"flowering" poems
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ----
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly **** out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness ----
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence
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O ye who travel the meridian line,
May the vision of a new world within you shine.
May eyes that have lived with poverty's rage,
See through to the glory of the awakening age.
For we are all richly linked in hope,
Woven in history, like a mountain rope.
Together we can ascend to a new height,
Guided by our heart's clearest light.
When perceptions are changed there's much to gain,
A flowering of truth instead of pain.
There's more to a people than their poverty;
There's their work, wisdom, and creativity.
Along the line may our lives rhyme,
To make a loving harvest of space and time.
________
Source:
http://www.writespirit.net/blog/archive/2006/12/03/poems_ben_okri
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.
*1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plunge into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds*
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines
Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand
and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon
in big pink petals of bloom;
A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (
be gentle, though whispering wind)
Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign
fears,
as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
Consume the years between Here and Now;
Watching from blank perch, among
the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
Sing the branches of experience, to wake
in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
of waking,
ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—
Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;
Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he
whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours
as if they drew it from the flowering trees.
At night his two finger whistle brought her down
the waterfall stairs to his shy smile
which like an eddy, turned her round and round
lazily and slowly so her will
was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't.
Walking along avenues in the dark
street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads
with a voilence they never understood
and all their movements when they were together
had no conclusion.
Only leaning into the question had they motion;
after they parted were savage and swift as gulls.
asking and asking the hostile emptiness
they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone
and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed
to see them form and fade before their eyes.
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unto thee i
burn incense
the bowl crackles
upon the gloom arise purple pencils
fluent spires of fragrance
the bowl
seethes
a flutter of stars
a turbulence of forms
delightful with indefinable flowering,
the air is
deep with desirable flowers
i think
thou lovest incense
for in the ambiguous faint aspirings
the indolent frail ascensions,
of thy smile rises the immaculate
sorrow
of thy low
hair flutter the level litanies
unto thee i burn
incense,over the dim smoke
straining my lips are vague with
ecstasy my palpitating ******* inhale the
slow
supple
flower
of thy beauty,my heart discovers thee
unto
whom i
burn
olbanum
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Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
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The orchid is flowering
Opening,
a living mandala
Next to my bed
I hear it in my dreams
It's telling me very strange things
About the chemistry between us
And what being a flower really is
And what it really means.
There's a lot to learn.
The orchid whispers in chemical symbols
I danced through the night one night
I drank water in the desert
The sweetest taste, I've ever known
I heard a sound I've never heard before
The buzzing of Chi
Blowing in
while the curtains fluttered
In the night time wind.
Our time I know is limited
Forever wilts away
But while the orchid is flowering
That's for another day
I find myself longing for the scent of the night and at least
One more dream to go.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
When snow falls against the window,
Long sounds the evening bell...
For so many has the table
Been prepared, the house set in order.
From their wandering, many
Come on dark paths to this gateway.
The tree of grace is flowering in gold
Out of the cool sap of the earth.
In stillness, wanderer, step in:
Grief has worn the threshold into stone.
But see: in pure light, glowing
There on the table: bread and wine.
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Why does the red tulip float?
Why does the flower shine through the window?
The warm breeze shrinks the breathtaking green.
Can't smell a flower, through a cold window.
Springs grow like warm breezes.
Courage, awakening, and blushing in the springtime,
All blossoms show strong, blooming red flowers.
God, such brilliance!
Never smell a tulip through a closed door,
Flower calmly like cotton clouds floating in the sky,
The sun paints red tulips, with an artistic brush,
Red flowers shake like misty sunrises.
Flowering warmly,
The small life calmly desires the clouds.
And reaches for the sky,
Blushing like a shy girl.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
The pathway to the hidden falls,
greenest trees and ivy walls,
Humid day and rain a threat,
Forest living, thick and wet.
Pebbles on this path to be,
Never ending, fast to me.
Flip flops make an obstacle,
For me to keep the pace we go.
The peach in hand is almost eaten,
When roaring waters reveal this Eden,
The water falls so quick approaching
seems to stick my memory's poaching.
We climb the uphill train of rocks,
more like boulders, need for socks,
Majesty miracle's tickle my senses,
Like watching babe ruth swing for the fences.
Something here is overpowering
behind the force field something is flowering,
Wet smooth rocks lay geometric,
something alive and something electric.
Native American premonitions,
Thoughts of the beginning of all of this swishin',
Waterfall dreams sparkle like diamonds,
Foam and water, slippery minded.
Brain chemical explosion.
Somethings been bound.
Something is gone
something I found
Burned in my imagination
is this place that I visited
on my vacation.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Polished and refined,
With death I have found
A life below ground
A place I can call mine
Destruction and evil deeds
A breeding of pure hate
Is all that I can create
Out of all these heartless seeds
I punch them in
To the deep sullen dirt
Water them with vengeance
And a sprinkling of hurt
Tonight is the night
I find what dwells below
I don't have a key
But I can bargain with my soul
As I place it into these seeds
I am but reeds in the grass
I'm letting go
Only Heaven knows
The blackness of Hell's wrath
I plant my lifeless soul in this plot
To groom it as it grows
So slowly that nobody knows
It's the place the devil goes to rot
Watered with tears, warmed with fire
And as time stands still, never changing
This fruition of evil continues growing
Until the depths of hell can go no higher
Then it will bloom
A flowering gloom
Growing out of control
The ground will harden
In this here garden
Fertilized by my soul
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Sunflowers,
growing tall,
bringing life to that dull wall.
Reaching up towards the Sun,
flowering for everyone.
Bringing seeds and oil to harvest,
paintings from a demented soul,
the kind of one who falls the hardest,
upon life and everyone.
Nature coursing through the madness
bringing new light with the dawn,
but every star is stalked by darkness
making it shine all the more.
Until its flame is quenched by powers
A force much stronger than us all.
We'll just sit and watch the madness,
and those Sunflowers by the wall.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:25 AM 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
.
1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds
.
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
And their feet move
rhythmically, as tender
feet of Cretan girls
danced once around an
altar of love, crushing
a circle in the soft
smooth flowering grass
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A field with one thousand roses,
I only see one white flowering rose,
Obsession is only one white rose,
Obsession is only seeing you,
Blind to all others,
Using soju,
I create a mist,
That only surrounds you,
This, obsession with one white rose,
Is an impossible thing,
Sun shining through the mist,
Reflecting your love out to me,
But I can not see your face,
The sun is too bright,
Still I see a lovely white rose through the mist,
I want to grab hold,
But your thorns are too sharp,
How can I suffer knowing you exist, in the midst of my dreams,
That!
I will never be able to touch you,
Why am I obsessed with a single white flower?
When fate has sent to me a gift of 999 red roses?
Copyright 2015 © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
~
Weeping hydrangeas spill
sapphire tears falling,
drenching grey scale gardens
suspended, free flowing
a mobile of distractions
on tiny threads scattered
above clouded daydreams
Worded floating silent streams,
spinning slowly, creating phrases
on whirlwind petals,
browned edges frame
whispered wonderings
sans answers
upon somber breezes
of yesterday’s questions
or
A cappella Hydrangeas
send harmonic petals floating
upon melodic wind chime breezes,
suspended soft concerto clouds
on love sonnet strings
tuned to a spring day,
as flowering symphonies,
acoustic mobiles of emotion
bloom within a garden
of daffodils dreams
in unison with lyrical
compositions of nature’s
enchanting song
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
When all desire at last and all regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain
And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?
Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,
Ah! let none other written spell soe’er
But only the one Hope’s one name be there,—
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.
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Yet I Am Ready
Watching the waves eat away the castles made of sand
Staring at the way wind is churning at infrastructure land
like a big bad wolf who found the fear and lean foundation of a brick house
I am ready for her hand
I am all ready
Traversing fields filled with fruitless wonders
burning tundras rolling thunders
A Man attempting to put out its grand made funeral pyre
with nothing but a Jack and Jill bucket filled with reverse osmosis electrolyte infused hydrogen oxygen expired prayers
I am Ready for no man land
I have a radio already
Listening to Nokia raven chirps and bubble bee gyrations.
Evergreens whispers as wild blooms break concrete and asphalt and building plans
giving smiles to homeless man and woman
dreamers flowering in the night lights that were supposed to replace stars
I am ready
for the woods to takeover the hoods
for bear feets to take over the streets
for napkins to become extinct
to write with my god-given red ink
so that my being will dye into stone and dirt
To leave my DNA on my mothers belly and hear her cry
As she covers my mouth closes her eyes tearful from radioactive winds
let her know that I loved her and hugged her every chance I could
I am ready to give up me for we have not given back enough
We have devoured the essence and forgotten how to seed and harvest
the nothing has become us
which is why Earths flesh is colored rust
like blood mixed with scratching dust
we have bruised the body
and wonder if we can blame something someone else
but US
Every time the finger points the object of our deflection disappears
Rearrange the letters she was trying to help us HEARt
Rearrange the letters EARth is trying to make us Heart
I'm trying to make us Ear
These MTHFCKRS are among US.
We have bred them with our love lust
still unaware that they a fungus
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
they save a life to **** it from us.
they manufacture fakes to stunt us
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
Ideas devoid of what we need to come up
She must go now and rip it from us
We must shed our blood just to fund us
Cause these MTHRFCKRS have out done US
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
Today is the saddest day of my life.
Sad because, I have lost my sense of smell.
Her scent will no longer tease my nose toward her,
I will never smell perfume, sweat, or ***
flowering aromatic recall - the strongest recall of memory is lost.
Soon, like puddles in the hot sun, she will begin to dissipate.
Today is the saddest day of my life.
Sad because, I have forgotten how to see.
The sweet beautiful curves in her face,
her smile, her brilliant body, her great bright eyes,
if only I had made the time to memorize it.
Today is the saddest day of my life.
Sad because, my tongue has gone dumb.
Chocolates and ash, all tastes the same.
I no longer want to eat,
it all tastes of grey.
Never again will taste her lips or her tears.
I will never say, I love you again.
Today is the saddest day of my life.
Sad because, my ears can no longer find sound.
I will never be comforted by her sweet calls or pet names.
Music will no longer touch my heart.
No one will ever yell at me or sing to me.
I will never hear, "I love you" again.
Today is the saddest day of my life.
Sad because, today, I have lost my ability to feel.
I will never be hugged close and snuggled.
She will never kiss me under mistletoe or on new years, or ever at all.
I will never make love again, feel her silky skin against mine, or an ******** release.
Fire cannot warm my soul anymore.
And nothing will cool the burning in my head.
I am blind, deaf, and dumb. I hear nothing. I feel nothing. I am numb.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
Green as a meadow, a warm landscape of gentle caresses.
A flowering garden that blooms each time I gaze,
Growing in intensity with each passing moment.
Green as the colour of the vast ocean that holds eternal treasures so deep.
I swim in its warmth and let it envelope me,
Conjuring up a blissful peace in its magic.
I look into what is green and see our reflection.
I see a future, bright and clear,
Filled with laughter and joy,
Kindness and understanding,
Passion and Love.
I am not afraid to stare.
In green, I see pure beauty and a place where I want to live.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.
I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.
I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.
My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.
I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.
Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
I
Opusculum paedagogum.
The pears are not viols,
Nudes or bottles.
They resemble nothing else.
II
They are yellow forms
Composed of curves
Bulging toward the base.
They are touched red.
III
Having curved outlines.
They are round
Tapering toward the top.
IV
In the way they are modelled
There are bits of blue.
A hard dry leaf hangs
From the stem.
V
The yellow glistens.
It glistens with various yellows,
Citrons, oranges and greens
Flowering over the skin.
The shadows of the pears
Are blobs on the green cloth.
The pears are not seen
As the observer wills.
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