"flourishes" poems
Translucent
A burned dream
Fingertips at trembling galaxies
Remembering stolen breaths
Dismantled from rusted logic
A steel garden flourishes
Sealed with infectious passion
A reflection of mirrored pain
Emerging bloodless depths
Rising to a caged silhouette
Shrouded in sacrifice
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
I am assured by my loving mother as a child
I believe her because the beauty in everything flow’rs and flourishes
when you’re young
The world is yours to take, everyone is yours to meet, everything is yours to do;
and I believe her.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
My first friend at school proclaims,
and I believe them.
We’ve tackled ***** training and preschool, now onto the playground and phonics!
We run and run together, taking the world like we’ve
whispered once before;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The middle school test scores announce,
and I believe them.
Primary school is in the past and I’m ready for responsibility!
I put on makeup to feel pretty, care about my grades more than the teachers believe and flash my smile to the boys who spit “compliments” at my feet;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
but.. I don’t believe them anymore.
I’ve gained just enough confidence to smile at everyone in the halls in case they are having a bad day.
Suddenly my youthful euphoric vision is graffitied with hateful words and violence.
I run and constantly chase the innocence of the world,
being surrounded by darkness.
My self esteem has hit an all time low. Why is the world this way?
My friends and I chase what we used to believe and end up in deep holes;
and I don’t believe them anymore.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
And it doesn’t matter.
I have lost all hope of finding that beauty.
My heart is an aching mess of “I love you”’s
But all I hear is “you are meaningless”
Slowly these phrases of deep hate sear into my soul
I hear them every day and every night
You are meaningless
You are not worthy
You could not possibly be good enough
Until I wake up one dismal morning to realize that I have been defined by the ones around me.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
..and enough!
Because even my friends who say I’m worth something turn around and sneer at others like they can’t too be loved.
Because while the world screams “I hate people” I whisper
“but I don’t”.
But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things
because we’ll find someone who loves us, right?
No.
Our words between just us mean nothing if we spin around and
spit in others’ faces.
And we know we hurt because we’ve been hurt but we don’t stop, none of us stop.
I dream of a world that screams a vulnerable
“I love you”
out into the world instead of a pulsing
“I hate you”
And a world that remembers that we are all worthy of love and not only the kind that makes you blush.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The phrase I’ve heard since I was in my mother’s gentle hold
can only mean so much when you think you’re crumpled.
Stashed away until you’re needed
always feeling so defeated
but the truth
not told enough
to our weakened souls
We are all worth more than the marigolds
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
we hail from synonyms
replicate those isles of dirt
jagged colossal terrains of earth
which sprouts to scrape
the wisps of pearly clouds
where marble and stone
splintered scorches of gnarled bark
where the soft paws of preying lions
roam within the sea of swaying golden grass
where each stroke of a feathered wing
flourishes the air with its mighty swing
and the threshold of mysterious beings
idle in mischief of deep blue seas
and those salty shores
swallow the iron hulk of ships
and ferocious savages of nature's call
groaning in mourn for her body
her crevasses and pools of spilling
crystal cerulean water
where the malachite moss
sits in stone of endless time
and trees groomed of wind and sun
prideful beneath the drink of the setting morrow
she yearns for the claim of her shape
for the purity of her waters like blood
her parched throat of sandy desert lands
amputated into wells of gorging oil
she suffocates from her very existence
a poison to herself
and as the days wan to a fast massacre
to her own suicidal mission
to feed our negligence
we label:
humanity
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
There's a flower
that grows
in the darkness.
It actually flourishes
in the shade.
It blooms in spite
of the darkness
when sunlight
begins to fade.
So many reasons
it shouldn't exist.
I wish it’s beauty
could be celebrated
with a smile.
As one of
those flowers
I may as well bloom,
because it’s gonna be
dark for a while.
There’s a flower
that grows in darkness.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
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Speechless thoughts on site
Objective strictly unknown
Defining subjects involved
Choose double meanings
Mood swings to decipher
Flourishes seek entry
Results don't matter
Engaging makes us think
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 7:53 AM UTC
My dreams
do not come attached to
the ideals of my people
or the sacrifices of another country.
Instead I am poor
and mine are clinging to life
the very idea of existence.
Mundane flashes--
not adventurous endeavors
nor flights around the world
this is what richly folks do.
Simply a mingler
someone whose life
flourishes around the bends
of florescent street lights
and panhandling
nearby a farmers market
just after sunrise.
This remnant is few
as these are neighbors
local countrymen
who stoically face
the world's deviation
and deprivation
from coexisting
by the bonds of
agriculture and personality
even as a beggar
it is but a joyous memento
to a world that
no longer thrives.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor.
I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood,
Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe,
Hanging on for it's own amusement,
Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time.
I feel I shouldn't like your racket,
My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound,
But also a daunting undertone,
Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters.
Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving,
Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery,
Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones.
For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage,
I hear only the low notes,
Out of time with my quickened pulse,
And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps.
But you play for no pay,
Busking in this hospital,
Doing good both night and day.
Yes, you are well known in this place,
Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance,
And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel,
Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering,
Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto.
But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice,
Allowing flourishes and improvisations.
But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly,
The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments,
Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family,
As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again.
Now I am older and a little wiser,
I reflect and ruminate on this period;
My memories of family are more than just hospital visits,
And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you?
Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
How beautiful is the
Rose flower of my heart,
She is more beautiful
Than the flowers in Aburi,
How beautiful is the
Mother of my heart,
She is a blessing to her family,
How beautiful is her
Dusky looking bark,
Her brave stands for justice
Like Yaa Asantewaa,
How beautiful are my lover’s lips,
Just like that of Frimpomaa,
How beautiful is the lady
Whose beauty Brightens
My heart like her words,
She flourishes like
Koforidua flowers,
How beautiful is the lady whose
Love can control my queer destiny,
She is like unto Nyarkowaa,
How beautiful is the convex hips of the
Lady who can make me go crazy,
She is like unto Adwoba,
How beautiful is the lady who can
Make me disobey my creator,
She is like unto Makeda,
How beautiful is the lady who has
The power to make me loose hope,
She is like unto Daehafi,
How beautiful is my blessed lover,
She is highly favoured like unto Sekina,
How beautiful is the queen of my heart,
She is reliable like unto Cleopatra,
How beautiful is my lover who causes
The will of the Gods to come to pass,
She is like unto the Timbuktu woman,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has faith like unto seed,
How beautiful is my butterfly,
Her love is stronger than tens
Of thousands of chariot
Descending from mountain Afajato,
How beautiful is the
Keeper of my heart,
She has the power to
Break my heart like Nefertiti,
How beautiful is the
Keeper of my love,
She is a mother of all
Generation like Ma’at,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is faithful like the air,
How beautiful my lover is,
She tastes like salt in my mouth,
How beautiful is my lover,
Her face turns me
On like a ripe mango,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has the power to make
Me do things against my will
Just like the seasonal rainfall,
How beautiful is my lover,
The secret to her love
And affection is still unknown,
How beautiful is my lover,
Her desires are subject to her lover’s
Whims and caprices,
How beautiful is my lover,
She sees her lover as
The head of the house,
How beautiful is my lover,
How glories are her
Feet upon my lap,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as clean as the cat,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as important
To me as myself,
How beautiful my lover is,
She is the pride of my life,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as wise as the aunt,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is the guardian of my love,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has honour and respect like Isis,
How beautiful is Kabutuwaa,
She is all that I can boast of,
How beautiful and
Sweet is Obaahemaa,
She is the only lady
I was born to love,
For she is my
Koforidua flowers indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
( Celtic music loud beating of thunderous drums, the violin whispering in the wind, the flute giving off its tribute, the choir carrying the melody to the hearts and souls of everyone around)
the drums lightly beating the hum of the violin the flute lightly opening up and walking the drums to the thunderous clash the opening..................
Just Dance
Just Dance
Just Dance
Just Dance
If your heart is filled with all its glory and its over flowing Just .......dance
If your dreams are coming true , and everything seems to be they way you wanted it too Just dance
and if things turned out differently and wasnt as you seemed it to be........... JUST DANCE Just Dance
Open up your heart into different things set in your mind the possibilities Just DANCE just Dance....... Just .......just ........just ...... DANCE
If your love has grown and flourishes day and night...... all with open arms that carry you through lifes flight Just dance just dance just .. dance
if you'er alone no where to turn , no one in ...sight open up your arms grab on to the light .........Just Dance Just dance
Open up your heart into different things set in your mind the possibilities Just DANCE just Dance....... Just .......just .......DANCE
if doing for others as it flourishes and gets off the ground with out anticipation of what is around Just dance
If things happen that distance each other and silence is all that is between grab on to the possibilities of what is around that could bring a solid ground Just Dance Just dance
Open up your heart into different things set in your mind the possibilities Just DANCE just Dance....... Just .......just ........just ...... DANCE
Open up your heart into different things set in your mind the possibilities Just DANCE just Dance....... Just .......just ........just ...... DANCE
Just Dance
Just Dance
Just Dance
( this is for everyone we have all been there a time or two JUST DANCE)
By alanspivey 1/15/2014
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Oh simplicity how you reach out to my closed arms
in fear of how simple it may be to be happy
Without worldly posessions in grasps of their needy hands
I've never felt so at peace as the trade winds sweep my hair on delicate sunsets of May
where red wine makes me lush but aware...
of the magnificence of this moment, here, now.
The geese migrate, I seperate from the man made sounds of the city
although the connect the dots of street lights seem to guide me
The shifting landscape
the shifted skew of my life
five years ago I wouldn't have guessed this far
The time is so simple, slow-moving, sweet
I can almost feel the heart beat of excitement
or the beat within my youthful feet.
The railroad still gleams at dusk
as does the lake shine
as does the hidden blackbirds and blossoms of springtime.
I now spend here alone as I did when I was young
troubled, I would run.... to the same spot
and watch the same sun as it shone
day became night
the stars endless candle light
Now I'd ponder for hours
leave here smittin
relieved by the gift of life
I often forgot how precious simplicity is as I rush through the day...
But why can't we just lay back in silence
wallow in what is...
ponder like a little child of what may be out in the universe
I lay here now, alone
Spell bound by what I see
an array of colourful hues and natures generosity
I wish you were here with me
Smoke plumes heave as I exhale through these lungs
This place of mine, timeless
memories still live here
I've come to remember all I have known
and the simplicity of happiness still flourishes here
just got to stop and wallow...
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Fear and uncertainty
are the bane of humanity
poison to the populace
yet, with knowledge
they can be conquered.
But tamed social schemes
proposed by powerful people preying
on those who feel powerless
are detrimental to all human beings.
So, in the face of the unknown
my brothers and sisters
accept the enslavement
giving in to the higher force
that does not exist.
Faith persists
And flourishes
in the realm of fear
and uncertainty.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
1
My first is no proof of my second,
Though my second's a proof of my first:
If I were my whole I should tell you
Quite freely my best and my worst.
One clue more: if you fail to discover
My meaning, you're blind as a mole;
But if you will frankly confess it,
You show yourself clearly my whole.
2
My first may be the firstborn,
The second child may be;
My second is a texture light
And elegant to see:
My whole do those too often write
Who are from talent free.
3
How many authors are my first!
And I shall be so too
Unless I finish speedily
That which I have to do.
My second is a lofty tree
And a delicious fruit;
This in the hot-house flourishes--
That amid rocks takes root.
My whole is an immortal queen
Renowned in classic lore:
Her a god won without her will,
And her a goddess bore.
4
Me you often meet
In London's crowded street,
And merry children's voices my resting-place proclaim.
Pictures and prose and verse
Compose me--I rehearse
Evil and good and folly, and call each by its name.
I make men glad, and I
Can bid their senses fly,
And festive echoes know me of Isis and of Cam.
But give me to a friend,
And amity will end,
Though he may have the temper and meekness of a lamb.
3.8k
She stood there naked almost all throughout the year
Enslaved by the chilling winds, captured by the gloom of winter
Though she never got tired of waiting for the sun to rouse from a lengthy sleep
Reaching up the clouds, she raised her tiny brittle arms and began to weep
I was a witness to her silent suppressed feeling and pain
But I was scared to show her that I also wallow in vain
Then I saw her yesterday with the warm breeze caressing her blushing cheeks
I just wished she felt my joy, the freedom from the frigid knot is indeed to celebrate
Her beauty now flourishes in her pink and silky gown
Her smile glitters and she glows like a princess with a gorgeous crimson crown
Again I am a witness to her glorious happiness and content
Though nervous of the ceremony that might soon begin to fade
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
Dreaming in ivory she heeded nothing.
The solace rushed through each cell like unalloyed ecstasy.
Evaporating her last sigh, she let go of the agony left viable within.
Life wasn’t absolute anymore, self identity was consumed.
A lifeless corpse with no earthly ties, no human needs.
Decay began having his way with her devoid flesh case.
Life flourishes from blight so gracefully.
What once contained memories and dreams, was now reduced to naught.
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 8:11 PM UTC
THEY must to keep their certainty accuse
All that are different of a base intent;
Pull down established honour; hawk for news
Whatever their loose fantasy invent
And murmur it with bated breath, as though
The abounding gutter had been Helicon
Or calumny a song. How can they know
Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone,
And there alone, that have no Solitude?
So the crowd come they care not what may come.
They have loud music, hope every day renewed
And heartier loves; that lamp is from the tomb.
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As life in Israel flourishes
For Israelis, it's not so fine--
As many conditions deteriorate--
For the poor people of Palestine.
Chances of a two-state solution
Dwindle, which is not a good sign
As settlement expansions increase,
Affecting the people of Palestine.
For Palestinians imprisoned in Gaza,
The infrastructure is in a decline.
Will Gaza be uninhabitable for
The poor people of Palestine?
Defining what is their land, Israeli
Lawmakers draw a hard line:
This land belongs to the Jews, they say,
Forgetting the people of Palestine.
Cuts in economic aid
And hospital care will undermine
The health and quality of life
Of the poor people of Palestine?
Will an Israeli apartheid regime
Be the ultimate design,
Or will there be hope for the poor
Struggling people of Palestine?
-by Bob B (10-22-18)
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
The state of being with no suffering is Shakti
The state of awakening beyond sleep is Shakti
When love matures and sweetens that is Shakti
The fullness and fulfillment of masculine is Shakti
When the sweetness matures that is Shakti
The divine which resides in the thoughts is Shakti
Whatever work comes before us is Shakti
The state of mukti, the end, is Shakti
The braveness which destroys laziness is Shakti
The flame which is instilled in these words is Shakti
When the best of fruits are eaten that taste is Shakti
When thoughts of divine arise that is Shakti
Shankara who lives on top of the huge mountains, his lovely flame is Shakti
The lap where life flourishes is Shakti
The strength which guards the earth is Shakti
The flame which stops one from falling is Shakti (denotes inner strength that averts fall/defeat)
The tapas that eliminates confusion is Shakti
The finger which stops downfall is Shakti
The one who spans the whole expanse of sky is Shakti
Her highness who eliminates karma is Shakti
The inner flame which shines from within the heart is Shakti
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Poetry is the air poets are the breath
poets sparkle like jewels of paradise
flourishes in garden of great poetry
poets matured like pearls in oysters
of vast ocean of their sub conscious
no need to ****** it from jaws of
crocodiles or to combat dragons
don't have to climb Everest
cross the burning Sahara
crawl in the dark belly
of the Pyramids
all they've to do is let the ink flow
let inspired words pass through prism
minds let contrive and conceive aglow.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Eros,
Or the limerence I feel.
Is it a sin to adore you?
Eros,
Or the way you drive me crazy.
Is it a sin to worship you?
Through time and space,
Through love and pain,
Eros, you paved the way.
For I was lost in the maze of live,
Fleeing for the shadow of Fear.
Eros, you rescued me
And like a green Pan
Led me to your world.
A world of magic where love flourishes
And sorrows die.
A world where finally
I could be free
With you.
Eros.
Pothos.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
There's something peculiar
about witnessing courage
in the face of hatred
True righteousness hits me deep
It flourishes from within
the way epiphanies bloom in scholars
or the way love overwhelms
young students
There's majesty in the underdog
who stands until his knees buckle
who shouts until her voice breaks
fueled only by fortitude
mocked for feeling empathy
hated for living truth
In moments of moral principle
I see peace amidst the chaos
poetry amidst the prose
in the eyes of the young
and in the old
who fight
for justice
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
I will be that hurdle you trip upon,
I am the water you burn in,
I was the drought that drowns you in fire,
as you are the muscle that overpowered me,
the air which flourishes you,
and the rainfall which nourishes you.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Wind swept
Wild places the grass it puts on a veritable orchestra of movement as it undulates to the power of the breeze that passes
Mountain meadows splashed with a profusion of flowers they jiggle as if there tickled about something or other
The crest of the hill bordered with trees sloping down the hill children are running reminiscent of Jack and Jill
This utopia of nature sets aside the hurly burly the curvature of the hills still the wind hold the sun just right you it invites
Cross these pasture lands the feeding ground of many cattle and sheep the pride of the farmer who keeps
Inexorably bound by breed and creed for centuries this way of life flourishes among these native grasses
Tender shoots these roots give of their riches the sun and rain gives them a time to reign with joy all reaps
Pleasure in the walk letting fingers glide over the heads of tall grasses the silent telling of harmony filled poise
Future generations will be brought to these shadowed grounds they too will by their lives express and know contentment
Hourly they hold in sod that has known the breath of time as it has passed time and time again it enlivens breaks fourth
Sturdy and resplendent it shows all its dependability the same respect settlers knew is found the builders of this continent
Long shadows grow upon earths shoulders she knows the good and the bad but through resilience remains unconquered
The distant mountain stands eternal guard, it affects rainfall, mutes the winds force guarantying a peaceful valley
Perpetuity is taught in this land tomorrows unfold from days gone by with regularity they build and keep the way open
Stewardship the blessed hope working in harmony with all that surrounds at days end this will be the final sum and tally
The herdsman knows the time he invests it well always with broad vision does he act in this wisdom all will be victorious
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
I love my parents so much:
my parents and siblings rock!
We always do stay in touch,
naturally together, we'd talk.
My Daddy is his company's boss.
He does prosper; he rocks in there!
Understanding any profit or loss,
he can clearly make any, being fair.
My Mommy is our housemother,
so she stays inside, to clean!
She flourishes like no other,
always praying, for some scene.
I love my younger siblings as well.
Probably, we shall never depart!
They both thrive, being super swell,
of course, both in my dear heart.
My whole family will cherish to me!
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
believing,
it seems to me,
is the root of all knowing,
for what i have found
is worth far more than all i have lost.
what i once took for granted,
i now embrace each day,
like a breath of frigid air
on a morning laced with ice.
you magnetize me into
delight so deep and dark.
you are swirling, yes,
with all the light of things unknown.
all of you, which i have pulled
from dreaming
to become the reality beneath
the heavy lids that open to wonder,
enchantment; surely you know,
for your spell is natural
as the garden which flourishes
in your heart, planting sunlight
and bittersweet promises,
too much for a wanderer to behold.
yet he stops and stares,
as do i, for the day breaks
as surely as you will.
far more than this: soften
your edge to fit with mine.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 10:10 AM UTC