"hollyhock" poems
but the other
day i was passing a certain
gate, rain
fell(as it will
in spring)
ropes
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness
as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold i looked
up
and
thought to myself Death
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch
the pink hollyhock existence whose
***** eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchangingly the always
old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken
softly at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding
12.6k
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,-
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,-
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,-on a hawthorn leaf,-
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.
3k
Our once baron land
nothing but blackened sand
Tis now a place of beauty
So come take my hand
so we may stroll through our garden forever
Along the crazy paving pathway
We shall stroll through our garden togeather
Flowerbeds of
Salvia
Delphinium
Coneflower
Cosmos
Alyssum
daisies
Aster
Clavillia
Hollyhock
Poppies
Just to name a few
So come sit with me my love
on our swingseat made for two
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
Hands pressed against the cold glass window,
strange, I can feel the drops of rain
falling on the other side.
what would it feel like to always see in yellow?
dancing in tumultuous pigment…
yellow to green
green to
blue
blue into
black.
I have sunk into the darkness
just as canvas soaks up paint
to touch the stygian world
with hollyhock eyes and dusty fingers.
A tunnel of black, and I can’t seem to find a flashlight.
(How can you possibly persist when you cannot see?)
blinking violet pearls that dance beneath my eyelids,
I tumble
to swim in yellow.
Such a pleasant daffodil lens.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
in such in was springtime (hollyhock and thistle) girls and boys went nudely up their downs, into crystal waters of crisply straying health (when all noontide swung wide its gabled darkness hutch) and boysandgirls (in holly) went winter in its touch.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
~
Summer dawns
just beyond
the screen door,
across the porch
Dew swept lawn,
emerald weave
shimmering moisture
collecting foot prints
strolling towards
An arched entryway
gingerbread trimmed
covered in jasmine
alive with rainbow
flutterings of
butterfly wings
partaking of
nature’s pure nectar
Beneath it a
flagstone walkway,
abstract stones,
assorted shapes
and patterns
meandering through
lavender and hollyhock,
daisies and tulips
And upon it
you and me,
hand in hand
watching the sunrise
wash the sky
in floral hued quivers
as we welcome the
morning together…
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
i like my women like i like my flowers,
down to earth and she was rooted to the notion.
she sprouted out from under the cracks of paper-white pavement
with tulips curled to the cosmos greeting morning glories
as graciously as angel horns. i was hung up on her like a hollyhock.
she was sweet, fragrant like a balm, mellow like a mallow but she
turned a new leaf and called out to me like coral bells.
i rose like a plume of smoke with whirling butterflies in my belly.
i looked into the iris of her baby blue eyes and asked,
“what’s up buttercup?”
she took a baby’s breath
and “forget-me-not”
stemmed from her bearded-tongue.
though knowing she spoke
out of honesty and passion,
i raised my candytuft cuff
and bade her a clarkia.
farewell to spring
© Matthew Harlovic
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
I wish to be a butterfly
spread my wings
and soar the skies
Ignited by the summer’s light
I will have hues of the rainbow
and shine so bright
I wish to flutter through maple trees
dancing gracefully
with the morning’s breeze
Excited by the flowers in bloom
I will be drawn to the nectar
by their sweet perfume
Hollyhock and sage wait for my arrival
while marigold and lavender
ensure my survival
I will bask in the glory of the morning’s sun
play games with the bees
chase humans for fun
Oh I wish to be this grace and beauty
shed the chrysalis and emerge
so you can truly see me
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
Ten buttercup summers ago
sweet gilt strands spiraled above
dual attraction,
moments fanned friendship
into smoke of commitment and
passion strewed
petals on beginnings of romance.
Five lilac seasons back we
picked scented happiness when,
defences fallen,
meadows of floral nectar ended
aloneness and love
waltzed thru' former convention
without any note
of doubtful retreat or regret.
Two hollyhock years gone
seeds hidden in needy hearts
took root and bloomed
as we tended the scent of total
oneness until,
coffined in fathomless shock,
happenings flattened
hope's dreams of contentment.
A grief ago winter's cold
wilted growth, buried treasure
and brought an end
to love's beautiful garden, yet
rainbowed in memory
those flowers still hold colours
of our very specialness.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
and whereupon my zest for life decayed
were a trio of three- she, him and I
in the meadow grew hollyhock and rye
he catered to the grain, i to the flower
the roots began to shift and the rustling wind sigh
though beautiful, she was the apple of my eye
the flower paled in worth, my attention drew elsewhere
her voice was soft and musical; enamourment nigh
quiet was the night and little time did i bide
for death only lay dormant and life dreamt uncertain
so I offered her a walk, a moonlight stride
‘twas lovely until she dipped down, collapsed and cried
i, mortified, could not quell her despair
had he heard?; not a minute passed and ‘lone he arrived
her despair was my own and solace i could not find;
the hollyhock has long since died; i wish for no more
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
were a trio of three- she, him and i
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
You know I got back from my beautiful Maltese holiday about 3 am yesterday
Today I sat and looked at my beautiful garden for the first time in a week
Tiny pastel flowers peer like little faces from dark green foliage
Lavenders vie for space with vibrant California poppies
Hollyhock ready to burst into summer colour
Stand next to shrubs of Rosemary
While sweet peas grow in wild abandon
Through the khaki green yellow branches and twigs
Of my twisted willow trees
The rose bush I planted over the grave of my old cat
Stands in her full glory of weeping red blooms
There is a magical perfume from French and English lavender
Offering their fragrance to bees
Who provide their own unique music to this wondrous panorama
Of wild and cultivated beauty
Yes, there are weeds as you might call them
But they also have there place here and so will be left to grow in peace
To live in harmony with other life
I see my garden as an ever changing work of art
Art that I will never tire of looking at
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
our room begins to breathe blossom
lip stained cigarettes cast a roseate smoke
cream walls fade from blushing nicotine
charming addicts adorned with primrose cheeks
and hollyhock pollen dripping from their noses
our laughter soon slips into misty delight
eyes barely open to see the peachy haze
kissing us from one too many pink pills
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 7:36 PM UTC
"where were you?" i was the cooly over of mouth–the wind–
that beneath which chants of ***
incessantly
the world
in pink creases of easy Spring.
makes me to lay down
in waters of thistle
and hollyhock
the crude and sinuous
vehicle of sing.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
*Ellen’s like a daisy
Jenny’s like a rose
Mary is like a dahlia
colorful and smart
But Angels like a lily
the nicest flower that grows
The lilies sweet white flowers
Just like the purest heart.
Three girls in my garden
I count them one two three
But only one a lily
And she’s the one for me
Sam is like a hollyhock
She stands so proud and tall
May is like a sweet pea
That grows upon the wall
Jane is like a gardenia
Calm and fair of face
But she is not a lily
And can’t cause
my heart to race
But my Angel she’s a lily
And the fairest of them all
One day I will marry her
when we are tall not small.*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
I dangle like the Willow tree
Few of leaf and spiralling
The dance of the finalists
Caught in Winter sneeze.
So much beauty holds on
Asters like gold buttons
Scarlet hollyhock flower
So swished by rain drops.
Of Purple leaf cherry plum
Bringing Spring’s first blossom
Branches brushed in white
Against a colbalt cold sky.
Love Mary ***
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
I am the skeleton of the memories jiggling to Beyoğlu
the heart is swinging in my chest of my dreams
my eyes are not hollow, my hands are still warm
I’ve found the song I need to sing
I am whispering into the darkness, when will I be born
A lake, a swan of Anatolia, an eastern hollyhock
a steppe is steeped within me now
a train loaded with hope at Haydarpaşa
a lovely dog, a question, and then
I am whispering into the darkness, when will I be born
Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz)
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
Find a Daisy and pick it up
From garden fronts
The gathering begins
A few leaves on a stem, fluttering,
Snap!
And in a pocket lays
Side by side
To a thread of black eyed germanium
And thé peppery seeds of aquilegias
Falling into seam corners,
Creeping up pathways
Hollyhock rings put in
And then take a chance
With stem of pink pearly,
Ceanothus.
Collection complete for Monday
Trot home to find compost
Then *** up in the sun.
My little treasures from
The free world .
Love Mary **
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.
There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.
In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.
Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC
Ten buttercup summers ago
shy gilt strands spiraled above
dual attraction,
moments fanned friendship
into smoke of commitment and
passion strewed
petals on paths of romance.
Five lavender seasons past we
picked fragrant happiness when,
defences fallen,
meadows of floral nectar ended
aloneness and love
waltzed thru' former convention
without any regret.
Three hollyhock years gone
seeds birthing in tended hearts
took root then softened
and doubt fell to vows of total
at-oneness until, coffined
by onerous shattering shock
hope's dreams met ice and froze.
One mourning ago grief's cold
wilted heart's planted for pleasure
and brought death's scent
to love's beautiful garden, yet
faded now into memory
shades of our flowers still hold
those petals of specialness.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
Now is the time for the burning of the leaves.
They go to the fire; the nostril ****** with smoke
Wandering slowly into a weeping mist.
Brittle and blotched, ragged and rotten sheaves!
A flame seizes the smouldering ruin and bites
On stubborn stalks that crackle as they resist.
The last hollyhock's fallen tower is dust;
All the spices of June are a bitter reek,
All the extravagant riches spent and mean.
All burns! The reddest rose is a ghost;
Sparks whirl up, to expire in the mist: the wild
Fingers of fire are making corruption clean.
Now is the time for stripping the spirit bare,
Time for the burning of days ended and done,
Idle solace of things that have gone before:
Rootless hope and fruitless desire are there;
Let them go to the fire, with never a look behind.
The world that was ours is a world that is ours no more.
They will come again, the leaf and the flower, to arise
From squalor of rottenness into the old splendour,
And magical scents to a wondering memory bring;
The same glory, to shine upon different eyes.
Earth cares for her own ruins, naught for ours.
Nothing is certain, only the certain spring.
R L Binyon
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 4:52 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
I was Hangin' with Miss Marple Last Week
“I think, my dear, we won't talk any more about ******
during tea. Such an unpleasant subject.”
-4:50 from Paddington
I visited Miss Marple this past week
In her little home in St. Mary Mead
Fluffy in her appearance and pink of cheek
Troweling with vehemence another garden ****
Kindness itself, she asked me to sit down
On a wooden bench near the hollyhock
A warm soft evening with the bees around
And the hourly chime from the old church clock
Tea and scandal at four, soft-scented soap –
And in Pentonville, forlorn of any hope
A murderer awaiting the hangman’s rope
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 9:31 AM UTC