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Sam Temple Jun 2015
Droppin rows
Lil sweet hoes
Starting to show
Ah, new growth
Bout another month
Tie those ******* up
Scroggin arms to buff
Makin knuckles rough
Outdoor grower
Both a grower and a shower
Homeboy didn’t you know,
I grow outdo
Organic food, sprinkling
Had an idea, inklin
Gonna try feedin in the evenings
Prevent these girls from shrivelin
See I
Take care and pride
Don’t let em get fried
Use hemp string to tie
Dog, that aint no lie
Cause I grow out door
Still liven white boy poor
But I grow like a muthafuckin roar
Build slow
Leave ya wantin more
I’m an outdoor grower
Don’t really **** wit food crops
Don’t really make friends with mad cops
Don’t really like to eat pork chops
But I will make you top drop with my
Super green
Grown squeaky clean
Nothing obscene
Goes in-between
These rows
No hoes
Use my hands
Part of the land
Scan the horizon
Make a new plan to
Expand this outdoor grower
I’m an out door grower
Never use a mower
Or snow blower
I’m a outdo grower
Got this **** wrapped up like a boa
And you know
Out door grow
Doin 20 different strains
Some seed, some clone brains
My soil built to drain
Up on the Willamette Valley plain
See I hear all this ****
About Mendocino
And northern cali
But the mid willamettre valley
Grows better than anything in cali
And I back that **** up
Dab nail on leaning on a coffee cup
Bruthas tryin to just stand up
After rollin and smoking one of these blunts
But I
Try to stay humble
Donate my wears to the needy
I aint greedy
Its about growin the best ****, me
I do that all day er-ry day
To late Spetember from early May
While farmers out gatherin hay
I be growin the best **** in the USA
I’m a outdo grower
Half-assed rhyme flow-er
Getting ******* to bend lower
So all those buds get equal sun –
Sam Temple Apr 2015
ah yeah
beautiful ladies
stretching up to the sun
what a gift
this little ****

see uh I been a grower
for some time now
grow that types a ****
make ya mind bow
gettin lower
on that cheeba
no not cheva
this is a killa weeda
so many strains
make ya heads spin
you like to stay up late
or get all locked in
see it don’t matter
which way ya wanna go
indica or sativa
I treat ya right, bro
see here in Oregon
we do things different
work a barter system
help each other pay rent
call me a socialist
like a give a ****
you be at my door
when ya havin hard luck
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –

I grow out door
like that plant was meant to be
no chemicals
let that ***** grow free
feed em organic
lots a guano
watch the buds rippin
from the back po
see I’m a real farmer
have a long patient list
always lookin to add names
get the money makers ******
so I don’t charge much
just cost no overhead
I aint in this to get rich
that’s why I got this rap bread
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –
island poet Aug 2020
pick a word, let it lead you astray, then (soil)


a poem to exclaim, refracting the sun rays emerging
from the curves of your chested heart, the waggle of
ten fingers conducting your inner song, the baton first
waved swipe to earth pointing, let us commence there:

think of yourself, entirety, as soil, you the potter,
what has been planted by others, nourished by others,
along sides of your ingestions, you the grower, seeded
anew, each word, hybrid edging with existing vocabularies

the sun from without, the sun from within, the rivulets
of water, the arterial pathways, feed the treasure chest,
and you, farmer, planter, grower, picker, plucker of the
produce, serve us, baskets grown on the fruited plain of

poems’ soil consisting of the writings grown in the
unique you,
all of you,
body & soul
Faleeha Hassan May 2016
A Babylonian once told me:
When my name bores me,
I throw it in the river
And return renewed!
* * * * *
Basra existed
Even before al-Sayyab* viewed its streets
Bathed in poetry
As verdant as
A poet’s heart when her
Prince pauses trustfully to sing
While sublime maidens dance--
Brown like mud in the orchards
Soft like mud in the orchards
Scented with henna like mud in the orchards—
And a poem punctuates each of their pirouettes as
They walk straight to the river.
I’ve discovered no place in the city broader than Five Mile.
He declared:
I used to visit there night and day,
When sun and moon were locked in intimate embrace.
Then they quarreled.
The Gulf’s water was sweet,
Each ship would unload its cargo,
And crew members enjoyed a bite of an apple
And some honey.
The women were radiant;
So men’s necks swiveled each time ladies’ shadows
Moved beneath the palms’ fronds.
These women needed no adornment;
Translated by William Hutchins
……………………………………………………………..
Basra, also written Basrah  is the capital of Basra Governorate, located on the Shatt al-Arab river in southern Iraq between Kuwait and Iran. It had an estimated population of 1.5 million of 2012.
Basra is also Iraq's main port, although it does not have deep water access, which is handled at the port of Umm Qasr.
The city is part of the historic location of Sumer, the home of Sinbad the Sailor, and a proposed location of the Garden of Eden. It played an important role in early Islamic history and was built in 636 AD or 14 AH. It is Iraq's second largest and most populous city after Baghdad.
Basra is consistently one of the hottest cities on the planet, with summer temperatures regularly exceeding 50 °C (122 °F)
Badr Shakir al Sayyab (December 24, 1926 – 1964) was an Iraqi and Arab poet. Born in Jekor, a town south of Basra in Iraq, he was the eldest child of a date grower and shepherd.
He graduated from the Higher teachers training college of Baghdad in 1948
Badr Shakir was dismissed from his teaching post for being a member of the Iraqi Communist Party.
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab was one of the greatest poets in Arabic literature, whose experiments helped to change the course of modern Arabic
poetry. At the end of the 1940s he launched, with Nazik al-Mala'ika,and shortly followed by ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Bayātī and Shathel Taqa, the free verse movement and gave it credibility with the many fine poems he published in the fifties.
These included the famous "Rain Song," which was instrumental in drawing attention to the use of myth in poetry. He revolutionized all the elements of the poem and wrote highly involved political and social poetry, along with many personal poems.
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2023
Everything is BIG here.

Meals are big, bums are big, cars are huge and the skies are a million miles wide.

Janet and I are travelling in the Northwest of the United States of America, spending time with Boaz and Lisa in Idaho, Steve Yocum in Oregon and Greg and Linda in Washington State.

The trip is a "quickie" in that we are fitting one helluva lot into just three weeks duration.
Never in all my days have I seen such huge quantities of food served up in restaurant meals, plastic bags discarded, American flags fluttering and all the young, blonde girls in tattered, impossibly short cut offs and sleeveless tops talking loudly, incomprehensibly at a million miles an hour ......Just blows you away!!
Monstrous pickup trucks, Rams, Broncos, big V8s travelling the freeways continuously. Sheriffs, troopers and Road cops all wearing firearms on the hip, in their souped up pursuit vehicles parked on the roadside shoulder, eyeballing everyone as they pass, with a mean, accusatory glare.
Out on the range there is a million square miles of nothing but sage brush and basalt rock....and searing, baking heat.
114 degrees in the painted desert of Moab. Beautiful though with vaulting red sandstone cliffs and rearing stone arches against the blue-est of blue skies.
Standing pillars of ancient sedimentary rock born in depositions laid down in vast oceans of bygone eras, millions of years ago.

History is painted vast in this immensity. The gigantic and abrupt catastrophic inundation of a vast and deep inland sea, swelled suddenly by floodwaters of rivers diverted by lava flows from subterranean fissures....Unimaginable torrents abruptly released, gouging out ancient lava beds to create gigantic waterfalls and deep, sheer sided chasms.

Cascades that constituted the biggest river flow ever known in the history of the planet, washing away everything from the epicentre of the continent in Utah through Idaho to the Pacific ocean in the rugged coast of Oregon. Such was the Bonneville flood of 12,000 years ago illustrated today by the gigantic chasms created in the beds of basalt and rhyolitic larva throughout Idaho and the fields of massive, round, house sized boulders strewn from the floods origin near what is now, Salt Lake City in Utah to the coast in Oregon, a thousand kilometers away.

The two weeks stay with Boaz and Lisa just disappeared in a flash. They took us down to Moab painted desert, Zion National park, the Craters of the Moon, Monument National Park and up to Stanley and the Sawtooth mountains by the mighty Salmon river. Janet and I took advantage of a couple of push bikes hanging in the garage and spent most days cycling the local trails and visiting Starbucks for a celebratory cappuccino or two....Those bikes saved our bacon, walking trails in that heat was ******. Great hospitality enjoyed here. watched reruns of Sopranos on Boaz's 70 " SmartScreen TV and enjoyed Arnie's escape from postwar Austria to Mr Universe and fame and fortune @ Hollywood with Boaz whilst enjoying chilled margaritas in the hot tub.

The camaraderie of meeting an old mate of 45 years past, Steve Yocum of Oregon  a fellow writer and author. Both of us intent on shooting the breeze, putting the world to right. In some ways a sad exercise in that no longer can either of us make things right for with age upon us, neither has influence. We can huff n puff n blow the house down....but it seems, nobody pays the slightest bit of attention. The penalty of age is invisibility. The relief in it all is that, really, nobody actually gives a hoot!

Just two Old Dogs letting off steam..... it's rather cathartic actually! Thanks to Stevo, Ian and lovely Heidi for the accommodation, great hospitality and warmth.

The cool atmospheric relief of the serene and calm, Puget Sound in Seattle, Washington state gave welcome respite from the intense heat of the interior and the serenity of our cottage accommodations and startlingly beautiful garden surrounds. A forest of conifers and deciduous trees harboured gardens of blooming roses, hollyhocks and multihued cone flowers, emerald lawns carve swarths of sunlight in avenues of deep, green shade....a delight for the sunburnt brows of yesterday's heat.
Woken by the bassoon blast of the passing early morning ferry out in the waterway, to stroll out to sit at the very edge of the sandy, pebble beach and gentle surge of the deep, clear saline waters of the magnificent Puget Sound.
The peace of early morning crisp cool air, a seascape of moored fishing boats on mirrored waters, the distant Olympic range rearing to its' full 7,000 ft against a powder blue sky left us quite breathless with the utter beauty of it all....add to that a lovely breakfast offering of fresh berries, kiwifruit slices and yogurt and a chilled glass of fresh squeezed orange juice...and we absolutely, couldn't want for anything more. To Greg and Linda our love and thanks for giving up your beautiful bed, travelling us around beautiful Seattle and being our airline coach to and from Portland. We shall return the warm hospitality next time you hit NZ and Taranaki.

Vulcanism has dominated the terrain in Idaho, Montana, and Utah. Continental drift westward of the land mass has brought about a steady transference eastward of the massive geothermal hot spot which currently lies in Yellowstone park and which is the source of all volcanic activity within the park..
Idaho, in ancient times, wore the volcanic mantle of the region in having truly gigantic rhyolitic ash and magmatic eruptions. These cataclysmic eruptions emptied deep cavernous, subterranean magma chambers which collapsed under their own weight leaving vast circular calderas in the landscape. Subsequent plate tectonic activity caused deep faulting allowing huge flows of sticky magma to surge to the surface like searing hot black toothpaste, spreading across the plains obliterating all evidence of the rhyolite caulderas, surfacing the state, to this day, with millions of acres of hard black basaltic rock.
Here and there, rhyolite has wormed its way to the surface building gigantic domes, over the centuries these have weathered leaving statuesque, dramatic flat-topped mesa scattered across the landscape.
Altogether a truly unique and enthralling terrain for visitors to behold and one which reveals a dramatic insight to the volcanic and tectonic violence of the recent past and gives a definite air of mystique to the beholder.

In a land of 360 million people, supermarkets are downright huge...and they contain the spoils of the nation's plenty.
Acres of dazzling variety... and cheap by international standards. The very best of prime beefsteak, sides of pork, Alaskan cod freshly caught and displayed in rows of chilled enticing exhibit. Every possible vegetable and fresh picked fruit known to man in piled pyramids of brilliant, colourful display. Beautiful ornate furniture, beds, mattresses, tiers of car tyres of every conceivable brand and size, wheelbarrows, fertilizer, fresh flowers in mountainous display, ***** in barnlike chillers. Supermarket trolleys for giants..... and gird yourself for a marathon hike in collecting your basket of groceries...and give yourself half a day....you'll need it!

America has momentum, huge momentum. Across vast tracts of country lie networks of highway. Multilane concrete that tracks mile after mile carrying huge trucks with 40 tonne loads. Incessant trucks, one after another,  thundering along carrying the lifeblood of America, merchandise,  machinery, infrastructure, steel, timber and technology. Gigantic mobile freezers hauling food from the grower to the markets. Hauling excavators, harvesters,  bulldozers and giant Agricultural tractors. Night and day this massive source of production careers across the nation transporting the promise of America, the momentum which drives the Stars and Stripes onward, ever onward.

On the margins of the cities of Portland and Salem the unhoused gathered in squalid tent communities. In the beautiful city of Seattle I saw many down and out unshaven, untidy individuals with hopelessness in their eyes, pushing supermarket trolleys containing their sparse possessions. I drove through rural communities, some of which, reflected hardship and an air of despair. Run down dwellings in need of maintenance and repair, derelict rusty vehicles adorning the **** strewn frontages.
Not 20 kilometers away in Ketchum and Sun Valley Idaho the homes were palatial in grounds tended by gardeners and viticulturalists. Porsches and Range Rovers graced the ornate, rusticated porticoes. Wealth and privilege in evidence in every nuanced nook and cranny.
America is, indeed, a land of contrasts, a land of wealth, privilege, and plenty..... and yet a land that, somehow, tolerates and abides a fragile paucity which emblazons itself, embarrassingly, within the national profile.

On a hot day in Twin Falls, Idaho, I walked into a huge air-conditioned sporting goods store specifically to look at guns....and in the long glass cases there were hundreds of them. From snub nosed revolvers to Glocks, 38s, 45 caliber even western style Colt 45s and the ***** Harry Magnum with the long, blue gun barrel and classic, prominent foresight.
In the racks behind the counter are hung fully and semi-automatic rifles of myriad types...all available for sale providing the buyer has appropriate licensing.
In a land where mass shootings proliferate weekly, I ask myself....does this availability of lethal weaponry make sense?

The aching beauty of the mountain country in Northern Idaho, Oregon and Washington state cannot be overstated. The Sawtooth mountains, the Cascades, Mt Ranier, Mt Hood and the Olympic range. Ridgelines of towering conifers as far as the eye can see, waves of green deciduous running down to soft grassy clearings with boulder strewn, rushing streams and the cascade of plunging waterfalls. The magnificence of the natural beauty of this rugged, heavily timbered mountain country just defies description being far, far isolated from the attentions of man.

To happen upon this country from the far distant reaches of the South Pacific is a culture shock, to be suddenly exposed to the extreme largess. It is difficult to calibrate, hard to encompass, impossible to assimilate....but the people encountered warmed us with their generosity of spirit, their willingness to welcome travelling strangers into their homes....and, of course the invaluable time we spent with our family….and for these factors alone together with the huge magnificence that is this........
GRAND AMERICA.
We are truly, truly grateful.

Janet & Marshal
Foxglove@Taranaki.NZ
Mike Virgl Oct 2017
How do you obtain the grower of love?
Will it take the flight of another dove?
To reach the skies and receive the light
How blinded I am by your helpless sight
No longer should you be so bold or rash
To sit is to run and avoid the lash
And look to the ground to soak in the red
A flower takes time to grow from the dead
From seed and patience this rose did arise
To kiss the grower, a pleasant surprise
I did this poem for English class. it is (I hope) in perfect iambic pentameter, however I may come back to revise it if I see a mistake. This poem is dedicated to a renewed hope, and wonderful feelings of happiness.
(Updated)
Kam Rayefski Jun 2012
Live life to live
shape the world and cultivate
away fears of shadows and hate.
Grower's thumbs often build
greener tomorrows, tokes to give
to brothers and sisters of today
always searching for more questions.

What clarity can bring to one
not you, but for someone
who holds the rotten cape
held together by rough black tape
to the bewildered open fields
of opiates and grapes
waiting just enough time
to bend around the vine
that holds together what they are feeling.

Let the world keep spinning
wobble from time to time
stumble off our feet
no chance to meet or greet
the war is on our street
bringing lust greed and pride
for all of us to abide
but all things can be forgiven.

Feel the sunny heat
of the smiles of those you just beat
for all the people are here
lovers, plumbers, drummers,
and this goes on, we run again
on and on we run again
on and on again
we go on.
Aaron Wallis Sep 2014
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which

Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane

Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all

Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive

An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away

He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must

The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease

The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Wars happen. It is *******
Victor Marques Oct 2010
Antonio your name,
Agriculturist, grape grower.
Gotten passionate for the land,
For the Douro, Mounts.


That love that is not locked in,
He  sleeps in the hill, the mountain range.
He harvested sadness in the Colonial War.
He loved the Douro and Portugal.


He showed the land that joys would bring to it.
He  loved their children and wife Maria.
He planted grapevines that looked at the covered with star sky,
He  made  his wine with immaculate love.



The grapes are a love for all the life,
He  looked  for Rio Douro e Tua,
In  the memory of a people with glory,
With that tear that I feel now.
I comfort me in the duriense horizon,
Today, tomorrow and always.


Victor Marques
love, douro, Father
António, father,
Hannuh Jacey Dec 2012
I lie to myself for the resonance of others.
What matters to you means little to me.

Fairly sob mothers, I've watched all my life.
I work against the powers of the arrows,
-potions, serums, and drugs.

I live for myself internally.
and please what is necessary externally.

No one desires the muck from which the rose grows best,
but they desire the rose regardless.

I wish to pick all the flowers that sprout
and water them forever more without the
wilting of others.

I only possess so much water.
I conform by farming the less.

I tend to one to make it the most beautiful.
Often it is against my nature.

I'll never know the life of a great grower
but in creating one thing acceptable,
I am fine.
Alex P Gara Nov 2011
my type breathes ink
pressing said ink against sky
holds it, sticks it, stains it
each letter pushes
and stays

every mistake she makes is crinkled
and college-lined
freethrown in and around
an endless waste basket
later,
we'll call it her greatest work

because my type
type: writer
alphabet ingester
idea inventor
stainer of sky
believes in a world
where the world believes

she dots her eye-contact
and crosses her teachings

she sees old folks as encyclopedias
and children as ear to ear echoes
of all of this beautiful ****
that makes us shout
out loud

she sees fairytales
as tomorrow's scientific law
and travels this crazy world
via lopsided butterfly
whom by nature
always take the scenic route

because my type
type: writer
freelance flower grower
with watercolor wordplay
breathes, believes
and redrafts

breathes, believes
Daniel Wetter Feb 2015
Who the **** do you think you’re talking to?
Going through the motions
you think you’re walking through?
Like lacking emotions,
makes up for the fact,
you make up your facts,
in hopes that no one crosses you?
Or shows you respect
that no one has shown you.
Cause you don’t show us.
I guess nobody told you,
being so low on life's totem pole,
in the sense that you’re light in heart and soul,
means that absolutely nobody,
could ever be below you.
So quit looking down, you’re bound
to find the older you.
The one you abandoned,
to show you’re a grower too.
Aren’t you proud now the whole world is over you?

I hear it in your words and see it in your eyes.
You’re weaker than you show,
"know it all" is your disguise.
Went to grow, to fall.
Taller hopes but not to size,
of the man that lives inside,
that heartless, aimless, shameless guy.
Not hard to shape the reason why,
he tries to shame when people try,
just to be themselves,
he needs some help,
with seeking decent vibes.
Addiction at it’s finest
find this person spineless.
Crying, and denying, asking
why in times of crisis.

Yo, just know man,
I mean it as i say it.
This the program,
get with it no debating.
I swear to ******* god kid,
I'll rearrange that face.
You’ve never seen this rage from me just yet, oh ******* wait!
Keep doing what you’re doing and
being such a ****.
Being such a *****,
is gonna get you hit.
I’ll hit you then I’ll quit,
pack my **** and ******* split!
Partaking in the shaking,
of your habit baby fits.
Complaining on the daily,
like its cute or something crazy.
Kid go find your ******* self,
before you tell me how things may seem.
Use that ******* brain,
for more than your berating.
Elevate yourself.
Hell won't be waiting on your "maybe".
Butch Decatoria Aug 2016
[This piece is a grower, one of my lengthier poems, but don't worry - just enjoy the journey on my ride.]


Craigs Schindler's
the Personals, VIP - Invite
Lists
Of "A" Listers on the DL
Haters D-Listing us...

So yeah, I got on
Craig's Intersection on Chrome,
and this what I read...

[MEN Seeking Men]
"Amen and good luck on finding the One in here"

Cyber-ly here,
We Seekers seeking Sick seas
to feel pleased,

Should of made a quick sticky
Note - "It's like looking through a filth mag."
with a mouse to turn the page
No need to feel shame.

Let's give us a chance,
Cyber here be
like - click - pics - clack
opens where we view
at that - a close up of a Mr.'s

**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
(Don't ****)

Mushroom tops / Low sagging sacs...
The next pic - *click click
is also Member only.
Who's ads dare say
self-description / Promo / Sales' Pitch
A one-liner catch phrase

Hook  Line  And  Sinker.

**** Pleasures.  All your needs.
Age : 26 / Location : Strip.
His pic is also ****.

Where's my Cub? Top seeks Bttm
Bottom of the list
but still - It's Equal Opportunity Miss.

Late Night ******* looking for a Regular
(You know like how dogs keep going back
   to the same spot he ******)

Want a *******--22

Nips and JO (You know J for Jack and then Off)

Busco Chavito Activo M4M
Muchacho's Quatro Mi'cha-chos

All-American for encounters with the Same - discreet

Pages on pages of this place
Cyber Ether Web
And the address for such sites
     No longer a conversation chat room to connect
its business of exchanges
no one likes wasting time
getting nothing
     No one cares for a walk in quick-sand sludge
drowning in mud

In excess we numb our selves
from the heavy absence of Life
but I dare say :
     "Self-Respect is Love -Self - Love"
I stop flipping through the pages
of **** upon **** pics
a few body and **** shots
not one of a face
     without shade, beanies, hoods, photo-shopped
"disguise" - is the same as "hide"
so not to be recognized
so ridiculed with embarrassed shame
where they respect you at work

Must not end up like **** on Craig's list.
And without a pic, I place my own post

Yearning for Mr.'s **** Slong Johnson / Peter Pecker Wood
(Just for kicks--curiosity--what kind responds replies)
It's a gamble on here
Cyber-ly in there - with lists raining
*** and **** and misters (its hot in Sin city).

What's cookin'--who's lookin' -- Sookies
****** and Chance
perchance ...

To dream and in that dream, Feel...
when all I feel is blue
**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
wit deez ... nuts
Family Jewels
Nothing but wanting for nutting

Don't be a ****
and go look for some kind of kindness
some kind of beautiful
life of a Love Life
back then when in the back of an '80's
pink station wagon...

Howling at the moon as all dogs do,
And no sign of a ******

Thank goodness thanks to She
All
Mothers love
my Juliet's
with sincerest respect


Don't forget to look for Love
now
**"I bow to the Divine in You"
Hannah West Mar 2011
The stars lean down to kiss you,
And I lie awake and miss you.
Poor me a heavy does of atmosphere.

I would lay in bed,
Those late nights,
The words I read from your texts
Still lingering in my head.
I'm falling fast and hard.
I miss you so much,
But I felt happy that you say good night,
Going to get your good night's sleep
While I stayed awake,
Grinning from every cute thing you said.

'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly,
But I'll miss your arms around me.
I'd send a postcard to you Dear
'Cause I wish you were here.

I'd begin to feel sleepy,
But I'd imagine you right there with me,
Your arms around me,
Resting your head on my neck,
As we always wished we could be cuddling together.
I wished you had been there,
To make me feel safe
And happy.

I'll watch the night turn light blue,
But it's not the same without you
Because it takes two to whisper quietly.

Not sharing whispers,
But looks.
We'd look at each other
Silently,
Not having to say one word to each other
Because we already knew how we felt
For each other.

The silence isn't so bad,
Till I look at my hands and feel sad
Because the spaces between my fingers
Are right where your's fit perfectly.

Remembering how your hand fit in mine.
Such a perfect moment,
It felt so right,
Resting my head on your shoulder,
Our hands grasping the other
Never wanting to let go.

I'll find repose in new ways
Though I haven't slept in two days
'Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone.

Sleepless nights,
Alone in my chilled room.
Beneath a million blankets,
Hugging pillows,
But none could substitute the feeling of my arms
Around you.

But drenched in Vanilla Twilight
I'll sit on the front porch all night,
Waist deep in thought because
When I think of you,
I don't feel so alone.

Completely drowning in thoughts
Constantly about you.
I felt safer and not alone
Because the thought of you being there
Made me relax,
And feel safe
Even though miles separated us.

I don't feel so alone.

I don't feel so alone.

As many times as I blink,
I'll think of you,
Tonight.

I'll think of you tonight

I always thought of you;
Every day
And
Every night.
You never left my mind.

When violet eyes keep fire
And heavy wings grow lighter
I'll taste the sky and
Feel alive again.

Soon enough,
You were gone,
And with someone else.
I find myself grower stronger.
My heavy heart slowly grows lighter.
Some day I'll be ready for someone else
But not soon;
I'm still in love with you.

And I'll look at the world that I knew
But I swear I won't forget you.

Oh, if my voice could reach back through the past
I'd whisper in your ear,
"Oh, Darling, I wish you were here."*

If only I could tell you of all the times
I wanted you around.
I probably did,
But just to go back and say it
Once more
I would do any day.
Mine and my ex's song. Vanilla Twilight by Owl City
And some story about us when we were together and before hand
Sometimes remembering is nice :3
Jordan Smith Jun 2013
I am an egg in your gastrointestinal tract. I'll be living here, I hope that's alright with you, oh and make sure you treat me well, you wouldn't want to be a bad host. Don't bother pet naming me. My name is Enterobius, but I like to be called the Pinworm. I'll be hatched in your duodenum, which is your small intestine. Maybe your small dumb mind didn't know. I'm a grower and I'm gonna need some space so I'm gonna take a trip to your colon, I'll feel like a real adult by then. My husband and I will mate there and he'll sadly die, but not in vain. I'll still be here and I think I'll move to your ileum caecum, which is the large intestine, man you humans don't even know the real names for your body parts. I'll eventually attach to the mucosa and I'll be engulfed with eggs, my 16,000 little babies. And on my way out of your body I'll be expelling my eggs. I just wanna say, I'm as excited for the ride as you are.
Sam Temple Jun 2015
I couldn’t do for my mother what I did for my dog
By Samuel L Temple

Trip One
The phone rang soft, as it is want to do
answering it I found the quiet voice
of my dear mother. It was November
and a chill not only filled the air, but
also my very being shook with the new
information I was being given.
2013, yet another way
for me to hate Thanksgiving had begun.
It was only a few days after we
discovered my old lab had cancer too.

Falling to my knees I wept, but only
for a moment, I realized my wife
and I had already been researching
a cure. A brand new life was unfolding.
We had both the material and the
know-how to produce a new cancer cure.
His name was Rick Simpson and he was our
hero. Youtube and websites gave the news
and we watched eager and with bated breath.

Being an outdoor grower gives one the
access needed to produce large amounts,
being part of a co-op gave me the
ability to outsource all my needs.
A plan was made by the skin of my teeth,
and we set out trying to save mother
from the scourge that kills indiscriminate.
At the same time our old black lab, Jimmy
was losing weight and growing foot tumors;
we were embarking on a two-front fight.

It was chilly that late Fall afternoon
As we loaded the old Nissan pick-up
And headed down south to California
We left meds for the dog with our sonny
and loaded pounds, sealed, into blue crates,
filled the tank and bought some food for the trip
and said a silent prayer as we began
this epic journey to save moms life.
The sun shone through the clouds and I felt warmth
…would be a while before I felt again.

It was over two full mountain passes
when the fuel filter popped, leaving us stuck,
in Medford…a little cash but no car
my dear Auntie was the call we made first
and she, as always, wanted to help us
so she wired some dollars and we got
ourselves a rental Avenger that day
the journey recommenced and South we went
stopping briefly by the Bay for a friend
who donated pounds to the cause at hand

For another thousand miles we rode
one arm stretched South, and the other behind
we avenger-ed our way to the badlands
near Goat mountain, butted against a base
we found a small white oasis of love
inside, a frail, sickly, cancerous mom
wrapped in a blanket all smiles and pain
my dear sweet mother extended her hand
skin draped skeleton with liver spots bright
and hazel eyes shining with love for me

Small talk subsided and so we began
to encourage mother to look beyond
fifteen years, Narcotics Anonymous
and all the kool-aid she could ever drink
had so corrupted her processes that
she was unsure about starting a new cure
I tentatively brought out the product
handed one gelatin capsule over
and I watched her swallow pure cannabis
extracted with grain alcohol en masse'

Pounds of marijuana stuffed into pills…
“More than one whole gram ingested daily
and don’t you ever, ever miss a dose
you think you must take chemotherapy
so please just smoke after the appointments
be sure to get so much rest and don’t stop
try to eat and be a little active,
but rest is key to healing…and mother
these instructions are not for fun, you see
I honestly believe this can cure you”

We visited through the weekend and left
heading up the interstate to Oregon
hopeful and tired, we held hands and talked
inconsequential nothings passed chapped lips
as both of us rode home deep in new thoughts
thinking back to the grey shade of her skin
and the light that still shown strong in her eyes
I began to feel a pride in what
we were trying to do, and for her faith
that my mother placed in me that cool day.

Trip Two

I sat at the edge of my bed, thinking
we were about to take a winter drive
I had rented a nice 2012
Chevy Malibu, but there was no beach
only the forethought of desert sand dunes
and the ole military base fence line
mom’s pet coyotes would be at the trough
and her beautiful pits would be lounging
all I could do was softly pray for her
whispering under my breathe, let me see.

In vast style and comfort we headed
south again. Stopping at the Bay, again
getting product from my friend, yes, again
and driving down the I-5, cruise control.
Fast food and the ever watchful radar
were the order of the trip as miles
disappeared and the ribbon of road crept
beneath tires stretched to infinity
soon the Tehachapi’s gave way to sand
rocky desert with Joshua tree stands

The coolness of early winter did blow
sending particulates and shivers down
the arms and legs of my wife as we sat.
Looking at the small white cottage, hoping.
She came to the door with twenty more pounds
and the smile I remembered from my youth
she spoke of lower counts and feeling good
and increased appetite and acceptance
fifteen years, narcotics anonymous
and finally she could see for herself.

Marijuana had more to offer than her
than just ‘high’ to hide from reality
it was medicine, possibly the best
the world could offer. It blends perfectly,
with the endocannabinoid system
boosting the body’s ability for
fighting off cancer and disease. And now
there was a real chance at saving her.
Tears were shed as we all hugged and smiled,
kisses and proclamations of success.

We packed slowly that morning, feeling worn
Fifteen hundred miles lay before us
With Monday work looming after a long
Sunday drive. It was in Barstow that I
decided I wanted to show Tina,
Reno… so we took the 395
north, the Serria-Nevada’s loomed large.
Working within the constraints of time, we
seemed to be right on schedule, Reno
by four, and at home eight hours later,
it was about that time I noticed the
snow level was getting closer each mile.

It was in the early evening when first
they came; little specks of snow, delicate.
Softly falling on my clean windshield
This moment matched the snow along the road
reached our car, a sinking feeling began.
We drove easily over the first pass
Just a shade over 7000 feet high,
the snow,  falling faster, I heard a sob.
Glancing over I saw my wife huddled,
face to the car door, crying quietly.

Creeping in like a child wanting one
More drink
hey gang! I am working an Epic and need some advice. My mom passed in December after 14 months of fighting cancer with both western traditional (chemo and radiation) and with me making cannibas oil. She lived in Southern Cali and I lived in Northern Oregon during this year and I made 6 trips down south to drop off meds and whatnot.... I think I am looking for advice and input from you folks as I have never tried anything this ....grandiose.
Jack Leveret Jul 2019
Jesus performed miracles out of sheer boredom
He turned water to wine and became a furious alcoholic
His dad tried to intervene

Prometheus carefully thought of strange and calming memories
His hair and beard quickly became a hindrance to his comfort and to the spectacular view in front of him
He began to resent the stench of his endlessly exposed armpits
He was never quite secure with his ****** being on display
He was a grower, not a shower
Butch Decatoria May 2019
Certainly
Trust is a ***** pill.
Show me
Your skills at giving
Love
Better made in
Certainty.
Trust is the morning after
Still..
Jean Rojas Apr 2015
Celestial gardener
Grower of the seeds
Of spiritual flowers
Multi-colored scents
Of restful souls…
You plant on clouds, graciously
The stems and leaves
Swaying in the air
You hold lives in
Your gentle hands
In a little corner in heaven
Where the Almighty has
Assigned to you
To tend His garden
Of everlasting life
There is an immortal
Glow in your eyes
As you nurture these
Cosmic trees in
The hallway on high
No more sadness for you now,
No more painful tears
Or regrets
You have passed on to another form
Where sinister shadows do not exist
And darkness is defeated
By the white of the light
Rest easy now sweet gardener
And spread all your love and kindness
In the eternal garden called “heaven”

For: Francois Jeanne
05 August, 2009
(Francois Jeanne was a gentle man who stood 6'4" tall when he was alive.Unfortunately,
he was viciously and savagely murdered by his wife and her lover.He was a quiet man
who was totally submissive to his diminutive and brutal wife.They had a daughter whom
she took from him and made an insurance if she needed money or food or a place to stay.
Francois took all of his wife's abuses with a lonely heart .When she fought with him,she would hurt
him physically and he never fought back or even utter a word of protest.Few men are as kind and tender
as he was.He did not deserve to die the way he did.)
sarah minks Jan 2012
I issued a challenge to my newly formed group,  It went basically as follow.  Choose a poem that you read but did not write and use the words from the word list at the bottom to make a new poem the words can be changed for instance winter can become wintery and swim can become swam You can make one up to and submit it if you want my group is for every poet and every kind of poetry.  Here is mine.  

Why, Thank you
by Elise Cluster

Words
Used in this poem
stone   instead   free   left   grey   wisdom   redeyed   tears   filled   forgotten   tongued   thank   heart   blue   old  


Getting ****** and redeyed
Feeling the wisdom of the old days
And of old people
Laughter comes freely
I have forgotten so many things
I filled up another one hitter
And lit it up
Filling the air with blue grey smoke
I tongued the hitter to feel the heat
I don’t have the energy for tears
My heart thanks the grower
For peace and quiet
And the ease of reflection
I breathe in inspiration
This is great
see notes above
GaryFairy Feb 2015
everybody knows her
they call her sister lower
she crawls through the fields
looking for a four leaf clover

if your heart is a grower
never try to show her
she will fly with the breeze
these green fields have chose her

don't try to hold her closer
she will say nobody knows her
her grass cuts never heal
her search is never over
PhiWrit Jul 2016
Is it ******* cold in here
or is it just the lies they steer
your mind to fear with
know you cannot see it
or believe this truth I spit
sounds too familiar to the pulpit
calling Satan the culprit
of lust ego sin all of it
you just fall for it like that's all there is
not realizing that all of creation is His
YHWH is His name so the scriptures say
though you may think
it's been passed down falsely to your dismay
there's a side differing see Titus did write this
history Roman in a tome and he talked of
Jesus Christ getting hung up
on the cruc-a-fix He walked with
how Pontius talked with high priests over
Passover feast to hand over
the seed sower heavenly kingdom grower
the only One to the Father show-er
even Jewish Scribes describe of
Yehoshua's vibe was in their eyes that of
a magician so don't be dissin miracles
or call the Holy Spirit unclean at all
that's the biggest sin of all

If I recall any of you cowering away
from this Jew because of what I say
just pipe up so I can brush off the dirt
from my sandals and walk along His way
Know I ain't no snitch Randal just a vandal
making candles you can't handle
light too bright blind your sight
like right away back to the cave
so your chained brother's you can save

Just in these waters making waves
I can tell we ain't quaint by how you behave
Word has power, changes never
A gift that remains forever
The word of God is well defined
Each page I turn, more peace I find
Free boon that comes from the Grower

Grower asks nothing in favour
A boon for every believer
I encash to get peace of mind
Word has power

For mind and soul it adds flavour
Supports in every endeavour
An eye opener and so kind
Word enlightens every mankind
Thank you Lord you are a giver
Word has Power

0150 Am 12th Sep 2019 by John Thomas Tharayil
NeroameeAlucard Nov 2016
I'm seeking fulfillment and purpose and a job if i can find one that's worth it
For sure it's not easy to remain vigorous and happy in face of things that make you queasy and not to sound sappy
But maybe if the sun came out then i wouldn't feel so ******,
because i feel out of place like a straight hair where every other  strand is curled and *****
But what if i started feel good inc, and manufactured happiness to the masses I'll make a killing like a colorado grass grower, maybe then I'll show them that
You can make money doing anything under the right circumstances but my chances are slim for that ever happening like Wayne Gretzky not wearing 99 on the ice

Or maybe, just maybe, we could all spread some love outside
Yes i was thinking of the song
chloee Jan 2016
Blood is red,
veins are blue,
everything goes black when I think of you.

the places we went,
the things we saw,
the fact that you never loved me at all.

your hands tracing my figure,
your laugh tickling my heart,
our love was perfect like some sort of art.

your hair flew in the wind,
and your eyes sparkled in the night,
these memories are making my heart break in spite.

my head starts to spin,
my lungs start to close,
the memories you left me are quite like a rose.

although they hurt me,
and make me bleed,
I love the beauty and Im overtaken by greed.

looking around,
for something i desire,
my heart starts to burn like its filled with fire.

the memories I passed up,
the moments I missed,
there is proof of my mistakes on both of my wrists.

as i watched the red waterfall,
grower thicker and faster,
i thought about how our love was a beautiful disaster.

and suddenly it all hit me at once,
the reason that blood is red and veins are blue,
they long to be together but the outside things change them,
a lot like me and you.
Keyan R Jan 2019
Black dirt lays on my hands
The soil that lays there is where I advance
It smells, its manure
I’m the farmer, the one, the grower
I pick a plot
Think of thoughts
Things go by in and out of my mind
I’m stuck to choose where to plant the roots of time
My time cannot be wasted
Like the soil, the dirt, I taste it
I can taste it in my feet
The ground I stand on
Perhaps I’m the plant that my life has cared for
To water, to bring sunlight, that constant care
To talk, to be there, my life to cheer on

I’m but one farmer in this world of carefree
To be or not to be, I cannot please all, so do I become the enemy?
The land of the free, from which I stand all
Planted my roots, and that I’ve prayed on
I was born here, a seed like others that were planted
I grow out of the help of others, I shouldn’t take the help for granted
Though like others I may fall on the granite…pavement, blacktop, and sidewalk
I make my own way;
Things I may say,
The things I may do

I’m not a bad person
You can tell by the view
Well maybe if you trust me
I’m no stranger than you
Overall no matter by my color
A flower is a flower
At least smell it first
Judge after…
No, why judge at all
Get to know instead of pushing away
That’s really all I’ve got to say
Being a minority in America ***** even if you were born in the States. Completion of the face doesn't always have to match the personality. Customs of that p[rejudice society needs to open their eyes to the truth and acknowledge the change in inequality. But alas that only goes so far, when others who have that strong influence must make the first step in reaching out their own hand. hmm
Morning Jul 2019
I think I loved you once upon a whispers dream.
I think I cared for you more than I thought,
More than it really must seem.
Because what is love to a seed?

A seed with no real intentions.
With no real expressions, but its expected
To grow.

To grow, in the ash painted battlefield,
Where the war set its claim.
The field you fled from, yet your spout remained.
A seed without its sower? A farm without its grower,
but somehow it continued to maintain.
In the beep pits of soot, it set's its proclaims
However, without its owner, it was all said in vein.
I'm sorry, let me refrain.

Refrain from expressing too much because I think it was all too late.
Refrain from expressing it all because I think you were my soul mate.
why me so dark  ^.^
Steve Page May 2020
Fruit goes off.
It gets mushy and smelly,
losing its colour and beauty - losing its taste,
eventually drying out,
losing all resemblance of what it once was,
only good for waste.

But fruit nurtured by a master grower,
a seasoned gardener,
fruit watched and watered til ripe and at its peak,
this fruit is harvested, fermented,
blended til building to a fuller physique,
brought to full maturity til ready for the table
and the banquet where no one's poor
and no-one is able to maintain a semblance of meek.

- where the gardener and the wine maker,
sit at the top seats smiling their blessing.
And the table branches out
giving room enough for the whole family gathering.

And the feast to end all feasts begins.
John 15 - I am the true vine.  Galatians 5 - The fruit of the Spirit.  A mash up.

— The End —