"gardner" poems
"Here Made of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner
Lyrics By Randy Vera
Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta
http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon
LYRICS :
Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you.
Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name.
Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and ***** I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete.
Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my:
Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert.
Here, made of gone.
Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames.
Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable.
The metaphysical: Known unknown!
St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean.
Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone.
Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink.
Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your *** magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
I'm a little wilted orchid
poisonous and dead
if you aren't too careful love,
I might just lose my head.
Flowers aren't so pretty
when their colors aren't so bright
I haven't had colors in a long time love,
The sun has bleached me white.
Yet you still think I'm beautiful
Im grateful, darling its true
I am almost recovered love
and its all thanks to you.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Dear America,
I was built on a loose foundation
A table with three legs
to sustain the load of a table with four.
To make nothing from something but
For something to come from nothing you need some thing.
The most terrible thing to waste
The superlative of Man’s tools
What makes us as individuals unique,
On the contrary defines us as a social order
The mind, The M.I.N.D.
My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence
Always accepting of the opposition,
A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest,
my mind feeds off of their ideals,
Further amplifying my intellectual power.
Expansion within the human intellect,
builds on experiences of failures and success
Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat
The world is a frigid place,
and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon?
What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun,
9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.”
Young blood, the divine power is in your head
Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates
Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction,
Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others
Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey
A journey to educate myself
A journey to realize the man I want to be
A journey to reach my full potential
Universally familiar words of my grandmother
“You can do whatever you put your mind too”
The future poses as an unknown force,
But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life.
I was built on a loose foundation
Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates.
Expected to come from nothing to something
but had that one thing to become something
Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses
For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
The day my great-grandfather deserted the German army because he was a proud Austrian and no ****
The day my grandfather was given away by his own mother because he was born out of wedlock, and shame to the Chinese gardner.
He grew up a half cast in a white family in racist 1940s New Zealand. No kiwi accent could hide his oriental blood.
The day my grandfather stuck by my grandmother's side, two kids barley 20 and not even that. He held her hand, looked into her pale blue eyes and said "I do". While she stood in a loose suit concealing her 3 month bump.
The day my grandmother took my grandfather back after receiving a "Dear John". Only three days. Then only a few years until she left his world and the earth.
The day my mother decided to fly home to rise a family. Boarding the plane with fragile luggage: me.
These memories form tangible family members will always remain close to my heart.
Those lost in a sea of faded photographs, told not to smile because the exposure was too long.
The melodies of a&t; g&c; will build my body.
The actions, thoughts, mistakes and growth: I will inherit today.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
*Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low,
Close your eyes and enter dreams.
Let me take you to the garden
where passion flowers grow.*
**Let me kiss your mind
With splendor and passion
Ravage your thoughts with
Past, Present and Future actions.**
*Love will not break your heart
but, dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there, with grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair...
Let me take you there.*
**In this garden you're the main attraction
I have the hose that waters your growth.
The ***** that digs to your soul.
As you envelope you roots in this garden of my affection.
We blossom from our enclosure
Spreading bliss
Like pesticides in this garden,
You're my obsession.**
*If we wait until we're
ready, we'll be waiting for
the rest of our lives.
I want to feel as free as the flowers.*
**Immerse yourself in fields of blooms
Cherry blossoms
Tulips and Patunias, too.
Passion flowers are our main attraction
Trapped in their periodic frame.
We savor the peace they bring.
Hours of bliss
Turn to notions of a moment's gist.
For passion flowers bloom in the twilit hours.**
*Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour,
as your feelings overflow.*
**Touch your soul
In places it's never felt
Mending wounds
That never seem to shut
The Gardner to your soul
Here to nurse you back to perfect health.**
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
I hold your life in my hands:
small squares of time, caught out of context.
Picture this! they say, tempting me to remember.
And I do.
I remember a chubby baby’s face, caught in heavy sepia tones.
My twin, ‘though of another generation.
Years later, Fujicolor would reveal our only real differences
in auburn hair
and emerald eyes
that I loved too well to envy.
An Ava Gardner look-alike,
who looked at me with a mommy’s eyes:
emerald eyes
that cried when I hurt
and sparked with a humor that never faltered.
I remember a strong-willed woman
holding a family together amid shattering dreams,
emerald eyes that grew jaded,
and a humor that colored your pain.
And I remember loving you --
‘though God knows liking you came hard!
Both of us strong-willed women
with nothing but a shade of hair and hue of eye to separate us.
That, and a lifetime of differing opinions.
And I remember holding your life in my hands
watching the light fade from your emerald eyes
and I’d give what’s left of life
to have more than their memory
and small squares of your life
to hold in my hands.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
As I walked by the Water front, I make eye contact with a beached Nymph.
She’s suffocating, She can’t sing for mercy.
I remain cautious, for I am as gullible as a fish.
Maybe Evolution will start a new Revolution.
I followed a Gardner through the concrete forest.
Greeting fellow wanderers,
I’m hoping for something unexpected.
I strive to be accepted.
For twenty four hours, to sleep I say, “Good night".
With the time I’m given. What is it that I’m trying to prove?
I carry garbage in my pocket. I spend my money’s worth
on poisons that I’ve grown immune.
The sweet blue dust is transported from the looking glass to my body mass with the help of the All Seeing Eye and Father Washington.
A Black Cat crossed My path, An arachnid bit My eye lid, a flea hoped onto my knee, the needle purchased My plasma, My shoes stole my sole.
I became dizzy searching for Alexie. Imaging a world with only Half A Sky. Questioning My idea of reality.
With these eyes, I want to comprehend the fine print, in between the lines, as plain as black and white.
TJW 2013
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
He spoke about Mike far from the Jackson but more like the color Brown.
As if whites love to see white since the lightest part of his body was in the air before his demise.
I think you should cut that dread off you know the one for Mike Brown since you weren't there. Far from a activist I honestly don't give a **** Far from an activist you're just adding fuel to extinguishing flames. You know how words spread like aids. People saw what they saw, so they say. You're no Martin you're no Malcom you're more like Powell.
This is when I knew I was a racist since all lives don't matter so you say.
If I was to die today in the hands of a white man. You wouldn't care since I'm light right.
Spanish boy on the mic.
Like if my daddy wasn't black as Wesley Snipes. But you know how the ***** daddy story goes.
Never home.
Left mama with a belly on her own.
They don't want to be the fathers but sure in hell they want to hit the daughters.
I prayed one day you'll walk through that door without the bottle. That's my only memory.
A dream.
So if I was to die today you wouldn't care or maybe for half
I mean my dad left me slung
Guess that changes the fact the left me hug like a pair Jays on the electrical line
Never to come by.
Never to teach how to ride a bike.
Never to teach me how to fight.
This is when I knew I was a racist.
Because I hate people, I hate crowded places.
I hate 34th street I hate 42nd.
I hate the city life
I should be somewhere in the country side.
But back to the matter tell me would you care if I die today in the hands of a white man.
What if I got killed by my enemy since minority violence is not a hate crime to society.
You see Tito got popped by Jahim
And Jahim lights went off in the middle of the night by Piddy
But these life's don't matter right
Is just minority violence
Is not the same media feed.
So for all you rappers, poets and activist whose saw Mikes hands up round of applause.
You're just like the media feeding in to what your eyes didn't see.
Is not about the truth anymore ******* but the ratings.
So to the special guest of honor poet I must tell you I'm a racist
I have 6 dead Spanish friends killed by all hands
Black, white and of time
Don't speak to me about justice
This wasn't Gardner or Bell
And if there's beef let me know I always keep a glock close.
My life won't matter to you like to yours won't matter to me.
But if that's what makes me a racist,
Mother ****** what are you?
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Open the rusted gate, and view the overgrown.
Come for a walk, but watch the mud.
Here you will see the forgotten garden.
Here,
The sun never takes of his grey suit.
The lawn grows taller than the withered flowers.
The trees poisonous roots grow into the heart.
No room for chirping birds and hungry ducks.
Though you found the lost gate.
And when you enter,
the forgotten feels remembered.
With your shining eyes, the sun remembers to change.
The flowers blossom to new heights to view the talked about pretty face which stands near.
The roots grow clean and new with the touch of your gentle hands.
There is room for the birds and the ducks now.
But there is more room for you,
as I saved a seat for the day the gardener of my blossoming soul would arrive.
And I ask you to stay and look after it.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
This body is to narrow to start the concrete picturesque poetry
As a marvelous bright sparkling spring into the pitch black marvel stone
My poems are shallow water running out of time climbing backwards
Shanti dances, Shakti watches, I ride the glossy magenta mountain byke Elementally through the potentially ***** city, gulping two little
flying spoons wwhhpp mhm
of
Brilliant IO Ag
Helth guarantieed on the nulth spelling positive not
Obtrusive politely declined skipped suggestive
Visually objective little pencil box down bellow
friend _ this is blank !
Absolutely! Absoulutely! A ****** stream of no perservatives no ***
Objecting flowery flunder opiates Words grow from
Barriers between insufficient gestures from human
Jazzy left ear leaving laments of sounds incapability to stay
Endlessly entwined and glued together as your soul loves
Tender tactile cats touch on your desperate desert sju++
Ave Gratias Plena Ava Gardner Avon Avion
My throat is not of a managment made suits suiting suitcases
I'm Tired Of Fraternities Or True Females Always Ends Well
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
today I realized that I'm perfect with who I'am
atlast in my life I know who I'am
What things im good at and what I need to work on
IM NOT PERFECT
infact im fragile and weak
I'm scared of knowing so much about myself
It's the truth
I KNOW who I can become
either good or bad
I know what the future holds
for my good decisions or my bad
If only today myself could talk to the young boy who struggled so long
trying to be someone he was not.
I'd tell that boy to not follow the crowd that he thought was so cool
That to listen to your mother
to stay away from the drugs
even if the other kids called him a loser for not playing along
The really unique kids are the ones who dont follow the normal teenage rebellion
the real rebels are the ones who study hard
hang out alone
and even wish they could go out and get hammered drunk and puke everywhere
or sleep with a random girl not for love but just for ***
But they dont
I want to tell my rebel self to be a true rebel like those kids
the kids who later on in life
will have money to go out and enjoy the things I enjoyed as a rebel teenager
to be able to hang out with there grown up friends and to fun doing grown up things.
Instead I'm a 24 year old sandwhich artist
the teachers always said keep partying you'll look back and regret these days
I told them they'll regret saying that when I make it big
years of writing
years of sitting up late with a bottle of ***** and a lit cigarette
like my life a long ash forms off the cherry as it burns waiting for the whieght of itself to break off.
I KNOW who I'am
I'm a voice for this plugged in generation
I'm the sticky **** on the bottom of your shoe
I'm the viper in a room full of gardner snakes
I'm the demon with a halo
a hybrid of a soul
hell hound instincts
but a butterflys swagger
soft but hard
sweet but sour
I'm the reason for a middle
im the reason why things stay balanced
for not for people like me
the Balanced
the Beaten
the hardened and the Understanding
the Counter Attack
the person who has seen the roughest parts in life
has been down to pennys to his name
Im here to tell you dont give up
because even during the rain the sun can shine
those days amaze me
when its pouring but sunny
Does it make since no
but do we watch in amazement when it happens
yes
That my friends is me
thats who I'am
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
I plant seeds
In
Other people.
I give them water
And fuel
So they grow.
I'm never around
When that sweet fruit blooms,
I go away.
To plant seeds
In more people
To get away with doing something.
Never
Accepting
The credit.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 6:49 PM UTC
Would you be my Ava Gardner
When I submit myself to the darkness?
The madness of my own racing thought theatre
In my mind
My own sacred sanctuary
lost
Somewhere between the ruminated past
And a catastrophized "way of the future"
Where I presently react
Would you ever bring me back?
Before bath times
And fetal positions
Back into the arms
of infinity, space and all in between
'Cause all I feel is scared anymore
Washing my mind clean with your cosmic touch
From a black hole back to star child
Whispering,
*You will emerge beyond The Phoenix and The Full Moon.
Just rise, My Sun*
Exploiting my inner madman
with all the right intentions
Little death in the dark
Reborn illuminated
*Way of the future
Way of the future
Way of the future...*
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Earth is the scene of crime for many a death ,
Throttled by insane brains , gasping for breath.
The world is in a triage situation !
Best way to change the future is through productive communication .
Build a pathway that sets forth values , love , Respect and Compassion .
Why let Earth go through the pain ?
For what you give is what you gain !
Splash the seeds of love , sprinkle the manure of kindness , see the Earth prosper with fondness in total oneness!!
Attracting the beauty of the Earth like a magnet ,
We are the Gardner's of the planet !!
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:45 AM UTC
A dire il vero .il mio unico rammarico matrimonio non riesce a prenotare i ritratti nuziali .E 'tempo che oh-così- speciale per volteggiare intorno nel
vostro abito e la cattura che addirittura gorgeous " glow" prima del grande giorno .ma per fortuna ora arriva a vivere indirettamente attraverso i germogli come questa bellezza da Feather \u0026Spago .E ' tutto una sessione da sposa dovrebbe essere.e si può cliccare qui per mooooolto molto di più.
Condividi questa splendida galleria
Da Sposa .Non sono mai stata la ragazza che sognava il suo matrimonio crescita .Iè èterribile a decisioni e riviste di nozze me sottolineare fuori.ma quando mi sono fidanzato e ' come qualcosa alterato il mio DNA e sono diventato la abiti da sposa on line sposa più decisivo l'uomo conosca ** visto un vestito su Pinterest .inseguito i collegamenti fino a quando ** trovato il progettista .chiamato un negozio e pochi giorni dopo l'ho comprato .
Quando ** messo su dopo la mia ultima prova .mi sentivo meraviglioso.Era così confortevole e civettuolo .Io amo la vita all'aria aperta .così ** capito che volevo fare i miei bridals qualche unico e nella natura .Abbiamo optato per vestiti da sposa una riserva naturale a Plano e aveva il giorno più bello .Il mio desiderio per il giorno può essere riassunta in tre parole: naturali .preziosi e divertenti.Kelsey e Talon reso questo e molto di più.Sì.era ventoso e mi è stato mangiato vivo da pulci penetranti .ma era il primo giorno mi sono sentito davvero come una sposa .
Camminando lungo la navata è un ricordo così chiaro e perfetto per me .Ero incredibilmente tranquillo e confortevole.che mi sorprende a questo giorno .Il vestito mi ha fatto sentire così elegante e mi ha permesso di concentrarmi vestiti da sposa su ciò che realmente importava quel giorno.Sono grato che ** trovato un vestito che era confortevole e mi ha fatto sentire come me .Sarà sempre la mia scelta vestito preferito :)
Fotografia : Feather \u0026 Twine | Dress : Mori Lee by Madeline Gardner | Florals : Gambi di Dallas | Parco : Arbor Hills Nature PreserveFeather \u0026 Fotografia Spago è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Feather \u0026 Twine Fotografia VIEW
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=131
http://188.138.88.219/images_ld/td//t35/product_thumb/1/2153335353535_392695.jpg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Let me
rephrase this
Letting go ask
my (Big Sis)
Tis the Season
All his letting go
I am confusing myself
My shelf still but stubborn
Born to know the
death Urn
Its been a long time
Thinking how the
world turns
I am not the one to be
letting go
Letting go of
your maid
Letting go of
your
Guilt-free Gardner
But how can
people ever leave
their Mother
I cannot get you
out of my mind
Pineapple upside down
Bent out of shape upside cake
And you know my downside
Always laying on
my left side
Like the right fashion flash
H & M
Of him Hmm___?
I believe
in miracles
The learning process- Go principles
Like the Pinnacle
What a disciple
But I am not your
Raggedy Annie
Oakley
Like your ready
to choke me
I remember you lived in a slum
I'm' the better "Bazooka Chewing"
Gum hum yum
All Graffiti
****** off painter the
whole lump
sum
The Egyptian
Queen Nefertiti
The Sattelite Taurus
Bull Ram
The Mad-men but
the ladies big slam
The first plan
didn't work
Always Plan B
So Brutal darling
Please believe me
When I tell you
I love you
Website Prim and proper
portal
Knowing your place and
All the trademarks
Central Park or
Rockefeller
The Center of attention
The Goodfella detention
Over ice the Skaker
Her beauty marks
The true kiss comeback
bump-hump note
The camelback vote
Presidential Trump
One-day- creation
Two day-letting go
exhaustion
Such maturity
to realize my mission
I didn't have to
overwork
my mind
How General
things can be
Managerial so cordial
Or the materialistic me?
If I sang out all your affairs
Like the Pedigree
Shop until I drop you
Like Gum-drop
HBO I'm the Boho
Mr. Spencer shop
Mess
College drop-out
What am I chop liver
Letting go I don't really no?
What is on the next agenda
to Deliver not Pizza
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
A Friendship Lost Too Soon
I give loving comfort to my son
For he lost a friend too soon
Knowing that for this pain
There is nothing I can do
I see the tears that are in his eyes
And want to hold him in my arms
Take from him this hurt he feels
And help heal his broken heart
I tell him what he feels inside
Over time will slowly fade
That the sorrow thats within his heart
Will be less but still remain
I let him talk about the past
And of the memories that were shared
In a hope that it will ease the pain
For a friend that he held dear
I tell him to hold cherished
The special moments from the past
And to tell the story of his friend
To all others when they ask
Although they were not family
The bond they shared was true
And that hurt he feels inside his soul
Is for a friendship lost too soon
In support and
In Loving Memory
for
Jonathan Gardner
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Poetry
Some write few lines,
Which relate to an incident they had in this life.
Some write to express what they feel within,
I write to let the fear within me be seen by millions.
Words form from just 24 alphabets,
Each word has its own meaning,
Yet why do i arrange these words in a unique way?
That they let out the deepest feelings in me.
Sometimes i cry out in pain,
Sometimes whatever i do is in vain.
But how can these mere words,
Project what my inner self is going through?
The words in which i express myself.
When i show it to someone else?
Do they feel the same way too?
No two persons can be same,
No two feelings can be same.
When a fruit falls from the tree, the little child is dancing with joy while the Gardner cries in anger.
The words have their own magic,
It all seems like a game of hide and seek..
Do i hide behind these words which i write?
Does my deep inner self, which shouts all the time, make me write the words flowing in my mind into a meaningful verse ?
So, someone reads these hidden words and seek what i truly am.
Maybe i write to hide, and you read to seek.
But we both really look for the same things, our true deep feelings.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
O would I be a story
And naught a soul
Wrought less of iron and coal
You’d have been lilacs and morning glories
The world a bed of roses
No thorns would have scold me
I’d be of darkness and you light
No less would I be than love
Tell me a story
Of stars gone dark and how too they are love and glory
Though chaos would have me
I’d unfold for thou to devour me
If I am love who would swallow me
Am I infinity
What is left of me
Without eyes how do I see
Without breath who breathes for me
Why would love be all I see
In dark stars I am and not seen
How little and still to be
Mother Darkness I remember thee
Father thy spark of which I be and see
And how it feels both of thee
Am I alone in Love and Ecstasy
Would too I not be Garden, Seed and Gardner
Is it but a dream that even here she comes to me
And by the left of me, her left arm towards me
Were the keys of love she not beholding me
Heart to Heart I’ve reached to thee
With a smile in her Heart she eludes me
But wherefore art thou
In the Dark in Love in Ecstasy
Without form I feel and be and see
Did you leave the keys
Will they take me home
By this Dream I live by day
And feel Love you’d be all and everywhere
And every day my Heart goes out in a dare
Into thee illusive mirrors that appear
Day by day mirrors, mirrors all around
Up and down and spinning around
Mirror, mirror would you be keys
Please slow down and let me see
In a ring I order thee
***Wounded warrior did you not fight for me
One by one accept thee
In every image one Heart see
Let each grow in fusion that they encircle thee***
In all a Love Story be
***Now see the Rainbow grown about
And breath by breath more wills be***
**Shall you accept
Love will dance with thee**
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:26 PM UTC
I still find it amazing that with a wave of a finger,
a few strokes and a simple idea,
I can create something.
It's not new to me, I've been creating since I was three.
Drawing, writing, building, breathing, planning, hoping, creating. Repeat.
But there's always been this suppressing force,
telling me no, I can't, I'm not supposed to.
From the teachers who told me I shouldn't
paint my parents blue and my brothers green,
or that history is not important.
By others who have treaded just a step on the path
and turned back, and said that I could never get farther.
By even my friends and family telling me I had to go to school,
get a degree and be content working a 9-to-5.
But I'm here to tell you that all of this has fear written all over.
It's something the human condition has created to hide behind.
the fear to face failure, the fear to accept differences, the fear to put effort for a better version of self. We had developed fear to survive.
But who do we fear today? Who do we have to survive from today with fear?
Like Roosevelt's words "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Nameless. Unreasoning. Unjustified terror." Non-existant.
I'd like to remind you that we are creators, not consumers.
They say we were created in his image, in all his intelligence and light.
Although I don't practice a certain common religion, the following quote reminds me of the infinite possibilities viable in this life.
God formed man from the dust and gave him life by sharing His own breath.
Don't lose that breath, don't gather dust.
Shake the dust. Enjoy that first morning breath every day.
Because you are alive and a beautiful creator.
The architect is the constant gardener.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
I plant seeds,
roses, and petunias, all laced with bitterweed,
cast out fertilizer
and await the rain.
Poetry grows,
but only the bitterweed thrives;
its thick steams consume the garden,
prevent the aroma of scented memories ~
rosy days filled
with fond remembrance of you.
I **** through strangling stalks
to free the roses and petunias,
to allow them to weave
their own paths through the garden,
but i cannot grasp
the thick tangled roots of bitterweed.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
The rose in the garden slipped her bud
And she laughed in the pride
Of her youthful blood
As she thought of the Gardner standing by—
‘’He is old—so old! And he soon must die!’’
The full Rose waxed in the warm June air
And she spread and spread till her heart lay bare;
And she laughed once more as she heard his tread—
“He is older now! He will soon be dead!’’
But the breeze of the morning blew, and found
That the leaves of the blown rose strew the ground
And he came at noon, that gardener old,
And he raked them gently with the mould.
And I wove the thing to a random rhyme,
For the rose is beauty, the gardener, time.
ቀበጧ ፅጌረዳ
እንቡጥ ፅጌረዳ አንገቷን ሰገግ አርጋ
ብቅ አለች ከአትክልቱ ሥፍራ በአበቦቹ አልጋ
አፍላ የወታጣትነትን ወራት
የሚያጅበው የትኩስ ደም ኩራት
በቃ አፍነከነካት!
ከጎኗ አትክልተኛውን ቆሞ ስታስተውል
የሓሳብ ብርቅታ አላት ውል
‹አርጅቷል በጣም አርጅቷል
በቅርቡ ይሞታል!›
ሞቃታማው የበጋ አየር ስለተስማማት
ክንፎቿን ዘርግታ በስፋት
ምንም ለመደበቅ ሳትዳዳ
ከፈተች የልቧን ጓዳ::
ስትሰማ የእግሩን ኮቴ አንደገና
አሳቃት ደና... ‹አርጅቷል፣ አፍጅቷል
ብዙ ሰንብቷል፣
አሁንስ ይሞታል!›
ግና የማለዳው ንፋስ ደርሶ
ስፍራውን አተራምሶ
ሲሄድ ተጣድፎ
አስተዋለ የፅጌረዳ ክንፍ
በአትክልቱ ቦታ ተነስንሶ፣
ቀተር ላይ አዛውንቱ አትክልተኛው
ሑሉንም በሹካው ሰብስቦ ከላው!
እናም በዚህ ጉዳይ ስለተመሠጥኩ
የስንኝ ቋጠሮ ከተብኩ
እኔ እንዳስተዋልኩት
ፅጌረዳዋ የውበትን
አትክልተኛው የጌዜን
ምስል ነው የሚከስቱት!
(አውሰቲን ዶብሶን) //
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Upon the dry afternoons,
the heavens tremble violently,
thick with a fathers fear,
that condenses into anger.
The sky must some day fall,
and i think it knows that.
The sun blisters its back,
and the mountains splinter its side,
but still it lurches forth,
the chained gardner to earth,
content to look down and see,
his lover still shares his suffering.
Among the muddied morn'
Gaia quivers indefinitely,
full with a mothers worry,
that solidifies into pain.
The ground must someday slip,
and i think it knows that.
Time has curved her posture,
and weather shows her age,
but still creaking forth,
the spinning ballerina's curse,
and the infidelity of the truth.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 12:16 AM UTC