"lavenders" poems
*Down a peaceful, quiet lane
The two-story farmhouse awaits
Bathed in evening hues
Of rich lavenders, pinks,
And dusty apricot
The lilac scented breezes blow
Whispering stories of summer
Let me dance in pastures
Of buttercups and wild daisies
Where horses graze contentedly
And Virginia bluebells sway
Where time becomes stuck
And lets me live this golden moment
Just once more*
~Marian~
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
i can make one bottle of beer last hours
From cold to lukewarm
My *** settling into a state of what I call
Perma buzzed
Wussy sip after wussy sip
Perplexed looks and slights from friends
It serves me right to drink so slow,
Evading the glass bottle bottom but
I guess I want to be able to hold onto something so much,
It warms up to me and serves me well.
~
Right now, I want to be buried in a house of lavenders.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
I visited the wonderland after ages
I was welcomed in the same old way.
The lavenders performed a splendid show
Reminding me of the last May.
The mansion was as we left it,
holding all the memories we made.
Your clothes were laying on the floor near bed.
I still remember how I allowed you to invade.
The family photo was hanging in the gallery
showing off one of my greatest achievements.
Those trips to London, Paris and New York,
a new adventure on every weekend.
The empty rooms haunt me now
but I am holding it all with a thin strand.
(*If you ever want to return, darling,
Just come back to our Wonderland.*)
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
*veins of my fingers in riots of blossomed colours
like threads made of lilac, lavender, blues and leafs.
for the blues are essences of the Elysian skies,
while lilacs, lavenders and leafs were stolen from an old man's farm
every dawn the sunlit blue wept for the docile stars' hide
I knock my knuckles red and wild, like the raspberries from the monsieur's farm
my chin against the beige, I gaze to where the magpies talk too loudly on the garden moist
swollen and offended by the loud chirps of boisterous dins, the grouchy neighbour cry.
I fill my baskets with wild things and papers,
I have cheese and juices, fruits and sweet carrots.
I have peach trees on my nails for jam
I have cherries in my toes for pie
I have snows in my lapin's soul for some ice creams
I have poppies in my worn pants for a good sight
And there's even vineyards of all Verona in my mind
the ribbons on the hat loom into the gardens' tunnel;
I have herb gardens, I have secret gardens
And I have my old books and pens in there.
when my laces are riven, the embroidered flowers are not.
the canvas shoes is painted in petrichors and soil
my dresses go tattered, sewn with patches
into the vines, thorns and russet throats I lilt and leap
against smells of rustic wood pencils and redolent flowers
There, under a green willow is where to sit and devour wisdom
and to drink some saccharine wine with mon lapin and maybe some picnic pies.
The abominable tremors will be gone,
My morn soul diving into fairy pools of sensuous europhias.*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
crickets serenading the crows to sleep
trees send out calls to one another on the wind
rustling branches
what a masterpiece the stars make
nestled in the spun navy blue of the night sky
fawns and deer scream to one another
grunt warnings and snort dry grass
baby bunnies chirp to distant moms
being chased by auburn tailed foxes
the frogs try and calm their throats of the
incessant pockets of air that erupt from their
stomachs
the moon's veil casts lacy shadows on the leaves
filling the gaps in the branches
white moonwashed asphalt sparks with diamonds
the sun trying to break the barrier of darkness
pushing and bulging over the horizon with a pop
hazy pink lemonade spills over the edges of
distance mountain ranges
orange Starbursts melt on the tips of the crows' claws
lavender wax seeps around the sleeping bunnies
still chirping in their shortening sleep
the stardust that fell during the night
sparkles like dew on the blades of grass
and floats like fairies through the
apple juice air
thick and warm cinnamon roll clouds
roll by in the liquid gold sky
the scent of cherry pie and toast every morning
in the summer
and the scent of honeydew melon
with bamboo extract right before
dusk.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
what a strange quiet house I'm in
Where i can't even hear myself think
Bottle after bottle and the silence ensues
I am alone here, and I will be alone here
For as long as the vacancy in my chest
And the absence of my mind
continues
~
I want a house overrun with lavenders for my children to play with.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...
I was talking about you, like all day...
to everyone and every time...
I painted you on the wall of my room
with roses and velvet night.
I was talking about you, like the whole night...
at stars and the full moon in Leo...
I hugged your portrait on my room's wall
that I painted
and I thought you were talking about me too.
my heart was full of red space
and my stomach was full of butterflies...
I have baked your favorite cake,
because I thought you wanted me in that velvet night.
They said that happiness is a butterfly,
but we met in December,
there was a cold and blue morning sky
and I remember that aesthetic forever.
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...
People born in March are sensitive
but you were cold and mean,
My sun is in Aquarius
and I am the only one who can feel.
I am the only one who can feel butterflies,
and I felt more when I saw you,
I am a sensitive flower full of sun kisses,
lovely bees and the blue sky too.
All I wanted was a black painted rose,
violets and lavenders with your kind smile,
but you hate flowers and colors of love,
and you never smile, you laugh sarcastically...
Roses aren't painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I wish to take the time back
for what? you don't have a clue.
You left me heartbroken
and my scars full of the tears
our love is already over
and my feelings are my only fear.
I hope I don't feel the same to anyone,
and I hope butterflies won't leave me there.
but if I do I hope I won't be the only one,
who sees love colors and paints roses black.
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 10:52 AM UTC
O fair Helena descending-
How could you not look at me?
You were once Narcissus in the meadow;
Kissing the soil-
Blooming with lavenders-
Basking in the afternoon sun-
Where did all your sunshine go?
Your blurry reflection-
of somberness;
heavy eyes;
calloused hands;
disheveled hair;
timid air-
Dismayed the goddess in you.
Faded golden lyre;
Withered Pierian roses;
Crushed altar of flame;
Mortal madness!
Ascend back to the divines-
Depart from this mortal coil;
Be the Narcissus in the meadow.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
I used to live in an achromatic world
Everything was plain and simple
Yin and Yang
Salt and Pepper
Black and White
A coloring page lacking its vibrant
Rainbow of colors
An explosion of reds and lavenders
A blank page, bleak and boring
Until you came around
With your fancy coloring box
And your artistic eye for all things
Colorful
My life without you was stark and unhappy
Because I know that I am very spontaneous
That I am more than the blackest black and
The whitest white
And so are you
I am the entire rainbow in all of its excellency
And you are the first person who is not
Colorblind
- C.M. 5/12/17
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
(I)
In the lavender field
holding a white rose
Placid visage
I was laying all alone.
My mascara had not ruined
And bun was also perfect
Some scent of strawberry was lingering
In the air, from my lipstick.
I was wearing the velvet dress
which I had saved for that day.
When everyone would be crying
And I'd be all gay.
So darling tell me again
When you see me on this bed.
Do I still look beautiful to you
even after I am dead?
(II)
In the lavender field
Holding a white rose
Puffy eyes
I was all alone.
I had not shaved in ages
And my tie was not perfect
I could still taste her lips
That regular strawberry lipstick,
I was wearing the black dress
Which I had worn that day
When we said our vows
And became one again.
The lavenders prepared her bed
As I laid her down to sleep
I wiped my tears and whispered,
"You always looked beautiful to me."
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
When I met you, I was a draft.
An artwork to never be complete.
My eyes of charcoal
My veins of graphite
No color flowed through me for I was
Lifeless.
You opened up to me
You redesigned my thoughts.
Your paintbrush stroked a bright blush onto my cheeks
You turned me into
Bright pastels
With glorious indigos
Overwhelming scarlets
And mysterious lavenders.
You kissed me in a backdrop of
Forest greens.
You created scenery for
Every emotion,
Dressed me with rainbows,
And completed my blank spaces.
You turned me into a masterpiece.
But before you could sign your
Glorious painting
You realized
You could do better pieces
And pastel was over rated anyways.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Glorifying amidst the snowy mountains bestowing
rivers with a splendid shine searching a land
to shower its warmth in a dense grassland,
sun rises with the dawn
like the spring blooming life in the lawn.
Cold on the cemetery lay like the corpse,
the flower in concealed corner of the lawn.
Life rejuvenates it to exhibit its charisma.
With its exquisite grace,
life fills the daffodils
blooming merrily in the meadows
with the exotic flush of odor enchanting thee .
Life of seven ages leaps and exits slyly like a stranger.
Neither the witty nor the wisest nor do the philosophers
can bamboozle the fate, neither can they preconceive
the lot ,the fate has in store in each slot
hence live the life with fullest enthusiasm and zeal,
the chariots of life bridging
the expedition between birth and rebirth.
Struggle the chill like a gladiator
stand undeterred by the worldly woes.
Life is symbolization of bluebells,lavenders
hedychiums planted on a deserted road,
blend of happiness and agony .
Surrendering to agony is pure escapism.
Each has to surrender on the altar of death
a day or later ,
but till life why not worship the life
like an idol enshrined in the temple
so when thee are asked of
satisfaction in the heavens high
thou may not quote "alas it could have been a day later"
rather thou may be the most enlightened
devotee to stay in the state of bliss and utmost salvation.
Men say life is mortal
But life is eternal you see,
the life is like a divine cascade of holy waters,
one drop dies ,other rejuvenates to life.
Till the nature lives, shall live
the men and generations yet to come.
Life is pouring like the nectar from the heaven's brink,
quite insane it would be to not drink the summary of life.
BY CHANDAN SHARMA
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 12:09 PM UTC
The moment you were brought out from the hospital room
and I saw your soul open its eyes for the first time and
the drums of your heart start its beat
all my troubles, all my cares, all my worries fell apart
and at that moment I decided
that I would teach you to live.
You were born in the age
where to write is vintage
to think is ancient
and to love is prehistoric
but I will rewrite history for you
and make sure that you live in the past
before buildings that block out the sky
before someone decided to take time’s hands and spin them ‘til they whipped like a tornado
before people had to start paying for oxygen
because the air had become too polluted with chemicals and greed and so-called innovation but in reality every nation was just trying to be one cent richer than the other.
You were born in the age where
books are only found in museums
and flowers are only found pressed in between those books
but I will make sure you grow up with a garden of words and wildflowers
I will teach you to treasure every letter, every seed, every fern
because there's no better remedy to anything
than a good old paperback and a fistful of freshly picked lavenders.
I will teach you to walk
in a world that tells you to run, to glide, to ride
the latest, the fastest,
I will teach you to walk
not to be late for school, but to be early enough
to see the city opening its eyes
to see the machines hum to life
because there’s nothing more beautiful than beginnings
and to see the morning sun push and pull
push and pull
push and pull you away from the strobe lights
away from the stench of loneliness and lost time
I will teach you to walk so that you will be forced
to slow down, breathe, and think
because it seems to me that your generation hasn’t heard of that word before.
You were born in the age
where people look at themselves as gods
but I will teach you to see beauty
without mirrors and empty words
I will teach you the wonders of the heart
I want you to know how it feels like to watch something grow
I want you to know the joy of licking a homemade ice cream cone
but I also want you to know failure
to know how it feels like to struggle and strive
to know the pain of losing someone
because no matter what those empty advertisements and
neon screens tell you
life isn’t a dream, and the pain
shakes you and
aches you and
breaks you
reminding you that
you are alive and there is still so much to learn and
there are a million other things I want you to learn
but most importantly
and I swear to you
I’m not leaving this earth
until you learn how to live.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
I see no other endless tomorrow than
To lie face to face with you
On a bed of lavenders and violets.
The cool sun magnifies
The verdant fields in your eyes
And the radiant shadows of my hair.
Morning breeze enshrouds our bodies
Sustained by flames more eternal than Vesta’s.
Here forever after
In my ideal world.
If I felt hunger it shall not last long,
For there are nectars from the giant continent that is you.
If you knew thirst it shall be quenched,
Just drink from my hidden wells and fountains.
But remember that I’m not like the ancient Eve
And you can only be the Adam in our own accord.
The butterflies or birds won’t shame me.
The grasses or trees won’t complain.
For loving you is the only truth
In my ideal world.
My hands are here to heal and amuse you,
As long as your arms embrace me from harm.
We own only the lips and ears
Where sweet sounds pass by
To lull as to dream or memorize
We’ll not know starless night of horror,
The way the moon becomes our constant watcher.
We’ll fear no lightning or thunder of wrath
For the rain will be our noble preserver.
Come and stay
In my ideal world.
We don’t have to worry about Sunday
Or think of God to pray.
Nature is our divine link to the cosmos,
And us the perpetual worship fleshed out.
Celestial or earthly we need not know
For this is the spot where boundaries depart.
But all these remain as bright colors in my head
Unless you key in yourself in my mind
And enshrine me to your heart.
Our story can be written by our breath
On petals and foliage of existence to this place.
Somewhere we can call ours,
Come and take
My ideal world.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
to love all of you within the noiseless half of a sigh is a time-swept fever dream stirring in my fists — part firework smoke, part lavenders, part quiet, cautious limerence. how you enchant and unsettle me — i run high and aimless, and free fall in seconds. i am smitten. desperate. love-sick. wordless now, for all i care, darling — i'll leave all of my poems strewn in your bed, like a girl shedding her mortality before a goddess in her truest form.
to disrupt this is a human blunder. to bask in it, divine. ♡
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 1:27 AM UTC
If ever you find yourself doubting your existence,
remember that there's a reason you are alive.
Lavenders are not always in bloom,
but when they are
they become beautifully alive.
And everyone is in awe of its splendor.
Not even a king's robe can compare.
Sometimes pruning is necessary for growth.
Sometimes healing comes through rain.
Sometimes a year of drought makes you realize
how much you wanted to be alive,
and you start praying for rain.
You're almost there.
Like a lavender,
exude a strong scent
reminding everyone your time to bloom has come.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Id spend my afternoons in the garden with the flowers
My only real friends.
We’d talk while I drank my milk tea and laughed for hours about absolute nonsense
The daisys would keep me updated on all the gossip going around the garden
And the chamomile’s would offer their advice on anything I needed.
The lavenders would make me laugh
And the roses would compliment my makeup
Since it was inspired by them
I’d bring my diary there and share with them all my stories and the crazy things that had happened to me that day, since they were the only ones that would listen.
They became my only source of joy
One day I walked to the garden, ready to tell them all my new adventures
But when I began to speak, I noticed something off.
They weren’t responding.
I nudged the orchids.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t any of you speaking?”
I sat there for hours.
No words.
I came back the next day, hoping they’d speak again.
But they never did.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
I lay next to you in a field of lilacs and lavenders.
The beautiful floral scent fills my senses
I am surrounded by all that is purple.
I watch as the brilliant blue sky is filled with gorgeous violet hues.
I listen to the birds as they soothe my anxious mind.
I put my hand into yours.
Our hands intertwine.
My left hand held by your right.
The strands of purple in my hair cascade around my face,
I am surrounded by purple.
A crown of purple flowers rests on my forehead.
I am surrounded by all that is purple.
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 8:27 PM UTC
The myriads of symbolic rhythms
sway along the narrow highway
as the speed of each engine races
whilst my heart traces in lost decades
worn out and torn in unjust voids
Yet the summer trails brought an adventure
crucified to a verge of eventual twists
pasted inside pain as never before
upon the thrones of the sacrifice
at the cross of want that never returns
where veins are palpitated and bled
and the volcano boils without a limit
at the heart of where a stormy story formed
by the alleyway where lavenders diffused
and the bees fed from pollen to pollen
upon the mouth of the energy giving nectar
where the summer fruits craved for that ray of light
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
I'm a lavender,
wild and vibrant.
I am the fragrance
that fills your lungs,
with every breath you intake.
I'm beauty in chaos.
I am a soothing lullaby.
But you prefer roses,
Soft and red,
petals that you could let
your fingers linger.
With lust and desire,
no trust;
a love that is a blazing fire.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Nobody knows what they did up there,
They came back with a baby daughter.
They named the daughter Mary.
Mary had chubby cheeks,
Dimple chin,no teeth within,
Rosy lips,
Curly hair, very fair,
Eyes were blue,lovely too.
One day Mary went to play on the slide,
Georgie Porgi pudding and a pie,
Kissed Mary and made her cry,
When Jack and Jill came out to see Mary play,
Georgie Porgi ran away.
Mary had a friend called Johny,
He was handsome and Bonny,
Mary Mary,
Yes papa,
Loving Johnny,
No papa,
Open your heart,
Ha! Ha! Ha!.
But, Johnny said,
"Lavenders blue,Mary, Mary,
Lavenders green,
When I am King Mary, Mary,
You shall be queen."
Papa Jack and mama Jill asked,
Mary ,Mary quite contrary,
We have a querry,
How does your heart grow,
With wedding bells and many heart throbs,
Not now, Mary sobs.
One day, Johnny proposed,
Mary, Mary,
I'm crazy,
All for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish wedding,
I can't afford a Lamborghini,
But, if a stylish scooter for two,
Will do.
Soon, Mary had a little boy, a little boy,
It's skin was white as snow
It followed her to work one day,
He made her friends laugh and say, laugh and say,
"Mary, what a bonny lass you have.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
My nights are cold and sad as I sip a black pitched coffee that I am holding in my hands. The slumber of sadness still grows in my heart while I let myself succumb in a little blanket with dusty furs beneath. The sadness becomes a growing pain until it become a ghostly pain that lives inside every night with a growl of wildness that seems so silent yet so deadly. All of the stars, no, the universe saw the pain that seems like a winter sadness that just grow everyday as I try to live my life looking for the brightness of a star and a comfort of a tree that seems worn out at times.
But my nights that are full of sorrows seems alive yet there’s a growing tree that I saw every night as I look upon the twinkling stars. The tree seems alive but I ponder every night in my cracked window ‘Does the tree grows in night full of sadness?’. That place seems questionable to me because when I looked upon my window it can’t be seen easily yet it fills me up at some point. Every night as I look through my window I realized that the tree was just there at the beginning or maybe even before my own beginning. Maybe I failed to notice the wonder of it every night so I tried to peek on it. As I peek on it, I become scared thinking that there will be wildness that I can’t take so I decided to just don’t look at it again.
Looking back, I brushed it off. The tree was just there as I grow with my endless sadness. My sadness becomes numb and my black pitched coffee becomes monotonous. As the night fades, I can feel the numbness in my body and the coldness of my heart. The shining sun seems a striking light to me that I can’t take that makes me feel burned and at some point, I also thought that it would turn me into ashes. Strangely as I grow up and I tend to be number, I remembered the tree that I looked upon in the midst of my growing sadness. I strangely go the tree that makes me feel scared before. The tree made me feel at home, a strange feeling that someone like me can’t feel in spite of all fake happiness that I display in the warm sunshine up until to the lavenders and pinks of sunset.
Every night, I always went to that spot, that tree that made me feel scared before. Even in the sunshine I always look upon the tree and it makes me feel at ease. Despite the scorching heat of sun, I always felt the freshness of spring and the bloom of flowers with a beautiful melody of birds. Even in the sadness of nights, I can feel the beauty and mystery of the moon with the stars that looks painted in the night sky. Everything seems beautiful, I guess. Also, my heart grows there with my numbness fading away.
Looking back at everything that I felt, those judgements are fallacy of my scared heart that is afraid to grow in the light. A child that thinks everything can be handled on its own but it seems like that child is fragile human being after all. Also, despite the happiness that I felt in that place I also want to make that place more beautiful. Maybe the word beautiful is a given statement in that place but still, I want to make that place feel the comfort that it gives to me.
Right now, that spot seems mesmerizing in my eyes and I hope in the following days, months, and years that spot will always felt like home. A home that I can lean on in the bad days and I can be happy with in my happiest days.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
Immortal, Immortal, my very own Immortal, can you still even hear me? I wanted to mention another, but instead I am calling out your name.
Immortal. That is how I always called you, little darling; you really are like a little darling, with your bulbous brown eyes and solid red mouth. With your sweet-flavoured jokes and archaic compulsions. You are like a buoyant flower that often speaks from its inside. You smell just like the black sweater you are always encircled in; you smell like one array of strawberries, lavenders, and musk blended into one wondrous potion. Ha-ha. You are wild; you are free; you are the inborn sweat of stormy nature itself. But to me you are the one chosen. You are like a youth that never blossoms; a sky that knows not the litter of adulthood. You are my sweet, my elegance, my butterfly.
But you always failed to catch a butterfly. Once there was one who briefly landed on your shoulder; in an attempt to hurl his little self back into the solidarity of the skies. You sang about the whole world like the moon did; but you were never incarcerated within your universe. Instead, you created even a more passionate one.
Immortal, Immortal, where are but you, my love? I peruse His verses and cite His name every day; in order that you feel my affection and touch even just the slighted shadow of mine, in your dreams. Bygone memories are still rowing within my head; and as their sheen touches my lips; I am sure I shall see you again, when He decrees. Ah, Immortal, how I want to see you become pure; and unite yourself with Him within his fortress, my love flowing beside you, freeing you from this world's ungodly torture.
Obicham te. I miss you, my dear, more than hysteria can assume; nor any disparity can have thought of. My morning dew, my noon, my sunset, all are but attended in thee.
Obicham te. Obicham te. Obicham te.
I miss you so much. Sadly, perhaps you'll never know that.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC