"frons" poems
can we humans be more like weeds
grow abundantly... with little needs
sprout boldly from the smallest crack
reach skyward always... never looking back
thrive miraculously where well cared friends wither
yet florish side by side with a hint to come hither
stand ruthlessly against mans' herbicides
or chopped to the root and cast aside
our petals and leaves we open wide to all
though not invited ours is... a grand sprawl
with fine frons and feathery wisps
our sturdyness does not engender idle quips
we bend and sway in the mightiest torrent
with roots so deep... some find us abhorrent
but all and all... in all of our landscapes
there is a just place for man, plants and apes
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
●●●
*with the
ground dust
she adorn her frons
build relationship
with the thorn's
leaving aside
the floral gardens*
◆◆◆
*either this is
a weird quest
or
can say her craziness
since meet
with someone*
◆◆◆
*often find herself alone
diving deep in the
ocean of emotion
asking herself
is she in love
impression*
●●●
©deovrat 09-06-2018
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
I sit still and withdrawn
waiting for the dawn.
Eyeing the droplets
as they pour from the taps
under the frons.
Wishing for acceptance
to arrive.
As noon approached
those flashes from past
intensified the yearning
and set the fireball of emotions
alive.
Finally with the twilight
birds returned
for a new beginning
the understanding dawned.
Love is within.
Love is me.
Not the one who just walked past and left me.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC