"jacaranda" poems
Take me by the hand
And lead me to
The violet Jacaranda tree
Where she took your
Heart and whispered
Sweet words into your ear.
You were afraid to come
Back here and show
Others the hurt
Some little girl has brought
Upon you.
She spoke no truth
When she left you with
Simple but painfull words
That ran through your
Mind at night.
Take me by the hand
And lead me to
The Cherry Blossom tree
Where you first fell in love
With me.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Blue Monday
BY DIANE WAKOSKI
Blue of the heaps of beads poured into her breasts
and clacking together in her elbows;
blue of the silk
that covers lily-town at night;
blue of her teeth
that bite cold toast
and shatter on the streets;
blue of the dyed flower petals with gold stamens
hanging like tongues
over the fence of her dress
at the opera/opals clasped under her lips
and the moon breaking over her head a
gush of blood-red lizards.
Blue Monday. Monday at 3:00 and
Monday at 5. Monday at 7:30 and
Monday at 10:00. Monday passed under the rippling
California fountain. Monday alone
a shark in the cold blue waters.
You are dead: wound round like a paisley shawl.
I cannot shake you out of the sheets. Your name
is still wedged in every corner of the sofa.
Monday is the first of the week,
and I think of you all week.
I beg Monday not to come
so that I will not think of you
all week.
You paint my body blue. On the balcony
in the softy muddy night, you paint me
with bat wings and the crystal
the crystal
the crystal
the crystal in your arm cuts away
the night, folds back ebony whale skin
and my face, the blue of new rifles,
and my neck, the blue of Egypt,
and my ******* the blue of sand,
and my arms, bass-blue,
and my stomach, arsenic;
there is electricity dripping from me like cream;
there is love dripping from me I cannot use—like acacia or
jacaranda—fallen blue and gold flowers, crushed into the street.
Love passed me in a blue business suit
and fedora.
His glass cane, hollow and filled with
sharks and whales ...
He wore black
patent leather shoes
and had a mustache. His hair was so black
it was almost blue.
“Love,” I said.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Mr. Love,” I said.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
So I saw there was no use bothering him on the street
Love passed me on the street in a blue
business suit. He was a banker
I could tell.
So blue trains rush by in my sleep.
Blue herons fly overhead.
Blue paint cracks in my
arteries and sends titanium
floating into my bones.
Blue liquid pours down
my poisoned throat and blue veins
rip open my breast. Blue daggers tip
and are juggled on my palms.
Blue death lives in my fingernails.
If I could sing one last song
with water bubbling through my lips
I would sing with my throat torn open,
the blue jugular spouting that black shadow pulse,
and on my lips
I would balance volcanic rock
emptied out of my veins. At last
my children strained out
of my body. At last my blood
solidified and tumbling into the ocean.
It is blue.
It is blue.
It is blue.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:31 AM UTC
Purple sheets of petal,
Softly glowing in the dark
Of almost night.
Softly touching my cheek,
the enveloping cloud
surrounds me like a neon cloak.
I can see your face
reflecting in an overflowing
purple pool of mist.
And petals gently plopping,
enveloping the image
of your loveliness.
(Jacaranda madness)
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
My next door
neighbour has a tree
that looks like jacaranda.
its branches reach right over
here and stroke at my verandah.
if you boil it's seed pods up
and steep a cup of tea,
the brew will mend
a broken heart
i've heard
apparently.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
Don’t make homes out of people because they always leave and take everything you own with them.
Home doesn’t feel like home without you and because of that I’ve stopped building homes out of people.
But I saw the beauty of the world in your eyes and it always gave me hope.
I’ve been feeling homeless and now I’m always home a lot less because of you.
You are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside and that’s why people are still drawn to your aura.
Depression hit harder than the recession, it had me regressing and constantly questioning my level of progression.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around my feet as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.
This hopeful romantic knows that hearts get broken like mirrors, records and promises do.
All the jacaranda trees in Pretoria still remind me of the beauty that is you.
When the relentless heat of the sun drove me crazy all I could think about was your smile and those hazel-brown eyes.
I spend some nights drinking my favourite wine by myself but this bottle of Pinotage will always taste better in your presence.
I still want to hold your heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
But you’re no longer mine to love and the thought of you being with someone else kills me.
Hearts fall to the ground like jacaranda petals do but unfortunately the view is not so beautiful.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around on every street as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
i want everything ahead of me
one day to be behind me
am i asking for too much?
if so, then—
i don’t want to leave
having not seen every beautiful thing
let me see
the jacaranda
the Maine sky one more time
the bougainvillea my mother planted for me bloom violet
i want my feet to know their home
i want fear to become a stranger
am i still asking for too much?
if so, then—
i do not want to wonder whether i was loved
i want the poems i leave behind
(my life)
to mean something
every day i have left
let me soak it in gratitude
give me more words than what i can say
more stars than what i can see
if i cannot ask for more time
more heartbeats
more life
give me then
more sun
more rain
more laughter
more poetry
more possibilities
is this still too much?
give me then
just more
let me say these words
i am full (of life) i cannot have anymore
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 7:26 PM UTC
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Without a sound, the city’s jacaranda petals fall effortlessly onto the ground.
As they fall, I begin to realise that we are all living in a world where the minutes are working overtime.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m not where I want to be at this current moment but please give me time.
It’s within our simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex we are.
Our circles might be smaller but our hearts are much bigger now.
The circumference might have drastically changed but the love hasn’t.
It’s no mystery why my aura will always long for the company of yours.
Even though I’ve got two left feet, I still want to slow dance to the rhythm of spring’s heartbeat.
In the capital city, October skies glow with a shade of purple.
Went from breaking up, breaking through to breaking new ground.
So even though I’m hurting now I know I’ll eventually be safe and sound when summer comes around.
These pages do not have enough space to describe how phenomenal we are.
It has been a while since we’ve seen each other so where are you now?
I value all you taught me about life and the importance of true friendship.
The circumference might have changed but the love between us hasn’t.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
"Sorgente' " (Spring Waters)
I never knew tears could be so rough
Scratching my chest as if trying
To climb in, next to my heart.
Perhaps they would be more comfortable together,
able to fathom what my mind won’t.
I see the pain clawing on his face-
Engraved
like the tombstone we picked out for him
a couple of days ago.
All it was missing was a date…
Date the waters, watch how time will freeze them over.
Frozen in time, their memory awaits our remembrance.
It was only yesterday that we took a traditional dive
In the glistening, silkened
Waters-kissed the base
of that cold, slippery precipice. But we were gazelles that
early spring. The Impalelies and Witbietou flowers
Met rowdy cheeks and our seasoned grace.
We were Eagles, soaring to gather our prey.
Plop! To the crust of the water’s earth,
we dived uncharacteristically.
Characteristically- I, resurfaced.
You touched the Sun and the Moon that morning.
You called on God and His Son, Jesus Christ.
You said a prayer to Buddha and Indian goddess Indrani.
You kissed the fragrant air of the Jacaranda tree,
and consumed the fate of the Great Julius Caesar.
Makeda and Zulu King Catewayo,
cried in Imhotep’s arms that morning,
Tears beat upon the Djembe drum
Performing Indonesian Gamelan
We chanted the words- spero
Here I sit,
there, next to you
wondering when our eyes will meet
again.
Wondering how long you will play this game
of “who can hold their breath the longest.”
You are winning…I am crying.
My face is stained with your name,
your absent spirit, envelopes this hospital room
but your soul-
your soul will run, jump into the air,
And up there,
This time-
I will catch you.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
Jacarandas explode into purple
in empty streets
at dusk.
They feel the heat like I feel it
and I wish I could cover myself in flowers
like they do
because they love this town
like I love you
Quietly,
and with flowers.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 8:21 AM UTC
Under the blue jacaranda that swayed in the soft spring breeze
I breathed in the scent of her lavender blossoms, recalling the moment in dreams
Before me were rows of her sisters lining the old town streets
Ringing their bell flowers, calling me in - my blue jacaranda trees
In the gardens were flowers and trees of the world, exploding with colours in glorious hues
Lit up by coral trees’ fire like glow, all through the city where ever you’d go
The pink of the silk trees, mimosas of white
Jasmines of yellow that shone in the light
Flames of the forest that Cook brought so far, burning bright orange and seen from afar
Flowers like birds and their scents filled the air, Angels Trumpet the Lilies on show everywhere
Under the blue jacaranda, I savoured the views in peace
Her leaves were like fern and her shade cooled me down as I sat in the warm spring breeze
And dreamed that one day I would travel her way if over the seven seas
Ringing her bell flowers, calling me in. My Blue Jacaranda trees ...
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
The sun looks and feels as though it seeks revenge
The sweltering heat exarcabating the chronic fatigue that plagues this youthful body
All of the grumbling and screaming turning into a silent whisper
And subsequently, a yawn
I feel oppressed by mother nature
The wind is blowing in fiery-like gusts When it touches my face I can feel all the energy oozing out of me
Justifying this idleness
The air smells of wilted Jacaranda tree blossomings, strewn across the lawn
Which would be blissful if inhalation of these smells didn't spur on pesky allergies
It feels like the end of days
I yearn for the feeling of relief in the air and within myself when the infinite skies flare up and release the rains
And the pleasure of hearing the water murmur when it flows over the stone work in the front yard
Endurance
Endurance.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
I found seashells and driftwood,
Cans and bottles and much more
Like diapers and picnic stuff
While walking along the shore.
I found cigarette butts and bags
And those horrendous soda holders
That catch on sea life and twist them
In their middle or at their shoulder.
I saw palm trees and jacaranda
Waving in the balmy breeze
And broken plastic lawn chairs
Leaning against the lovely trees.
I found six-packer carriers sitting
With all the beer bottles inside.
I saw pieces of bicycles and big batteries
And I swear I almost sat and cried.
But I had too much to do right then
Gathering up all that random junk.
I carried them to a ******* bin
And I threw it all in, kerthunk!
I wondered for the hundredth time
The parents these creeps had
That let them grow so ill behaved,
And so embarrassingly bad.
What kind of selfish brat can come
And look out on this lovely scene
And throw their ******* all around?
How can they be so mean?
It makes me hope for recompense;
That what goes around come again
And we can stash these human pigs
Into an appropriate kind of pen.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
I woke in the early hours to find
My head between her thighs,
She hadn’t been there before, I swear
And I’m not a man who lies.
I’d seen her out in the Public Bar
Of the ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
Halfway along the Outback Track
On the way to Wendouree.
I’d seen her dance on the table tops
I’d seen her prance on the bar,
I’d said to Lance as I saw him glance
‘I don’t know where we are!’
He shrugged, to say that he didn’t care
As long as she danced that way,
Her stockings, down at her ankles and
Her skirt in disarray.
‘Now there is a ***** to turn your head,’
Said Lance, with a burst of pride,
He’d been out on the verandah, then
He’d turned to go back inside,
She’d joined him there for a moment,
Just brushed by for a quick connect,
But he hadn’t noticed her eyebrow raised
In a sign that said, ‘Reject!’
We both had our eighteen wheelers parked
Outside in the hotel grounds,
I was headed away up north
And he to the lights of town,
He offered to give her the sleeper cab
While he drove the star-filled night,
I looked away and I thought it sad,
But the trucks both looked alike.
I heard him leave at the midnight hour
And thought she was gone for good,
It wasn’t often I hauled this way
Or stayed in this neighbourhood.
But then I clambered into my bunk
Above, at the cabin’s rear,
And fell asleep like a hopeless drunk
Till the morning sun drew near.
I made an offer to buy that pub,
The ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
But only when she agreed to stay
And dance on the bar for me,
I asked if she’d meant to go with Lance
And she looked at me with scorn,
I sleep the sleep of a new romance
And the pillows keep me warm.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
Heavy lavender blossoms, lifted
by sudden rushes of night wind.
Jacaranda, her scented branches swept into
dancing alone under the only streetlight.
Hiding further in the dark, bushes of
kumquat fruits, ripely orange,
tempt me to taste them.
In the deep blue air, first stars create
orbs of light beyond themselves,
glowing hugely in the sultry, silent sky.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Down the dusty grey gravel road
Violet jacaranda trees blossoming
Under the clear blue skies
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Harrowed eyes
beckon
from the
shades of
jacaranda branches
it is
almost poetic
how false
true pain
can
shine
almost
like a
lip
bitten and
hacked
down to
the
stumps of
flesh
trying to
pursue
a mimicry
of joy
'oh hail'
'oh hail'
the sunshine
bellows
from the
gallows
the glinting
rusted
metal
so alike
your eyes
'oh rain'
'oh rain'
'Tis not
rain but
mellowed
waterfalls
falling from
the heavens
with the
most
regal
of graces
'oh mine'
'oh mine'
the haunted
quail
of a
hunter
beneath
jacaranda shades
rattles
and hisses
like the
exotic beast
within her skin
'oh do'
'oh nay'
is the echoed
tantalizing
that never
lets up.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 5:43 AM UTC
How far can we get moving closer to our dreams without living in regret?
Have another sip of that glass of red wine then slowly take a deep breath.
When people ask, tell them that you found love in the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
When people ask, let them know that you found love in a place that was previously deemed as hopeless.
Let them know that you found love in the hands and heart of a poet who pledged to spend the rest of his days as your muse.
It’s hard enough finding love in your twenties yet you managed to find the balance and stick to your decision.
Haven’t had the pleasure to kiss you yet, but somehow, I have the taste of your smile lingering on the tip of my tongue.
You’ve made me fall for the poetry of purple blooms and now I can no longer spend spring without you.
Like a painter admiring his exquisite muse, I can’t stop looking at every colour of you.
How many of these poems will I manage to keep writing without driving my loving heart crazy?
The answer to that question is something that I do not know yet, but I do know that my heart beats for you.
Let me tell you more about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.
Haven’t had the pleasure to kiss you yet, but somehow, I have the taste of your smile lingering on the tip of my tongue.
I’ll be patiently waiting for you on Jacaranda Avenue so that we can both make our dreams come true.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
#1 | 31 Poems for August 2016
Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Sitting in the local park or standing on some dodgy neighbourhood corner.
But I can’t judge them, sometimes I want to get lost in those same clouds too.
They all get so high to the point where they cannot even see the ground.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms, but I’ve told you before.
Spoken words filled with so much truth, I had to reiterate the quotes I wrote back in my youth.
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
View the kaleidoscope of life through the perspective of a spoken-word poet.
Freedom and love are like finding forever and I hope that everyone in my life knows it.
Let’s all meet in the pages of a story where the ink always holds us together.
Every poem of mine is written from the heart so every single word you hear is guaranteed to be a pulse.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I’m Lonnie Lynn with the poetry and maybe that explains why we have a lot in common.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
#25 | 31 Poems for August 2016
A few months ago you didn't know that I could write or recite like that.
My notebook is full of broken masterpieces that fail to come together like contour lines.
If my art goes unappreciated, unnoticed, unloved and unpublished then just know that I wrote from the heart.
I know that love is a beautiful thing but sometimes I feel like its main intention is to tear me apart.
So don’t be too surprised when I tell you that I’m slowly falling to pieces.
The ocean in my muse’s eyes reminds me of the colour of the sky and how I want to dive into the depths of who she is.
The world has made her feel like an abandoned church but in my eyes she’ll always be a cathedral.
She will always be a cathedral and you can say hallelujah or amen to that.
We are from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
Went from breaking up, breaking down, breaking through to finally breaking new ground.
So even though I’m hurting now I know I’ll eventually be safe and sound when a new season comes around.
I’m still fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skins is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.
My notebook is full of broken masterpieces that fail to come together like contour lines.
Even if my art goes unappreciated, unnoticed, unloved and unpublished I will always write from the heart.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
#24 | 31 Poems for August
I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.
Ever since high school, I’ve been lost in the world and I often wonder if I’ll ever make it on my own.
I want to write my poems on the sun so that you can feel the magnitude of my love when it shines.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I want my words to heal the wounds that never heal but always bleed.
My kind of love is kinetic, never stationary.
I’ve been blinded by love but still I remain visionary.
I want a sky to read from and a star to write on.
I want the splendour of God’s grandeur embedded into every one of my lines.
I could write poetry forever with the inspiration that life provides.
Maybe I could write you a haiku or two.
My mind has been thinking about you.
My heart has been asking about the pulchritude that is you.
You are the unforgettable muse.
I still marvel at how God’s love consists entirely of summer, autumn, winter and spring.
It can never escape me even when the seasons change.
Maybe I should write you a love poem or two.
My heart beats only for you.
I wrote my poems on the sun, you’ll eventually feel my love every time it rises.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
Do not abandon me,
No do not leave me,
To the wilderness of my mind:
A veritable tundra, a savannah,
Cold and dry and arid.
My soul pants and thirsts for a cool tall drink of somebody.
Give me a man,
Tall, strong, beautiful,
Let him hold me in his arms and croon to me
and sing of star-song and moon dreams
under the blanket of a velvet night.
Let the warm winds come with the salty whisper of sea,
of jungle-scent and overblown jacaranda flowers,
or snatches of arctic breeze
and the high keening cry of the albatross.
Only,
Do not leave me to myself,
For the scent of jungle then fades to mud,
and the jacarandas wilt,
and the arctic spaces chill me to my bones,
And I drown in the unfathomable darkness of emotion
In the lullaby-rocking motion of the sea.
And I cannot see you,
And I cannot find you,
And the night becomes a terrible blackness
And the stars intimidate
And the moon remains impassive.
No, do not abandon me.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
Tired on the train
I listen
A young mother on her mobile
solemn faced but beautiful eyed
angrily confronts
her daughters father
with a maternal mantra
*How do I tell her
When I have all her tears and questions?*
I guess he keeps hanging-up
or the signal is lost
The words repeat
almost verbatim
and repeat
and repeat
No-one looks
everyone listens
And then in the vestibule
a smiling South African
recounts with passion
about the Jacaranda
turning Cape Town purple
around this time of year
...he missed his stop
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Now swings the jacaranda
with the joy that had ceased to glow:
from the depth of dark blue times
comes violet sweet-singing like old;
the tree never will forget
even in its brightening dreams
the ash-smoke story of how
it once lost all of its leaves:
each a tear: for fond memory,
goodbyes stolen by suffering's thief,
autumn giving no notice
of winter dressed only in grief;
standing lonely in the night
as winds whistle your sad tune
looking up to not believe
while in your spirit's June:
stars are silent explosions
at peace with the still moon;
you are not the moon or sun,
the stars are what's left of you.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
When You and I
Waylaid in wilderness
And the path is lost!!!
I shall shower
My love on you
Everyday, in new ways
Love dainties host.
My soul into you
I shall pour.
Each part of body
Will be an island tour
With loving glance
My heart will click
The choicest kisses
In silken shades flick.
On every island
An age will be stake
In each age love’s
New flavor and shade
Sometimes as lotus
I shall bloom
Sometimes as
Jacaranda zoom.
Panorama shots
Of love arcades
Flowers and trees
Make cavalcade
In it love’s sweet
Fragrance blows
Love birds tweet
Lilting music flows.
From age to age
We shift our stage
We shall bind ever
To new cage
Where pain and hunger
Do not strike
Life unfazed
By price hikes.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC