whatever flower is
Cheapest because honestly
I don't know what you're
Throwing
Make sure the soil is
Heavy and wet
Make it clump over the
Cross I didn't want
On the top of my
Pine box
Make sure you think about
How roots and grass
Will grow through me
Eat me and grow
Without a thought
If nature ceased to
Persevere
Humanity would be
Absurd in its
Reckless building
Destroying and poisoning
When you look at my
Pine box think about
Repetition and death
Think about moments
Of brilliance and the years
That beat them back
Remember that hollowness
Is its own form of substance
Most importantly
Remember that a chili dog
Needs onions
And that one day
Your corpse
No matter where it lays
Will fertilize future life
And the circle eats its own tail
Its own tail
Its own tale
Surrender your meager twitching
To the echoing riff of the complete
Watch yourself dissolve
Into the void's cast shadow
Let your panic be snuffed
By the beating of bees wings
And the sorrowful violin
Of crickets legs
At dusk
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC