"ikebana" poems - Hello Poetry

I'm an olympic housewife. My mantlepiece of medals is perfectly folded washing arranged in mahogany drawers with calm elegance like swans on a lake. I’m an elite athlete of the mundane. My scrapbook of 1st place ribbons are surfaces that sparkle a masterpiece of purity zen arrangement lust like Ikebana in an empty room. I’m an extreme sport star of domesticity. My list of world class honours gluten free bake-offs blogging my parenting tips a domestic online celebrity like an effortless Demeter.

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Jul 4, 2015

Jul 4, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC

brainpornninja

Olympic Housewife

I'm an olympic housewife. My mantlepiece of medals is perfectly folded washing arranged in mahogany drawers with calm elegance like swans on a lake. I’m an elite athlete of the mundane. My scrapbook of 1st place ribbons are surfaces that sparkle a masterpiece of purity zen arrangement lust like Ikebana in an empty room. I’m an extreme sport star of domesticity. My list of world class honours gluten free bake-offs blogging my parenting tips a domestic online celebrity like an effortless Demeter.

18

Before I hide myself away for another night awake, I'll look up between letterbox gaps in the broken blind to see the moon shift six degrees southeasterly and think that in the next seven hours soft eleven light will leak through as an alarm-clock-call no one asked for. Before I walk out the door for another day of yesterday, I'll look for the wind coming down the road to ask it if it's bringing me something new on its coattails. Ikebana dalliance? A chance blur with her? Or something old and the same as before?

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Jan 30, 2014

Jan 30, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC

tim-knight

Before & Onwards

Before I hide myself away for another night awake, I'll look up between letterbox gaps in the broken blind to see the moon shift six degrees southeasterly and think that in the next seven hours soft eleven light will leak through as an alarm-clock-call no one asked for. Before I walk out the door for another day of yesterday, I'll look for the wind coming down the road to ask it if it's bringing me something new on its coattails. Ikebana dalliance? A chance blur with her? Or something old and the same as before?

13

~ *Belonging to Eden, the garden of inescapable pleasure. Prepare to fall again for the pretty things. The desire to preserve life lies at the root. The way of flowers --let them beckon and bloom-- sincerely upright, vessels for memories, methods of communicating with distant versions of yourself, a conversation that could drift into tears or laughter, personal revelation or total silence, depending on the mood. If only time and thought could be as perfectly arranged as flowers.* ~

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Mar 26, 2024

Mar 26, 2024 at 10:05 AM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Ikebana

~ *Belonging to Eden, the garden of inescapable pleasure. Prepare to fall again for the pretty things. The desire to preserve life lies at the root. The way of flowers --let them beckon and bloom-- sincerely upright, vessels for memories, methods of communicating with distant versions of yourself, a conversation that could drift into tears or laughter, personal revelation or total silence, depending on the mood. If only time and thought could be as perfectly arranged as flowers.* ~

23

Flowers are my real friends I know their language They're never crestfallen Our friendship is a blessing

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Dec 14, 2021

Dec 14, 2021 at 6:46 PM UTC

farah-taskin

Ikebana

Flowers are my real friends I know their language They're never crestfallen Our friendship is a blessing

8

taut the barb which my heart flung away and adorned – such language is black while many others have their places that silence had fractured. the punctual shadow of the night, I converse in them through the pulse of the roots and their consistent counter-beats. the many others, whose centers encircle heavy in their viscera: enisled as a conference of birds in plenitudes of brindled mouths – the augury that sees itself, my full being – this nocturne of stone-flight. the cosmic working of the sky that hands me, a necklace of stars which implausible pearls simmer in fond gleaming: these foundlings that are dreamt away, and named innumerably across many other anonymities we recall with a throng of sound. in my hands the night folds like an origami conscious of its florid ikebana, as there could be another splendid thing like the calm: glimpsed, coveted like the light of all things grave in darkness.

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Jan 8, 2016

Jan 8, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Ikebana

taut the barb which my heart flung away and adorned – such language is black while many others have their places that silence had fractured. the punctual shadow of the night, I converse in them through the pulse of the roots and their consistent counter-beats. the many others, whose centers encircle heavy in their viscera: enisled as a conference of birds in plenitudes of brindled mouths – the augury that sees itself, my full being – this nocturne of stone-flight. the cosmic working of the sky that hands me, a necklace of stars which implausible pearls simmer in fond gleaming: these foundlings that are dreamt away, and named innumerably across many other anonymities we recall with a throng of sound. in my hands the night folds like an origami conscious of its florid ikebana, as there could be another splendid thing like the calm: glimpsed, coveted like the light of all things grave in darkness.

23

kitchen counter riddled in grey marble a fragrance of burning wood and candy solar blessings filtered into linear lines fruits spread in an ikebana rainbow a jar of sickly saccharine sugar atop a syrupy taste lingers in that air i long to breathe it in once more that sweet air of my grandma's house from all these 11,285 kilometres away from home and ten years from those first moments of life

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Dec 4, 2024

Dec 4, 2024 at 12:38 PM UTC

batsoup

lahore jubilee of 2014

kitchen counter riddled in grey marble a fragrance of burning wood and candy solar blessings filtered into linear lines fruits spread in an ikebana rainbow a jar of sickly saccharine sugar atop a syrupy taste lingers in that air i long to breathe it in once more that sweet air of my grandma's house from all these 11,285 kilometres away from home and ten years from those first moments of life

12

A. drone this day empirical from where we were once the we rained from, a high excursion which savvy the drop, weighing in, a fault trying to convince the day when Sun embellished from the ravine of your hand, a catacomb secured by the rolling of your body like a boulder keeping a minute sacred, christened an evinced noon that was your repetitive finding. onto a netted frame caught, dripping out of a felt space in need for graphs to measure from, a well unnamed which presence resembling your body, resounding the fluency of what the physical ascribes an iamb of a crowd inverted, diminishing and inflected in a day's livid sigh housed in a jar that is a mouth words assemble an ikebana willing a delayed color that was a lack. held a device that was a sky or a gleaming face with a high price claiming a solstitial -- when I went to your home it was Saturday all week inside my ribcage chiming worship. plastered to a sheen all is equal underneath equatorial tracing a sphere when I found stroking the innards of a calendar it is November. it is Saturday. B. he comes from low wattage this night's post a wonderful polyp to begin a blight apparently so from a cut blackest gutter carrying an ample water virulent when taken in and again in a savingslight of metamorphosis climbs vertical so the winged moon is a black bird in the blackest cage / baltic a different fraternity of land with the same pictorial this lovely stillness calling it work a flood could mean pernicious is blood brewed from this climate it is here past Mandaue hillsides dreaming if place were rumored as same-silent.

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May 28, 2016

May 28, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

You embody this

A. drone this day empirical from where we were once the we rained from, a high excursion which savvy the drop, weighing in, a fault trying to convince the day when Sun embellished from the ravine of your hand, a catacomb secured by the rolling of your body like a boulder keeping a minute sacred, christened an evinced noon that was your repetitive finding. onto a netted frame caught, dripping out of a felt space in need for graphs to measure from, a well unnamed which presence resembling your body, resounding the fluency of what the physical ascribes an iamb of a crowd inverted, diminishing and inflected in a day's livid sigh housed in a jar that is a mouth words assemble an ikebana willing a delayed color that was a lack. held a device that was a sky or a gleaming face with a high price claiming a solstitial -- when I went to your home it was Saturday all week inside my ribcage chiming worship. plastered to a sheen all is equal underneath equatorial tracing a sphere when I found stroking the innards of a calendar it is November. it is Saturday. B. he comes from low wattage this night's post a wonderful polyp to begin a blight apparently so from a cut blackest gutter carrying an ample water virulent when taken in and again in a savingslight of metamorphosis climbs vertical so the winged moon is a black bird in the blackest cage / baltic a different fraternity of land with the same pictorial this lovely stillness calling it work a flood could mean pernicious is blood brewed from this climate it is here past Mandaue hillsides dreaming if place were rumored as same-silent.

50

. By the clouded wall enameled form is dearly gathered into amber vase stretching light out of salt shadow, the mind is carried, clear into shy awakening, by the once indifferent room, anointing the eye. .

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Dec 9, 2020

Dec 9, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC

ormond

ikebana poem

. By the clouded wall enameled form is dearly gathered into amber vase stretching light out of salt shadow, the mind is carried, clear into shy awakening, by the once indifferent room, anointing the eye. .

12