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kerri Mar 2016
the beginning
You dropped a seed.
I picked it up and gave it a home in myself.

the middle
It grew in my heart.
I cared so much for it,
Watered it,
As hard as it was, I even changed the soil surrounding it.
Blossomed into such a beautiful floret.

the end**
You left.
The sacred efflorescence shed its petals.
My soil wasn't enough for you.
Anon Jun 2014
Chrysanthemum,
Rose,
Buttercup.
Each morning he would guess a floret that might match
Her loveliness.
And every night,
When he pulled her close under
Periwinkle sheets
He would admit defeat.
"Of course how foolish I've been!
No Chrysanthemum can compete
With the way your velvet lips flood pink
After I kiss you, my love.
Not even the brightest rose
can compare to the sunshine
that pours from your soul
every day, my darling."
Brandy Nicole Mar 2015
Flowers upon
my page
as I
doodle my
life away
elina Jun 2016
it is raining,
with a smokiness
lisping through the
stifling air.

the haze tightens
its fist around my
neck - red tremors
in my eyes

the trembles of the
fog are grace in my
ears; but smoke alarms
still tick in these halls.
stumbling through dreams
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
.one of the great dissatisfactions of life: dreaming... which makes me suspect of the anglo-saxons and their subsequent branches of sub-ethicities... they dream... they have recurring dreams... lucid dreams... i find that slightly suspicious... i rarely dream and if i do dream, the dreams are so bogus or so uninteresting that they make no sense to: "interpret" them via any freud-cubism schematic - that a woman's sun hat implies: the depth of ****** and promiscuity, or some otherwise bogus stretching it mate, really stretching that analogy... but why do the anglo-saxons have such lucid dreams, even recurring dreams? are they descendants of joseph: der traumgehhilfe? last time i had a dream? oh... family invites me to say, three memebers of the family don't like me... **** the rest of the family with a knife, a gun and a baseball bat (somewhere in south east asia)... a few of the killed members run into the street to die... i somehow pick up a kalashnikov and shoot the murderous 3... then i jump into slender boat with a motor with 3 or 4 women... 'jesus'... and i escape the scene of retribution sailing to... cambodia! **** me... even sylvester stallone or jason statham or arnie wouldn't star in a movie as b-movie as this... but anglo-saxons seem to have the most vivid dreams... two good examples: h. p. lovecraft and william burroughs... is dreaming a form of escapism? if so, then evidently i'm quiet content with reality... like today: too much pop psychology, too much self-help guru mishmash, too much advice: not enough stories... video streaming a game being played... etc., so i retreat, even from modern music, into? here's a beginner's guide list to medieval music:

       1. qui habitat in adiutorio altissimi
       2. da pacem domine
       3. agni parthene
       4. dum pater familias
       5. chevalier, mult estes guariz
       6. virga iesse floruit
       7. walther von der vogelweide's
                 palästinalied
       8. codex buranus no. 179:
                     tempus est locundum
       9. non é gran causa
      10. herr holger
      11. herr mannelig
      12. die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft
      13. meie din liechter schin
      14. under der linden
      15. mayenzeit one neidt
      16. mönch von salzburg (das nachthorn)

   why would i have stopped at merely
Orff's reading of Carmina Burana -
                 sure... that's the entry point...
   but the radio only plays o fortuna till
the cows come home in a full-moon lit night...
yawn...
    if only: fortune plango vulnera,
      veris leta facies, omnia sol temperat,
     floret silva, or... or!
   a monk's love song for the queen of england -
were diu werlt alle min:
              were diu werlt alle min
              von dem mere unze an den Rin,
              des wolt ih mih darben
              daz diu chunegin von Engellant
               lege an minen armen.

but no... it's o fortuna or nothing from that album
on the radio...
    i get it, great song...
   but why is auld lang syne only sung once
a year, on new year's eve?!
              
as with women, so with music, one simply tires of
contemporary examples: not exactly the music
but the lyrics behind the music...
                        music will never change to appease
the brute and the beast... but modern lyricism
is just agitating... it exhaust with its choice
of subject matters...
                                and by the looks of it...
    i spend too much time with music to find myself
in needing the comfort of a woman's voice,
a cuddle or relationship or whatever you want
to call it from now on...
           i am wedded to three women that will
never materialize: Euterpe, Sophia and Amber...
and all the better...
                                i could never wallow in what's
currently being wallowed in...
by some who have these recurrent dreams
and are unable to stop them from recurring...
hence my suspicion with the anglo-saxon traits
of vivid dreaming: this cruch of relying on dreams...
of so easily being ***** by celesto-cerebral powers
that impregnate their sleeping heads with
these realities that only exist in the mind and
a sleeping mind at that!


(nb. not proof read, apologies in advance for any mistakes, upon rereading will correct if any appear - or i'll just keep them...)

look at these two slogans: let's make America great (again)!
complimenting the English variation
let's get our country back! ring any bells? i guess you must
have heard one or the other as an English speaker -
it's hardly surprising - the English Prime Minister singing
a little toodeloo then uttering the word right upon
reentering number 10 - shambles ahoy! every rat and
mutineer bailed - we're in free-fall, Trotsky had it coming,
this guy hasn't - hardliner but a bubble-gum tongue -
it stretches like a joke my English teacher said:
how was copper wire invented? hmm? two Scots
tugging and pulling in opposite directions a two pence coin -
for all their worth, they joked the blond quiff of
both Boris and President Donald Yeltsin - where one
gets drunk on egoism, the other just gets drunk -
even though they don't like him in Scotland, they sure as
hell bought the slogan like a Big Mac - the problem is
there's a zenith, and then a necessary decline -
you can reach the zenith of breaking the 100m sprint,
but then a stock-market dip (necessary) -
much of Britain's exit from the European Union was due
to the campaign trail of the Doodle T - the best politician
i assume is the one that enjoys the most prodding jokes,
which also means the majority of votes,
jokes and votes walk hand-in-hand - people don't want
leaders, they want caricatures - after all, the little existences
have to matter with a joke in the Oval office.
i can't imagine the unholy alliance of feminists running
the place in the west - Theresa May in England,
Hilary Clinton in America, Angela Merkel in Germany,
Ms. Le Pen in France, the Polish prime minister
Beata Szydło - it has to look like a 2nd Cold War scenario,
a break from World Wars... Putin and pukka Tyson Trump
on the other side, macho v. macho - man talk and
the ultimate bromance. i know that Nietzsche referenced
genius too much, assuredly i hear that a lot too around
here with child geniuses storming around for silverware -
children geniuses and not original? so technically you're
talking about data storage in porridge - trained monkeys,
right? those children will be scarred for life as if they
saw their parents ******* - what sort of genius is a genius
if he doesn't work from blank but is there are a memory
gimmick to boost hopes of curing dementia?
philosophy doesn't do geniuses, it does things like Spinoza,
solitary wanderers, loners - outsiders and mesmerisers,
there's no genius in philosophy - there's only solitude -
granted that an open-minded psychiatrist is a modern subplot
in not reading philosophy - where is the ultimate source
of compassionate solely theory based (anti) psychiatry?
in reading philosophy books rather than exercising authority /
abusing it - R. D. Laing is a perfect example -
who wrote after reading philosophy books - i mean read them,
in the English speaking world i recommend reading
the works of the anti-psychiatric movement of the 1960s,
which was much bigger than the Beat Movement - obviously
not as dazzling, but with poetry you're imitating Philippe Petit
(film, the walk) - i watched it and my legs experienced
needles, and a firm assertion of gravity and the location
of the floor - films like that are worse than horror -
you share the heart of the original, but given it's Plato's cave
we're talking about representing the events, you realise
that no matter how much you want your shadow to be
Philippe Petit, you hear from the outside world, your legs
are firmly on the ground - basically: **** that - men are not
born equal, they have to live by principle to be at least moderating
their excellence into a respectable cohesion (democracy) -
quiet simply juggling their strengths with their weaknesses -
man is not born equal, he was to strive for equal measure -
when subduing their strengths and when exfoliating them -
no man is born equal, as no man is an island - the two synchronise.
(i'm deliberately masking what's coming)...
but there is genius in philosophy - but only in one area of
interest - religion... we know that popular beliefs are
grounded in plagiarism - the Trojans became the Romans
via the accounts of Virgil, and we know the Trojans in
becoming Romans plagiarised the Greek polytheism -
Zeus became Jupiter, Poseidon became Neptune,
Cronos became Saturn, Hera became Juno, Aphrodite
became Venus... etc., it was done to mimic the Greek heart
from the defeat at Troy, to invoke a heart that overcame -
every pauper and every king would identify with
this pluralism - but a second plagiarism had to come -
it was prophetically echoed from approximately 2000 years -
the Greeks later plagiarised the Hebrew concept -
the monotheistic concept, yet because their thinking
was so advanced (or so they thought) they dismissed the
sects of the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Essenes and
the Zealots... their hero was their antagonist - and nothing
of their learning was actually work their concerns since
they boasted of their Aristotle and their Plato and their
Socrates - the peddle-stool effect appeared -
but what if a Latin man (well, these letters are Roman) were
to say - never mind the son, how about the father?
in Christianity the father is rather anonymous in his
omnipresence etc. - but let's assume on the biological tenet
that we are referring to the old testament god -
would we want to plagiarise the Greek plagiarism of
Hebrew? i already mentioned the four prime canons as
imitations of the tetragrammaton - of course they're
intended to not be identical accounts, but there must be
two that are mirror images - i.e. referring to h      &      h
of the tetragrammaton - if there are no two mirror images
then we are bothered - i can see why the Greek mind thought
that Y refers to a convergence, a mother, a father, a child
and the entry point to the gospel: a genealogy -
Y being representative of a convergence - past and present,
following through - this is all about first impressions,
from what i can remember and regurgitate back -
in Catholic school we were taught by majority the gospel
of St. Mark - the others were discredited -
i can't tell you if there are two identical gospels (or at least
with very little variation between them) - what comes after
them is what comes after all essences of religion,
bureaucracy - imams and priests, yoga teachers and
whatever it is that comes with religion for the common man,
but in the new testament this is the essence, a shady
reinterpretation of the tetragrammaton - but a Latin man
who didn't bother to attribute symbols with nouns,
but made his alphabet musically orientated for the
castrato and the choirs to come - a (alpha) b (beta)...
o (omicron / omega) it became obvious that the four letters
arranged as so with missing Adam and missing Eve
would provide more than just four interpretations of
the same event / person - for when a Greek has to cut off
-lpha from a to attach it to another letter to create meta,
the Latin man has only to cut off less, perhaps dentistry's
ah, or otherwise cut off -ee from b... the world is full
of such possibilities, and this is the only area where
genius can be applied to philosophy - the genius of
philosophy is within religion, and nowhere else -
of course mind that i don't identify myself as one -
i treat genius as an angel or a demon, that fairy-tale
race of creatures that whisper into your ear - markedly
geniuses are more powerful in demanding an individual
rather than clones of the individual, e.g. Mohammad
and Muslims, Jesus and Christians... which is why i suppose
the genius of Moses also allowed others to write on sacred
paper, but of course excluding Malachi for falling into
heresy with a polytheistic concept of reincarnation, not
oddly enough Malachi's was the last book before the two
major strands of his heresy emerged like Behemoths.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
It's now or never what awaits
Gin is forever like her collagen of skin
the wanting how her prayers got answered
The (Him) the (I-phone) not my (Apple)
My blessings I got my miracle how fate
sipped me in with my best friend
                        (Gin)
The sip loving him  gin is her oxygen
All cravings from the countries
Native American, Latin American
Afro American, and The North American
The Hotel going to all the meetings
At the Sheraton
my lip to his sunset
Makes a world of her savings

Meets to my original
Tastebuds petals
and sprinkles like bling
Watering my rosebuds
So many brands but
Modern twist
Portugal Spanish
olives trees could sing

Cat nine lives versus her
Gin of love doves pleas

Scratch me lucky seven
But  conventional
Love-seat sectional
Him- I- Gin lets be

((Gin Rational))

Like the pixel living
more with a sweet taste
Stirring and purring Cat
I-Gin him the mighty morsel
Playing black-Jack
She had the best cards
Gin* I * pack
The game is pouring
the poker lip scouring

The origin of Dracula Bram Stoker
Her wavy hair red-hot tasseled
Like waves of (Gin) rippled
She mingled like" I- Gin"
But she was more mortal
Are we on air 2 win
The News over dripping
Hot Gin story him side-slip
National sip velvet whole lip
The warmth going down
The gin was magical potent
All exotic types she dressed
in stripes
Not the American Flag

The European sip of the Gin
Meeting her man
Weaving through the warmth
Juniper Glamped Gin camper
He's so defined in his character
Gin all him her floret trim glass

The process takes time
Gin- Boss Italian glass
Florence blown
Newfangled  or seductively
Flagged in bangled worn

Entirely subjective
The Europeans Industry
Origin of the whole dynasty
Juniper berries
Like a Junior virginity-Gin
Or him___?
Far from New York City
His flight first class (Gin)
and only him
Butterflies look divine on
her breast
Like the Gin and Science test
Her cherries in her Gin Drink
His theories in his Manly winks

The gin so medicinal
How it ward off malaria
She drinks to her delicately
tone body All God-lit
Her swiftly steps fit
Shes all heart like the ballerina
She is the Grace of the gin drink
The new look on her face
The purest wings fly the best
Our time of the Origin

Women and Men start now to begin
Dressed up new technology generation
The Gin of romance mission
The next pour dripping
intense torrential rain
For the single- set such potential
The married couple drenching
drink wet was more primal

The Gin couple was immaculate
never late
They won the bet that's
Gin-like no other fate
This is about the Origin of Gin my style and how a drink can change lives or if your single talk more and starts to mingle if your married there might very well be Gin God have a party gin fire up your hot rod
Effulgent hues of spring shall be on view
They'll make for a smashing garden review
A most splendid floral display to see
Trees and vines prettily attired
Truly a glory that can be admired
The pink sweet peas o'er trellis adorning
Looking so divine at break of morning
Yellow daffodils blooming near the path's lee
Every shade of the rainbow parading
Adding lovely tones to the glading
A bursting forth of many bright flowers
Unto one's heart they'll bring such delights
In yards a vast bouquet of fair highlights
Stunning shall be these grouse floret showers
Magical silence of Midnight..
as we ponder moments of life.
Solemn  thoughts at tranquility..
Virtues guiding our pursuit..
Images of distant loves..blurr our waning thoughts..
Envisaged You through virtual reality
of thirty years or some more
so ago,
I haven't encroach Thy heart
to no one but You.
A rare bloom floret to my sight!
Beauty Ahah!,,I cant resist this thorn in my Rose Garden.
"And tempted by the charming fragrance of
the blooming gardener".- whom He divulged:
                "Purple bloom reflects a purple heart that expresses love unsurpassed,,,I am writing these words  with my crimson blood ,, to equal thy charm the glow of your love"
He recounted to me over.
Then I know I behold to keep it in my
cognizant jeweled mind, oh so dear.
With my long blondish brown hair
swaying softly cool but warm.
Truly though agitated by the
earthly abating absence-
of Your tangible touch.
Unsurpassed by my astral dream
with much ado!
Gladly remembering You,
in my fervent thoughts.
Thereby cherishing you
on times when things make sense
to me-
out of distress,
to madness so unlikely permeates.
When I am down in anguish, I couldn't weather!
                      "Let the beauty of the woven words ,,
                        guide Your day into fruitfulness, so deary,
                        "Let the rhythm and cadence gives You music in Your restlessness."
  Sir I said, ' I love You" withal affirms..
                       "Let the laughter of my jokes, '
                         lighten Your burden, ease Your yoke,
                       "Let the fire of fiery words be Your armor n silent sword!"
Woe to me as I heed to hearken and thirst for more!
                       "Let d spell of Your poignant smile,,
                         fills my cup instead of wine,,so that I may lie in deep slumber
                         as I gulp Your sweet nectar so divine!"
                         T'is lady  Rose ( scientific name liigaiea vellenoeva) is the best
                         of them all,,
                       I wanna pick her!'
He likewise and inadvertently  told thine.
Along came my sweet behold, I so to keep.
Love such a splendor, undeniably volatile,
in total intimacy desperately onto
conjures.
Yodeling and Yonder fire churning escapades,
To someday crossed our paths
should not perish, So afar!
I beseech thee, make me a swell great day!
Even though  fuming flowers and bees so abounds!
In a ROSE  minted heartland
truly endowed.
Thy thorn so stuck amidst for
You and me
For every storm to grasp its thrushes,
Be res-assured nifty and dandy
For you my daddy
to come Home to,
and hangout together.
That pokes and pukes
Lingered though day in day out,
colloquially.
From jive to logic.
From sane to insanity.
Only one soldered Thorn sojourns!
Coleman M Lowe Nov 2020
As shadows begin to engulf,
The hues that come from a well lit day.
From the multicolored palette,
Pastels turn to gray.
Shadows are forming ,
It's near the end of day.
But still,
In the eve's half light,
I spy the glimmering ,
A floret of white.
The first to catch the new mornings rays,
And the last to show through the darkening haze.
And so it cycles from light to dark.
The familar becomes unknown,
And place's of refuge,
Are now a gambit to run.
The darkness seems to lessen the gap,
That the dawn had once split wide.
But all's the same
'Cept the loss of light.
And maybe just a tiny fright
From the circuition,
This will pass.
To convert  the obscurity to comprehension.
And so reveal,
It's all a trick of the mind's eye.
Keyan R Oct 2018
What kinda flowers would you like to have?
besides my own tulips, I have
I honestly don't know much about the garden or the seeds
I know not every day is greeted by dandy lions
Or as fertilized in the fruits of its daily labor
No one owes your favor
We're all petal pushers
Waiting to blossom from the buzzin'
Not everyone has the will to stem tall
Some may wilt away; Some may brighten the day
But, I just want to floret
And never look back
Dancing on the breeze like a leaf
Forgetting the roots
What a relief
Nissa Arsenic Jan 2013
Bleak bones crumble to snow covered soil,
Flesh floret wilted flower,
Empty bottle blood sinks,
and poisoned pills pour,
Swaying sparrow feathers
rot to feed my gentle grave.
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2017
Even when I know they're but unfinished stories,
accepted pain and acknowledged sorrys,
virtual realities reflected from mirrors of a lost paradigm
and engineered metaphorically vocalized  pantomime
even when I know that they're not the end of the road
(that there're even many more miles to walk)
or even  blossoms of life within a spectral pod
but merely a beautiful view of the vast and
rough ocean from the calm of a floret mental dock
through tinted glasses in pink of perception with utmost optimism
a fairy born of refraction through a phantasmal prism
even when the universe disputes the truism of a magic wand
I still fantasize about holding your hand
and matching with you through thick and thin
for better for worse, against the torrents from foe and keen
in turbulence of rage and storms of tears till we find laughter
until the bruises of souls and hearts shattered find mending
in the enema of our blending so we can have a happy ending
even when I know forever and for always is just a true lie
and we are likely to more than anything make us cry,
I still believe in pulchritudinous endings, in happily ever after
in you and I, in the beauty of wilting roses and those in the rain
in sticking together through the pleasure and pain...
Even when I know love is just a word,
we can lend it every meaning we've ever dreamed
I still believe in real romance, in the broken being fixed
in forever being now and now being forever
in never saying never, in you and I
truth or lie, do or die... roads and bendings
long as it's with you, I believe in Happy endings...
Ignatius Hosiana Mar 2016
There'll come days when you'll have nothing to write
and trust me even that nothing will be enough
you'll try to embrace the hollow of deficiency
but choke in the dark fumes of attempting to put up a fight
against the void whilst you search for your efficiency
you will scratch your mind for just a word but in vain
shake you will the trees and nothing will fall,it will pain
no single leaf will, not even a dry little twig
you'll wander all over the gardens of creativity
but find no soft alluviums,not a single spot to dig
it will feel an unfair election that fate is going to rig
yet your petition will yield no fruit, not an apple,nor a fig
your fingers will itch worse than infestation by a jigger
with the enema of motivation present but meagre
you'll miss the days whence it rained rhymes
oh! how much you'll long for those flooding times
like a pauper loitering the streets hopelessly thirsty for dimes
and the bells of your emotions will ring melancholic chimes
as you remember that sweet piece that got many hailing your prowess
and like a snail, return will your abilities in
an unbearable wait, call it a steady progress
you will be an active volcano whose vent's blocked from within
forced to abide by the nonentity blank of where to begin
unlike the usual floret and bombastic sweet nothings
you'll draw the fly speck in ink of unclear etchings
to give definition to the infinity of your nullity
and the insubstantiality of the ink sprayed
will be tattered clothes that patch your mental ******
you won't be satiated, but you'll survive the monsters of obsession that hide
in the furthest corners of your psychomotor, deep inside
and you'll appreciate the philosophy, sometimes obstacle's the path
for the scratch and naught from your struggle'll bear worth
so never take shelter under the sunless tree of the writers block
the wave of emotions poets command can break any stumbling block
not in the best writing moods
chimaera Feb 2015
wintry sun,
brief,
byplay yard
shadowed in cold

and yet

powdering
golden tones,
drafting
a fire, a mirage.

heyday adjourned.

ethereal hibernaculum
of the light,
tilting floret in
full-blown decay.
16.2.2015
brandon nagley Aug 2015
i.

Cryeth not mine unearthly floret, for thou art good enough
Cryeth not, thine tear's art mine tear's, thine fear is mine fear;
Cryeth not mine pet, thine bijou vision's art met with mine own
Cryeth not holy apostle, thine anguishing jostle's across interweb.

ii.

Frowneth not mine protector, thine room awaiteth me to arrive
Frowneth not O' ethereal ressurector, I'm stuck sweetly in mind;
Frowneth not core of mine existence, thou art mine daily bread
Frowneth not, thine Thorn's art off, now they sit upon mine head.

iii.

Smile mine delicate sweet, I'm begging at thy feet for one laugh
Smile mine elegant treat, I'm more than happy, with thee blessed;
Smile mine earl Jane nagley, soon to taketh mine hand, two ring's
Smile mine dandy, we shalt meet soon, in ourn room, Bell's ding.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Rajinder Sep 2018
You, the ashen alyssum
homing in on dark bushes
breeding maggots
feeding on flesh.  

You the fetid parasite  
carrion, the rotten stink
a toxin laced tongue
devouring pith.

You, the stench of
malignant blossoms
a venomous creeper, you
had to attract snakes.

You live among the graves
the poison pollinator,
a corpse floret
of foul odour.

You the venin
cloaked in smirk
a shrew, spiked with malice
must be crushed,
must die.
Ignatius Hosiana Apr 2016
The Universe was  molded for you and I to share
We are created with big Hearts so that we care
  blessed with flawless eyes so we can see the road
and the might it takes to lighten a neighbour's load
these feet are built tough for the miles to walk
we have developed brains to digest and think
and the courage to sail through life like we can never sink
we have these warm arms to tightly embrace
not folding fists, holding weapons to bring unrest
We are born with curiosity,cause life's an adventure
and a difference made by you is your presence in absensure
the beautiful teeth are designed to **** your smile
not to greet in unnecessary coarse envy and bile
our experiences are for us to inspire and tell
to uplift them whose lives feel like a living hell
the mountains and hills were built for us to hike
ensure each fresh climb beats your previous height
rainbows are hope after rain, pleasure after pain
why give up the struggle when you can start again?
the gardens of life are floret scented with consolation
for broken hearts trapped in the darkness of desolation
the scars are a testimony that wounds do heal
don't let a moment the rest your life steal
the starved hunter surrenders not when he has no ****
for the sweet glowing Sun often rises after the bitter chill
these ugly poems are penned to emphasise
that the beautiful souls are seeded to empathise.
leave your footprints in Hearts and not on sand
the dust in the heart holds firmer than that on land
so use your arms, feet, might, heart and soul
use your greatest possession for the good of us all
Zafira Nadya Sep 2013
my mother told me that
I was nothing but a nymphet,
young, frail and beautiful
with lips tinted with the colour of a rosy floret

my mother told me that
I had turned into a goddess ever so divine
young, shrewd and elegant
with lips tinted with the colour of red wine

my mother told me that
I was a rose that bloomed ever so gracefully
for once I was the damsel in the distress
that became the damsel in the scarlet dress.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

I canst not thanketh thee enough, for assuaging mine pang's
On earth, in heaven, on the dwarf planet's, in thy kiss of leaven;
When thou art down, I'll taketh thine frown, when broken, when hopeless, I shalt giveth thee mine own gladness; lifting thy smile.

ii.

In cities, in town's, aloft the skies, on the ground, in the open, in the wild, cadmium yellow floret's, mine Asian child, in thy eye's;
In thy laugh, passed the noise, of hellish mess, passed the pain's, madness and stress; I shalt always be by thy waistside, mine pet.

iii.

In ourn life, and beyond ourn death's, we shalt meeteth at the place of holiness, tis not a place sculpted by hand's of men;
Tis a place of dominion's and kingdom's. Inside God's house wherein we shalt be in peace, the angel's shalt singeth, halo sleep.




©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane Nagley (Pookie) dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
pang's is sudden sharp pains or painful emotions for you who ask ...
Levi Oct 2015
O, morning that brings thrill and peace
Will revive my physique at ease
My core ignited by the sun
A dream to see her having fun

Down the road walking, wondering
There she is playing and singing
O, this sweet black haired creature
Undisturbed, an angel so pure

Wish she could turn around and look
I'll do whatever to show-off
She stand up and our sense connected
My soul exploded unprotected


Instantly I ignore her eyes
And gaze the lovely butterflies
I drain myself to capture one
To present to her but she's gone

She's walking toward her big house
I ‘am down cause she never look back
She paused outside and throws something
I dash to fetch the lovely thing

Innocently laid on the ground
A beautiful floret, I'm bound
To pick and lay it near my heart
And I walk a beautiful start..
Balloons and Flower continues...
Chandra S Jan 2020
She was a spectacular tree.
People called her the flame of the forest,
for she was obviously striking, vivid and classy.

I need not narrate the superlative majesty
of the flame – tree, for one time or the other
we have all been breath-taken by her peerless glamor.

What matchless artistry!

I am here to quickly share
my ruminative gloom for that lovely assembly
of flower, leaf and wood, which grandly stood
in a grove of possibilities, and possibilities can be
such a torment, such a calamity.



For years galore, caterpillars of choices
had been steadily eating away at her core.
They came from different directions,
at different trajectories,
with varied objectives
and fluctuating proclivities.

Sometimes, they came rushing in as family,
and sometimes they came slowly,
a little formally, a bit watchfully,
somewhat officially.

At times they came in fiery fascination
and yet, ever so often, they were charged
with marauding indignation.

Many times they arrived as blazing ambition,
but more often than not, combusted the flamboyance
leaving behind an ashen illusion.

Oh.....those craving larvae
of oblique, wily opportunities.



The foliage was feverishly guzzled
till photosynthesis was no more possible.
From my distant window from where I had once
watched her variegated flair,
I felt the Poinciana moan in simmering despair.



With biting sensitivity, I still look on, a tad tearfully,
as she continues to tumble into conscious torpidity.

My words may slip and sway, as with each wilting leaf
after each withering floret, she progresses towards
an abject decay;
imploding methodically, and transposing gradually
from being the flame of the forest
to being a sprouting forest of flames.
ArianaRusso May 2014
Reflections are a deadly thing

Peeling the skin off my face
this repulsive pulse
Hoping there is no longer I

inquiring me be me
mirror
eyes of tears
pools of fears for only my own reflection
I've been me for 16 years
16 years of fears of a reflection

An unwanted flower in a green house of orchids, laughing daffodils and bright smiling sunflowers
who would want a ****
Even cacti are alluring
but a ****
there is no need

Pluck and pull out the sight of I
no longer a ****
maybe there is a seed
maybe                                    (just maybe)
i can blossom and bloom
into the floret you will not forget

When i see my shadow
i will not ring the blues
and my color will be a ravishing hue

is this true?
Ignatius Hosiana Mar 2017
They see castles in the air, I see air in the castles
They see the end of the road as I see the road in the end
the treacherous enemy in every friend
whilst I see potential allies in every adversary
they see the peril in crossing the sea
while I tap the perilous adventures in what they see
they see the horizon of the dawn
I see the dawn of the Horizon
They time love, I love time
they see a storm in the thickest of clouds
I see a silver cloud in the heaviest of storms
they see the future, I see the millennium
they see the maximum, I see the minimum
they sleep to dream, I dream to sleep
they keep to give, I give to keep
They find a burden in the load yet I find the Lord in my burden...
They see the words in the lines, I see the lines in the words
They see shards in the whole as I see the whole in the shards
They see a Caterpillar even in the most beautiful butterfly
I see a floret butterfly in the spine-chill of Caterpillars
they see stalagmites and stalactites, I see future pillars
They see death in life, I see life in death...
because whilst they are people of the world
I am a world of the people, an outsider
beating the odds, going against currents
breaking the rules and gladly paying the price...
they view the game of life by the odds
I view the odds by the game instead and
truthfully speaking, odds don't count...
We all look at one thing, but I see
different, I always will...
Jenish Apr 2020
Little floret, little floret, when will you bloom?
Egging with watchful eyes, I waited in the gloom.
Gentle dreams hit my eyes, missed your secret dance
Engulfed in mystic fragrance, took me into trance.
Drowsy lazy timid mind, one day sure will blossom
Yes that day, spreading fragrance, makes the world awesome.
Ignatius Hosiana Mar 2016
Her soul a sky filled
      with twinkling stars
              eyes two pearly globes
of magnetic innocence
               with a red rose fragility
and floret fragrance
            even when she carries a
heart dotted with scars
   from painful inflictions during
       the battles of life
    fought and overcome
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2017
They said I could be anyone I wanted to but they were wrong
I wanted to be like your favorite song
to be a part of your magical fairytale,
your heart's charm and your soul's breathtaking Dale
I wanted to be a sunrise in your awakening
the floret that greets your smile while you reconcile
reality from the panoramic view of Wonderland
the first voice that seeks to know what Morpheus had to say
and the feet that shuffle right next to yours along the isle
as you walk into the much loathed cacophonic routines of everyday
I wanted to be the thoughts in your head as you
ply your trade from dawn to dusk
the inspiration that helps you crack every labyrinthine task,
like a lonesome butterfly dancing in elation
to relax your mind and mitigate any tension,
to help you endure racaous that comes with responsibility
and the arms that hold yours to congratulate you
upon getting through every other day,
I wanted to be the mouth that acknowledged your milestones
or the palms on the wheel driving you home
I wanted to be the shoulders you lean on
plus the arms you laugh and grieve in,
a place where your comfort does truly begin
I wanted to be your companion on this life long journey
many have deemed the rest of our lives
your blessing, alas! Your for better for worse...
I wanted to be your biggest fan as you concur the elements
to share with you proceeds from my dream tenements...
for thee so much I craved to be and tried to do more than just want
but the more I embraced desire the bigger and more excruciating her flames burnt
I said hello you said goodbye,
making me think "You can be anything" was merely a big fat lie...
Countless is the much I wanted to be, it's still haunting
that ultimately the best I could do was "wanting"...
Nothing more.
brandon nagley Dec 2015
i.

Floret of the zenith,
Shower down upon
Me; with thine arm's
Wrap and garb me,
With a diadem
Hemmed
As a rose
Petal's
Stem.

ii.

Lass, of mine desire.
There's a shimmer aside
The fire; ourn silhouettes
Trace ourn love's attire,
I calleth thee Reyna, as
I heareth the whisper
"Sire", I gently kiss
Thine hand; we tire.
Falling asleep, in ourn
Dream's, with thee I squire.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Floret is- one of the small flowers making up a composite flower head. Or a small flower.
zenith is the highest point reached by a celestial or other object.
Diadem is a crown with jewels...
Sire- is haic
a respectful form of address for someone of high social status, especially a king.
Squire means- (of a man) accompany or escort (a woman....
Haddy Feb 2018
He gave me a rose on rose day,
that shrieks of love.
An ethereal blood red rose,
that made her smile.
An ordinary move,
that shows nature's art.
The queen of buds,
that ordinance the heart.
A valiant floret,
of mystique romance.
I know everyone is busy ... of the valentine week. Bt this is for my love .. I am not busy and I don't need any special day to express my love bcz I know  you are mine forever and every day is a rose day,teddy day, chocolate day, hug and kisses day...etc for me.
I strongly believe in my love. Yeah! Its complicated, twisted and may seems like ****. Bt still I whir his name, bcz fr me he is the reason to look forward to d next day. He made me realise that I am always and beautiful and he gave me the confidence.  I love him❤
Ignatius Hosiana Mar 2016
Our Hearts will collide and I will find reason to love again
That reason will be you, you'll teach me the sweet side of pain
I'll look at the sunsets then on but through my eyes
I'll see hope for there's little difference but direction
twixt the glow of dusk and the shine of sunrise

our words will reciprocate in the wonderful texture of hello
and we will greet each other with honest smiles
like ours won't live to savour goodbye
our bodies will magnetically bombard in embrace
our eyes will lock and like diamonds will reflect the future
to fill us with hope as we foot what's left of our miles
we will realise our palms were made for each other
our lips will be honey, with the pollen of desire
we will burn and yearn,falter and learn
you will burry your past and fade will my scars
and for the wonder of the sparkle in your eyes
there will be fault in the perfect construct of the stars
like flowers seasons will come to fade and to bloom
and I will stick through the joy and the gloom
we will drink from the adulterated cup of gossip
which poison will intoxicate us with one sip
but we won't let that permanently suffocate our amour
You will be my Queen, and I your knight in shining armour
and like magical fountains down a stream
we will sprinkle our passion and dare to dream,
in the face of melancholy we will wipe our tears
or pop a few tops off vintage wines and beers
you will be my story and I too'll be in your tale
and we will on and on narrate our escapades through Hell
how we sailed over and past the waves till we found calm
it will be a floret narrative of struggles overcome
someday we'll meet and you will give a ****
I will be surprised and probably freak out
because my entire existence rests upon pillars of doubt
yet I'll give us a try without a sigh
on that fateful day that's very yet to come
you will be the aris of love that flies me high
I'll be drunk in love, contented with my addiction
and satisfied with the small room I'm given in your heart
where  I will rent without anticipating eviction
we will fight to make up, wound each other just to heal
you will get over your fears and I'll learn pride is a pill
we'll realise that albeit at times we're bad for each other
those are just the small defects present on the best deal
and we'll find reason to cherish and love each other still
because that's what happens when we find someone true
someone who means it when they say "I love you"
this happens when Hearts are meant, I'm not a prophet
how different can it be yet lovers suffer a similar fate?
Do you recall the Sunday girls of years past , soft lavender linens
with a colorful floret in their braided hair , just to one side , right above a pretty ear .. Gorgeous pastels , daisy petal smiles and sun dresses as pretty as a rainbow , the lovely magnolias of my hometown ...

Wisteria and gardenia , honeysuckle and rose ...Beautiful influences ,
proper damsels gracing mahogany pews , cherry lips and blushing
rosy cheeks , lifting the congregation with pitch perfect song ....
Young belles escorted home by infatuated farm boys astonished by
their beloved charms ...
Copyright February 7 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Heidi Ludwiczak Feb 2018
Even flowers do not bloom at the same time,

The earth will be dull if they all do ----

So why are you forcing your floret to open?

You are not a Rose -- it grows in cool

Sunflowers blossom under the bright sky ---

Whilst your time is in Summer day.
Do not compare yourself with other people, we all have our time to shine.
A comparison on blossoming flowers if not now it will be someday soon.
Ignatius Hosiana Feb 2016
I don't want to use the same words as others do
hence I wonder what else can speak my truth
without altering the simplicity of my honesty
without unclear hyperbolic vocabulary
that might instead drive you away
I want to speak with confidence however
much relaying to you without a single stutter
is a day dream bordering the fantasy
I want to coin the most rare of phrases
which could conjoin to display my emotions
just like a network of roads connecting different places
I want to speak light to your darkness
to open your beautiful hazel eyes
with the realness of my heart
I want you to share with me my hurt
forever if that exists & never drift apart
to lend words to that which in my soul lies
a place where reality blossoms and lie dies
I want to praise you more than the eagle praised tortoise
not to make you think you can fly but to have your focus
I want to assure you that much as joy I bring
where good happens, I know the bells of bad may ring
I want to let you know you're more floret than flowers
without losing grasp of my oratory powers
I want to hold your palm & place it on my chest
& let the rate of my beating heart explain the rest
without seeming weird or too direct
I want us to share an eternal bond that won't disconnect
like the attachment the Ocean shares with the River
till death do us part,like scotch and a guzzlers liver
I want to explain how long I've waited for this
and how badly my lips do long for a kiss
that doesn't sum up my encounter with you
but stays on our mind for infinity,that sticks hard as glue
I want to let you know I saw beauty when we met
and that endo-glamour you hold
so much deserves to be told and retold
in a love story you and I can transcribe if I'm not too late
I acknowledge you're a lass out of this planet
and I probably ain't worth a touch of your garment
but I desire to share in your terrene
for in your presence I have known real serene
I want to match with you across the holly
isle though I don't fancy weddings
savour moments as we journey & pray for happy endings
I want you to be that character in my love story
a story where I drive back home to your arms
embrace you tight, have a feel of those bums
where we plant roses and lilies & watch bees hum
I want my kids to have you as their mom
and be proud of their father for finding
them such a sweet and caring mother
I want you to believe there isn't another
I want you to want me too like I you
I want you to know how much I love you
but i cant place the right words to use
to express exactly what I feel because
you're one hell of a treasure I can't afford to lose
Jackie Wilson Sep 2015
a new winter world
of rich snow,
a head of fresh cauliflower
with floret trees.
zebra Jul 2019
she moves her mouth
wet lip chatter and eating
it makes me think
of her pinkish ****** lips
and her tender tawny ******
like a lollypop
a surprise tootsie roll center
with a urethral delicate opening
the **** eye
her pipsqueak fig staring myopically

a dark vulnerable miasma
it is the shape of gods 3rd eye

a material correspondence
to the heavens
not the sky that whistles through canyons
but the astral worlds of angelics'
a thanksgiving feast
of rebuked back door paradise
a glistening hemic muscle
vomiting stormy air
for my throbbing nightingale protuberance.

as it swells imperious *****
and raptures tight waving spasm's
from long smooth canoe strokes
squirting succotash and tadpoles
into her velvet
banana booth
chapel of ****

and greedy ache
smothers gloriously
this melodic snake
in her one eyed doll head

she smiles
i need it in the ***

and i asked
as it winked a drivel

dark floret  
do you love me?
******
Andrew Guzaldo c Sep 2018
“Beyond this of my coastal lugubrious ,
There was a time I held her hand,
As I slowly watched her floret,
Her beauty adorned like petals cockled,

I grew intoxicated with the scent carapace,  
As we quivered within a new romance,
Becoming immune to its constant presence,
When the wind shifts it drew her aura near,

I had to stop and hear the pounding of waves,
Only to find it was the beating of my heart,  
Our love was of genital flames that night,
And I loved her even more at the dawn,  

My heart now bears an untold story,
Like a ship at sea that longs for land afar,
A great untruth my lips have borrowed,
Boundless treasure now edging my heart,  

Your love had filled my cup up to the brink,
Yet I grow thirsty in this silence tween me,
Now not a drop of love for me to drink,
Love now has left me again on this my,
Lugubrious Islet”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/11/2018 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/11/2018 ©    Poem # 122

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