"gardened" poems
I climbed a tree to see the world....
Well that and get high where the world looks gardened
and glows brighter
as it is demolished and replenished
These elements in nature,
manipulated in a lab,
Can change our entire perspective
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
Then the world did pluck my petals away.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain
Further I fought against the worlds pained
Raze of roses: they won and crushed my stem.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
The gardened battlefield was strewn and stained
With the sweet stench of broken, bullied roses.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.
The white rose ***** of virginity strained
Against hands calloused by the world’s black sin.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
Despite valiant efforts that were in vain,
We allowed our petals to be torn away.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.
And you, my worldly gardener, did tame
We white roses out of our innocence.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:07 AM UTC
The garden grows in all directions
Amidst the influence of interfering hands
The waterfall in motion is ceaseless,
Whether asked kindly or implored
Made powerless by that which cannot be changed
Yet, made powerful by knowing that which cannot be changed
The garden grows in all directions
Gardened by our hands
The water falls around us
In the spaces that we created
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
No. 1
there is a pane of glass
which now occupies the air between us
an indifferent arrow has flown through it
leaving a web of cracks
for which I am trapped
reaching for you
No. 2
the light you bend reaches across room
the same distance travels your voice
it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am
exhaling wanting in your direction
as stars are brought down over head
by the weight of unfulfilled wishes
No. 3
victim to a whisper
pious to an echo
tomorrow I'll be swallowed
I didn't even need a name
lost and unwanted things are entitled
to each other so long as they don't hide
no. 4
it's an open hand
it's a broken window
it's a perpetually naive sky
it's off beat but we're out of line
and I'm waiting for you
one hundred percent of the time
no. 5
out of context
misshapened in parallax
past my expiration date
but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist
when all this is dust
the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC
Winter was our season
With lavender in bloom
We gardened so well in darkness
And my love still transfixed
At the thought of your lips
tracing my name with your tongue
And when we loved
God
when we loved
how my mouth loved to echo your shape
I would gather your darkness with the cup of my hands
And drink from your smell and your taste
Burnt in my mouth is red wine and honey
I savor your pleasant and smooth
And still through the night
It’s your voice from behind
That warms my lavender mood
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
my soul wanders when I sleep
where it wills to venture forth
mostly it tells my waking mind not
some nights on a rare occasion
the faintest flickering of a memory
will hold fast till morning sings
some would say it’s just a dream
but what dreams are alive as this
so vivid are these vague remembering’s
just this morning my soul watched the sun
rise over the most beautiful valley
my mortal life has ever seen
the first rays of newborn light
chasing the shadows fast across
valley fields of summer green
my soul has passed the gates of heaven
and walked it’s quiet gardened paths
my soul has peered into the future
and has revisited my past
every so often my soul will stop
to watch the warm summer wind
rustle a single maple leaf
the peace that I remember
from those midnight summer stops
leads my waking mind to weep
darkness draws it’s curtains once again
as I recount what little I recall
and record my pondering
my soul stirs within this mortal shell
anxious to once again be off
on it’s midnight wandering
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
A dog barks at night
An empty plea, from a suburban home
The dog pines for freedom
To go past the white picket fence
As the piercing howl travels
Other dogs are reminded
They erupt in chorus
And the night is filled with longing
They claw at freshly gardened lawns
Spit out chew toys in disgust
How they long for a ****
Breaking flesh against fangs
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 7:06 AM UTC
Oh yes I talk about trying, don't pardon me
Innocence has nothing to fear, this is what hardened me
Just quit man, give up, be the pawn in world chess these thought never cordon me
Rise for you may not reign, but rise for you may be right.. this is the lesson that gardened me
I was in the zone too, I still feel low at times, but I fought and will fight everytime, atleast now I know what my stardom is
Never counted much on anyone, because sometimes when did I got to know what the word phantom means
And trust me I do have dreadful nightmares, but i don't let them warden me
Because what's much bigger and brighter is my dream and the ones I want to live it with, that is what that heartens me
Over expectations, just like over exposure to light, gives you darkened s(K)in
Same people, same situation but different faces, learnt allotropes are not found in carbon only
Was down and low and in pieces, survived, now I am coming thundering for the win
Dream, travel, love, express, experience so the world knows you not just some iron molding
Everyone's at war, some fighting for glory, some voicing their story.. latter is how I unburden me
Miseries in abundance, it's HOPE that forms the basis of my ardent leap.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
Upon my shoulder rests a bee
A creature feared attentively
They are a cautious group to buzz
In gardened fields of dandelion fuzz
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:11 PM UTC
Our Paris
still in minds
as Sonya
and I lay
in our bed
in that cheap
hotel room
French music
from the white
radio
playing out
to the room
she lay there
opening up
her flower
sweet scented
that waitress
Sonya said
swayed her ***
just for you
I am sure
I doubt it
just the way
she walked there
(maybe it
was for me
that I hoped)
if you say
Sonya said
some dame sang
some Mozart
on the white
radio
Sonya knew
so she sang
along too
I gardened
her flower
sweet scented
some Mozart
aria
in my ears
as we sexed
her flower
in the cool
late dark hour.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
I will not write of daffodils,
Nor will I praise the rose.
Don't get me wrong - I see their beauty.
I just don't connect to their charm.
Sweet and tender they shine,
Picked, sold, gifted as a treat.
Beauty to look at, easy to get.
I do not want what I haven't got.
Instead, I'll write of sunshine,
Of untamable feral perfection,
Of things that bite
Should you try to claim them.
I'll write of striking composition,
Wilting within our gardened trip,
Yet blooming when undisturbed and wild,
Sharp-edged and stubbornly bright.
I'll write of what my soul needs most,
I'll write of gorse.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 7:22 AM UTC
Oh, to regress to a child
In a splendid grove gardened
To accommodate growth
The last thing desired 'mong ripened
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
Cursed? Condemned?
To wander the Earth for eternity?
Aeneas, or Cain as some call him,
Was a person of renown - a leader and scholar.
Part of the crew of Odysseus,
He was called to the ship
But neglected to board it.
The name of the isle of flowers?
The Garden of Eden.
It's caretaker? Cybele.
Before the isle
Aeneas, like others,
Were offered the Trials.
This was to visit all the places
Currently & properly "gardened."
Reward for completion of the Trials
Was longevity, strength, et cetera.
Gnomen & Seers had procured,
Through generations of Trial & error,
A potent cataplasm
Which they learned to mutate/grow
Into a selected fruit.
Like an apple.
The Garden of Eden
Was a place of experimentation,
Much in the same vein as the Tower of Babel.
Where the Tower of Babel was focused
On the development and perfection of communication;
In things like language, oration, poetry, literature, et cetera
The Garden of Eden was focused
On experimentation with different forms of chemicals.
Chemicals, of course, coming in many forms;
Plants, minerals, other natural phenomena, substances & combinations, et cetera.
Part of this was experimentation with psychotropics,
Attempting to develop natural immunities
To such things like alcohol and cannabis.
Aeneas & Cybele,
Driven mad by drugs & mental-illness,
Left the isle.
For Aeneas was a rule-breaker
And confided in Cybele all that he understood and knew
About the Trials.
Aeneas had one trial left,
The Maze.
The Maze was enormous.
Upon its walls
All of human history was carved,
The entirety of that which was experienced by us.
All that had been relayed by various Gnomen & Seers
Through generation after generation.
Carved in ways that could be universally understood,
At least by those living within those ancient societies.
The red thread?
A guide to weapons, combat, subjugation/domination, et cetera.
This area of the Maze
Also housed a weapons cache
In the event the Maze was threatened or attacked.
Who informed Aeneas of the red thread?
Cybele.
Who informed Cybele?
Scylla.
You see, as previously mentioned,
Part of the Trials was to visit
All these areas which had been "gardened."
Auxiliary to this
Was to visit all those
Who had been deemed unworthy or had failed the Trials,
Like Scylla had been before meeting Cybele.
Living cautionary tales,
"Condemned" not to "wander"
But to live out their natural existences
On isles which were gardened for beings
Like predators and plant life which was vicious.
It was Scylla who "blew" Odysseus & his crew off course,
Knowing of Cybele & Eden.
Cybele who later drugged the "Minotaur."
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
I smile at ordinary objects
that remind me of you
with a melancholy smugness.
a violet morning glory electrified by
7am autumn sunshine
beckons memories of a blue one
from a gardened Brooklyn rooftop:
we picked the seeds
with a late-morning laziness;
I felt your bare back
and then stroked your hair.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Bowre of Blisse
Goodly it was enclos’ed rownd about,
As well their entered guests to keep within,
As those unruly beasts to hold without;
Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin
-Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book II, Canto XII
While much of the world is bleeding and burnt
Democracy takes a summer holiday
Far away in Maryland’s gentle woods and hills
Where the screams of tortured children cannot be heard
Among the gardened and guarded streams and trees
Elderly men are guided in their play
By smiling minders gentle in their words
And ready with the proper remedies
While those who code are kept carefully near
To sweeten the words the old gentlemen hear
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 8:59 AM UTC