"flourishing" poems
As beautiful as the famed city of Atlantis
Gloriously flourishing in her perfection
There is a place where my soul and heart is
A perfect place without grief or deception
Where my heart is always merry
And peace blossoms like the cherry
The sun smiles at me gently caressing
My body as the birds sing melodies-
So beautiful they keep me guessing-
The beauty of future melodic memories
Like the Cedars of Lebanon
Beautifying the palaces of Ethiopia
Purity, love and perfection adorn her every season.
This place is within me; this place is Utopia
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
The Insecurities are flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind—
But the weeds keep growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
—Thoughts of a young child never knowing what to believe.
I lie awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling.
If only the notion could suffice in finding the words—
For the void I'm feeling in my life,
But it isn't simple.
Pure corruption of my mind,
Perfect pictures,
Flawless figures,
The images I can't erase.
Uncomfortable in my own skin—
What do I do to feel safe?
Do I drown myself in ink—to cover up the imperfections?
Instead of talking—walk and let my skin scream the self-expression?
Or do I return to the blank stare in the mirror?
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
The insecurities keep flourishing.
A gorgeous garden was my mind,
But the weeds kept growing in.
Media like kryptonite—weakening my self esteem.
Thoughts of a young child,
--Never knowing what to believe.
One night as I lie awake—I hear my subconscious scream out to me.
The most attractive people do the ugliest of things,
The true beauty you want is what’s imprisoned within.
Why stop your happiness to return to a place—
—A place where you feel so alone?
Why do the tears flow?
You're killing yourself—
And you fail to realize
Your own self-doubt is the knife!
Pessimism,
The negative thoughts building inside—
They’re just as bad as the razorblade that kisses your skin as you sit in silence...
Why are you hurting yourself?
Temporary pain is only a distraction,
You were blessed and shaped by the hands of God.
What more could you possibly ask for?
Appearance is not everything.—
Stop the self-consciousness and live your life.
—acknowledge that you —are your worst —enemy...
I open my eyes.
The cries have ceased,
I return to the blank stare in the mirror.
The words are on repeat.
Who am I to think I’m beautiful—when I myself can’t see?
Who am I to think I'm valuable—when there is no self-confidence there?
Who am I to think I'm worthy—when I myself don't feel?
But it’s different this time,
My reflection speaks.
Saying no—
Who are you not to?
Your imperfections are beautiful.
Beautiful enough for the heart that is meant to love you,
Believe in yourself.
No more self doubt,
No more lost soul.
—No more insecurities flourishing,
A gorgeous garden is my mind.
No more weeds keep growing in,
Media is not my kryptonite,
No more weakening of my self esteem,
Thoughts of a young child finally unshackled —and free.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Upon the wings of doves it was pure
Their purest white Feathers
Glided,
Floated,
Nestled
Its clearness, Its symbolic touch
Upon my yet to be woken heart,
For this beauty showed what was
In front of my eyes,
Feathers did come down like snow
Not only touching mine,
Awoken,
Revived,
Vitality
Sprung forth, emotions were flowering
Everywhere,
My heart was touched
By a feather of purest love,
That is when our eyes meet, I saw a feather
Caress your loneliness and we
Were transformed from
Solitude,
Seclusion,
Sorrow
To hearts that were now awoken,
The true feeling stirred from inside,
To love at first sight,
We were like the feathers
Our hearts had taken flight,
We were in love as white feathers fell,
The symbol of love had opened our hearts
To what was always Within our now flourishing hearts.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.
Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.
Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!
Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-virgin-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!
No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
Before his teen age
turns the pages he dies
a life through years
of neglect for the frail
bony frame drowsy feet
dark sunken eyes
wandering the street
craving white pure
pleasures and dreams
sores moon crater arms
tributaries of ****
star marks parched skin
dry bloodied screams
of glorious pills injecting
intoxicated stuffs
forbidden fruits
trappings of worldly heaven
addictive octane ecstasy
tiger terminator of
a young man flourishing
now depleted sad
youth corrupted by a love
pursued but lost
eyes vacant trailed tears
pleading please forgive
me mom and dad
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Hope arrived... limping severely.
The journey had been quite long,
Searching for Something to hold on to.
Hope was weak but would not give up,
There is always hope, no matter how small.
For: ”Hope springs eternal”.
Faith was greatly weakened and vulnerable,
Wounded by the words of discouragement.
Naysayers of the day were chipping away.
Faith needed help to overcome Doubt.
Lurking close by... and closing in....
Keep the Faith Baby!
Love felt lonely and threatened.
In need of some friends to lean on.
The days were long and dreary with
Hate knocking at everyone's door.
Love glimpsed Faith approaching and knew
Hope was not far behind.
Hope, Faith, Love;
Together, they formed a bond and
Began flourishing once again!
Together, they opened the door
of the heart in need of repair.
Together, they rescued a heart,
Filling it to overflowing.
Love began to grow and blossom,
Bringing Light to the darkened heart.
Hope, walking tall and standing straight,
Began to breath deep again.
Faith leaped forward with renewed vigor
to guard the Heart's door
The Three Musketeers... together...
Unstoppable... Conquer the world.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart
a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
breathlessly released
unrestrained,..
evident
as the pressed and dried flowers
cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
bookmarks of the heart
traces of the wild bouquets
that often soothingly caress’d
the energizing tingles
inflaming a tantalizing touch
the yearning empty voids
feverishly undressed,
traced in the hidden sands
of unexplored oceans..
though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
as gentle feather’d touch
the evanescent sunset afterglow
where the earth and sky align
the dimming of the day
loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―
the perennial dawning of an
unpromised new day
will someday come again
bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
flourishing in the meadow of my heart
Someone you used to know
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
We are all a garden
of sorts.
We all spring up
from a single seed.
And like a flourishing tree
or an expanding bush
we can branch out
and multiply
in number and in strength
surrounded by tender loving care,
being watered by others,
paid close attention to
as the gardener nurtures us
to maturity.
We bloom.
We blossum.
Beauty abounds.
Our colors come forth
in a harmony of hues
upon every petal
and every leaf.
But then come the weeds
that choke out our foliage
and wrap around our roots,
our foundations.
The weeds of hatred,
the weeds of bitterness
the weeds of loneliness,
the weeds of shame,
the weeds of fear,
and depression
invade.
Bugs infest our garden
and eat away at us,
tormenting us,
picking away at us,
and the beauty
and produce
that once was the glory
of our garden
has gone away.
Did we do this to ourselves?
We often wonder.
Did the gardener get too passive,
get too neglectul and uncaring
and forget to tend the garden?
Maybe we were not strong enough
to take up the fight,
wilting, fading in the sun.
Yet even a dying flower
produces seeds of growth,
and of renewal,
as a rebirth will come from
its entrance into the earth.
Even the most tragic looking
of sickly plant life
will have a comeback,
a resurrection
of sorts
when golden raindrops
do fall again
like prayers from the sky.
And so it is the gardener
was never asleep on the job,
did not neglect the duties.
And like all healthy ones do
abundant food
shall grow once again
in our garden,
fragrant flowers,
and branches
for the birds to perch upon
when at one time
all seemed dead
and hopeless
and lost.
Nov 26, 2009
Nov 26, 2009 at 12:48 PM UTC
I'm head starting the challenging life
12th grade decides my future strife.
Herein lies the mystery of tomorrow
Destiny of the mighty ship in my carefull row.
Not asking for incredible flourishing results
But delivering support for my stupendous work.
Not asking for imaginative unreachable marks
But holding my hands to provide the best of myself.
Not asking to pour elixir for hardwork devoid outcome
But strolling me through the gates of earnestness.
Not asking for your substitution in me
But to confront me with your intrepid grace.
Not asking for grade ten replica
But lending me the same earnest virtue.
Help me ignore the incompatible watchers,
To provide the least hope of comparing
Falling in despair in other's successful fruits.
But to help better and improvise my solitary results
And shelter me in your house of modesty.
No beneficial ranks but the submissive marks
that lends a hair to my cognitive efforts
To grant me light in the death of night.
Let me blossom as tranquily as the sunflower
Yet not vanish in the glory of jubliation
But gradually offer me petals
And extend the reliance day by day.
Mindful and heeding my compatible hardwork
Finally, let me conquer the glamorous colour
Of my utmost individuality.
Rehabilating the small hopes intro pristine reality
Aware of the hunger turning to lime light
To strike a chord for my year before.
Take me on your hands, float me through
legitimate mistakes, rip me apart in the wave
of unquenchable thirst and finally wrap me out as
a champion badge of jaded grade twelve.
Finally,
Bless me God, provide eternal marvels
Bless me God, honour the righteous path
As the testimony of your judicious grace
Bless me God, I'm starting life (grade twelve)
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
My mushroom was watered by your juices
fertilised the head grew in your dampness.
the seedling grew in anticipation, would it
seed in needed spaces or would it be launched
to the gravity of its surroundings and fall cold.
Could this eclipse of growth be sustained, or
in the throws of becoming dehydrated in the
over gratification of over consumption wither
in needed times and never reach its potential of
what was needed. But become withered in momentary
over indulgence and go limp in the field of warmth..
This once proud mushroom ever reaching new heights,
Its stalk standing once tall but now faltering and lying
motionless where once it stood tall. that warm space
waiting, wanting its seeds to flourish in this damp
place. Know all but dried up, waiting for another flourishing
head to seed its dampness where the other fell silently limp.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
Beauty, lovely, my young friend
Your name brings joy to no end
My Princess, know my love is unending
My brokenness you are mending
The one I always long to see
With no one else I'd rather be
My Princess, your heart is my gold
Let your hand fill mine, the mold.
Forever to know you, Forever as mine
To let love grow as a flourishing vine
My Princess, love me, as I love you.
For a greater love, I never knew.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
land's moniker
mulls utmost care
Kalinga
branding the ox
of men with glaringly
immaculate chiaroscuro,
atop hills flourishing
with the fruits emblazoning
reticence.
chase angel-ward, the synopsis
of meaningfulness,
jagged, indelible accoutrement
akin to the brand of
chaste heritage,
galvanizing this epitaph
with aesthetic nativity,
gallant mambabatok - fill my bones with the ache of your past,
carve in me what the rippling
shrill of air has toppled
in the highlands
you have us shaking the blood
of this archipelago like boughs
breaking free from water's ebb,
frenzied by the river-warm
serpentine embellishment
the strike of the thorns
mints in our untouched bodies!
altogether in this numerous hike
we go in pursuit, hunting the
nibble from flesh to bone,
revealing the rebel, body
to soul.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
There are parts of me that I am still learning to accept.
It's in the roots of my hair,
Embedded under my skin,
It darkness my knees,
On the bridge of my nose,
Rolls off my tongue
To the alignment of my toes.
And as I grow, they too grow with me.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
she races through her mind, all the time
wondering
when?
where?
why?
how?
she sits in the shallows
sighing in her own drowned out howls
wondering
where?
she breathes in the dusty air
scrunching her hair
wondering
why?
but she looks to the sunset
flourishing in its beauty
secretly wishing she was of beauty
she wonders..
how?
she falls back
hoping to be of a catch
she hopes for the best
but expects the worse
because what is worse than what she hasn't already experienced?
she whispers,
I am a useless tinker.
I am delusional.
I am something yet, of nothing.
the wind..
it is what kisses against her cheek
and says,
you may be of the above,
but you are not anything less than a dove.
and I promise, you'll soon get the answer to when.
so please, do not clip your wings,
because who I am to have to caress?
or to softly brush the feathers on your back?
Because you do need an answer to how, correct?
well then let me show you how, and you will get your answer to when.
(m.s]
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
I always feel like I’m running.
Not running away, there’s no such thing.
Just running forward towards something.
Something.
There’s no such place.
With how long I've been running
surely I'd have found it by now.
I've though of what it must look like.
Something could be a field
buried in a brilliant, sunlit cloud of alfalfa.
It could be a tundra,
frozen and without borders.
A rainforest,
vivid with life, green and flourishing.
A mountain, lurching
over a city,
and in the city there would be nothing but good men.
No liars, nor cheats.
Just good men and good women,
good drink and bad bars,
blocks and city blocks of motels
riddled, reeking with the smoke of cigarettes
smoked sometime post-sex.
And in the city there would be nothing but goodmen
railing
good men
raving and ranting, chanting for more
railing.
*These stairs sure are steep,
I best not fall.*
Something could be a desert.
The dunes would stretch, immaculate, across my vision.
The horizon would be sun, sand, and sun again.
Is the sky still blue in a desert?
Is desert wind built of language and faith, or just oxygen heated to boiling?
Is the night full of hushed whispered deviance?
Is the night bent over the day's sofa?
Is he waiting for sunrise?
Rise, sun, rise,
what are you waiting for?
Do it.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Disney Princes and Trees
We are just two Disney Princesses
looking for a pair of princes
that can fulfill our wishes
and shower us with kisses
Get to know us and you shall see
that we are also a pair of homegrown hippies
get to know us and you shall see
at night our heads are found in the trees
Life brought and pushed us together
they say after the storm comes flourishing weather
they also say birds of a feather flock together
so when it comes to best friends no one can do better
We are just some Disney Princesses
waiting on our princes
Time pushed us all afar
But before we knew it,
here we all are!
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Parallel lines do not meet.
Together they travel,
all through a lifetime
savouring the solitude
of each others company.
Intact they keep their uniqueness,
never crossing each other's path, giving space
to the other to bloom,
flourishing in each other’s company.
Parallel lines do not meet
when they meet, they die!
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
The days are dark and clouded
Stars fear to shine and the moon is dreaded
The pain in our heart too heavy to make us cry
The prophesy joy is still far off to force out a smile
Miracles are now very scarce and expensive to buy
The truth is too bitter and too unhealthy to lie
My once good friend which is hope is ready to die
No peace in heaven, no life in hell
Then where exactly lie our help
Since I have no horse I will use my leg
My pain is nobody is feeling my pain
since is better to pray than fait
I won't try to drop out in the school of life by suicide again
I will stand on holy grounds to fight for a better life in faith.
They say the tail is for the slaves so I dare to become the head
No matter how deadly the journey seems I still believe in a rosy end
Since the kingdom will come here, here I will righteously pitch my tent.
Let them keep throwing brimstones
Let them keep feeding my hunger for meat with stones
I seek for honey but sour limes and bitter leaf water they seek to drunk me with
They should keep turning my once soft paths to thorns
But I know they can't eclipse my glory it will keep glowing
I'm like a palm fruit, no matter the harsh weather they might bring I will keep flourishing
I'm like age, no matter the obstacles they might set I will keep growing
For I'm a destiny child, destined to move from glory to glory.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
We dashed from your ally with
Each spring up the hill I could sense
The world abdicate from the unfamiliar
Hand I was embracing my body became hollow as
The wind carefully pierced me we reached the stage the
Lucent lights shone on your lips and my mouth watered while
The cold seized our bodies forcing them to glue together under the
Blanket of stars the warmth soothed the air but we held the cold captive as
A cover to cherish the glow that bubbled us from the city lights and the flourishing
Leaves when the secretive silence stole the cold’s show “so” you leaned in and brushed your Lips off mine and the bubble burst and everything shifted. All because of this. One. Moment.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
The wise head becomes a fool sans money,
While the goon with quid around to throw
Assumes a sage - the mayor of phony county.
Why should the prince of letters anyhow
Be in want - lacking in substance great,
Flourishing instead in some wretched state?
Yet the politicians who run down the economy
And men of baser thoughts that make heaven's
Hallowed eyes drop tears by their steamy
**** businesses and those of unholy deals,
Do seem to prosper much in this awkward
World,with those who daily vaunt at the Lord.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:11 AM UTC
You are the truest part of me
When I close my eyes, it is not to sleep,
But to fade into a place where holding onto you keeps me sane and safe.
It is often called reality.
And any place where our love is stopped from flourishing
Is nothing more than an ill conceived nightmare.
I still have faith I'll wake up to a bouquet of your kisses, sweeter than any rose could hope to be.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note.
Chert
The piano draws an arc of rhythm
rising then falling.
Above
two choirs of wind and brass
exclaim, fanfare, mark out
shorter, determined
gestures of sound.
The procession, almost a march,
becomes a dance.
Alone
Two choirs of wind and brass
become four couples
whose music weaves
from complexity a simplicity:
Chromatic to Pentatonic
twelve becoming five.
Prase
Four stopped horns,
five extended tonalities.
Together they wander
a maze of Pentatonic paths;
alone, and in pairs, as a quartet
they discover within
a measured harmonic rhythm.
Tension: resolution
. . . and surrounding
their every move
the piano
insists an obligato,
a continuum of phrases,
absorbing into itself
the warp and weft of horn tone.
Sard
Oscillating
in perpetual motion
the full ensemble
occupies a frame
of time and space.
Flutes, reeds,
double-reeds
brass, piano,
percussion
mirror-fold on mirror-fold
layer upon layer
overlapping.
Yarns of threaded sound.
Tuff
Without a break
the mirrored oscillations
patter pentatonics
on tuned percussion
of marimba and vibraphone
whilst
a batterie of drums
lays down
shards of beaten rhythm
against this onward
folding of tonality change.
In the background
a choir of winds
flutes and single reeds
waymark this recursive journey
gathering together
cadential moments and the
necessary pause for breath.
Marl
Relentlessly, the motion is sustained,
piano-driven,
a syncopated continuo,
rhythm-sectioned
amidst layers of percussion.
Adding edge,
a choir of brass and double reeds
amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms
providing impetus for
phrases to become longer and longer,
ratching up the tension,
ever-denying closure
until the batterie
delivers
a conclusive flourish.
Paramoudra
Pulse-figures of winds.
Motific cells of brass.
Both
negotiate a stream of
fractal-shaped tonality
expanding: contracting.
A blossom of fanfares
folding into
pulsating layers
of tuned percussion,
flutes and reeds.
A dance-like episode
absorbs a chorale.
Four horns in close harmony
against the continuing dance.
A duet of differences
flows into a cascade of chords
in closed and open forms.
The piano supports
brass-flourishing figures
before a final stillness.
Heartstone
In gentle reflection
the solitary piano –
a figure in a landscape
of collapsed harmonic forms -
presents in slow procession
the essence of previous music.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
It is not enough to see
a soul will manifest
what has been sown
immortal purple flame
gnarled roots in stone
the truth of nature
an external blooming
expression of the world
a flourishing vision
voraciously spreads
animating the meadow
with honey-scented breeze
steep slopes sweetened
magnificent blossoms
open lavender wings
to conquer the sky
here the air is thin
windblown seeds
so carelessly thrown
to harsh alpine soil
become willful weeds
persistently untamed
internally unchained
forever wild flowers
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Your thoughts are kept warm
And unwithered by the bedside
Of an old tree with branches
That I found growing
In the valley of
Our affection
As I
Plant
Spirit
And vigor
The seeds of
My smile
Become one
With pure
Existence
And the
Soil
In our tree
Every branch
Finds a particular path
In which to show
An ancient age that
Time has passed on
For us to share
As new stems
Grow and
Evolve
A garden of light
What a beautiful sight
Pulsating and flourishing
As healthy leaves might
Birds resting and nesting
Befriending sunlight
We are the story of life's
Uncharted mystery
Planted in the memory
Of tomorrow's history
And the plantation
Of our heart's
Crop
As we graze for days and days
For many years to come
We will harvest this
Homestead in the
Never ending
Landscape
Of our
Love
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC