"lupins" poems
Are acceptance and approval synonymous terms? It is important that we give adequate definition to that which blocks our winding garden path, where foxgloves, lupins and a multitude of botanical dreams can blossom into a gorgeous array of ****** captivation.
If we embrace that which is repugnant, then possibility may not be confined to the cradling arms of the mistress of death.
So, my judgmental and moralistic companion from the sands of Jupiter – if your daughter is a raunchy stripper, then keep your expectations on the leash and preserve your anthropological connectedness, otherwise you may veer into prickly thorns of certain detriment and thereby lose her attachments.
It is incumbent upon us to nourish those fragrant plantations with a careful approach, so that beautiful reproductions will abound in a bouquet of resolution.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Within the church
The solemn priests advance,
And the sunlight, stained by the heavy windows,
Dyes a yet richer red the scarlet banners
And the scarlet robes of the young boys that bear them,
And the thoughts of one of these are far away,
With carmined lips pouting an invitation,
Are with his love - his love, like a crimson poppy
Flaunting amid prim lupins;
And his ears hear nought of the words sung from the rubricked book,
And his heart is hot as the red sun.
2.4k
Bohemian dichotomies are like winding garden paths, where foxgloves and lupins stand proudly with a rich array of botanical flamboyance.
What is the structure of this pervasive uncertainty, where conspiracy is a perpetual construct which is designed to interfere with anthropological cohesion?
Consider the presence of a mature apple tree, where doves abide in ornithological matrimony.
Let us humbly acknowledge that nature is a powerful beautician, who expels her adversities with gentle ruthlessness.
Let us kiss together amidst this romantic pasture of nostalgic permission.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Grey blue asterisks against a wet valley of hills
clutching boulders for *******
crags and crannies filled
with luscious flower bursting in bloom
summertime
solace of scenic breaks
the bus trundles around corners
through to Milford Sound
majestically beautiful in its isolation
and magnificence
the lupins soar like coloured points of ecstasy
into shades of pink purple blue
taking in the breathless landscape
as if it all owned the place
forever.
Riding back through the ice packs and awe
of blue waters and spray mists of inspiration
we sit silent and absorbed
cameras unable to take in beauty of depth
but a small window of memories
that capture our time and place
in this wilderness.
Leave it alone for the lupins.
Author Notes
A journey through Milford Sounds-World Heritage site, New Zealand.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
My childhood house
has been ruined in a cheap remodel
I spent
15 years in that bedroom
hiding and hoping
to disappear
It worked -
now there's no trace of us left at all
Me and that room, both
far too small
(for what I was to become)
That sunroom-turned-hideout
has all it's guts on display
the red wires sparkling
in the light of day
The space it once held (for me)
a cavern of power, open now
adds itself to the lounge
creating space for others
Am I one with this room?
The fire that kept my wall warm in winter,
has been ripped apart
Gone with it,
the hole in the back of the chimney
where I had a cupboard for keeping rocks
The same cupboard
That wouldn't close
Even when jammed with books
Jammed close, because,
I feared I was watched through the crack
by some mysterious force
maybe even the whole world
in on it all
Gone;
is the laundry that Dad used as a darkroom
(his own hideaway)
the red lamp: a signal burning bright
summoning us to join his cause
Or be left behind
Gone;
is the hall door that was slammed for effect
Slammed over and over in a war that still wages on
Gone;
is the cube shower with the folding door
a place to cry without any sign
Gone;
Is the multi coloured lupins I planted in '96
hoping they would overtake all of the other ground
saying that YES I was here
and YES I was real
In.the.dirt.
But Dad is happy the Apple tree remains.
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 5:02 PM UTC
We each have a garden full of what makes up our lives
Yours may be daisies and evergreens or anything that happens between
Mine is full of color and ever blooming
Roses here and there
Lupins grow high where humming birds zip and zap all around never making a sound
A morning glory or two will bloom before noon
Trees full of song birds soar up high
Providing everlasting shade
Endless fields full of wildflowers too many to name
They fill the air with sweater scents
This is my garden I could wonder for hours and hours to tend the Many plants and animals that live
Lay in the grass let the sun warm my face and then walk beneath the trees to the spring pools
Walk in and let the water swallow my skin
But these are Chemical Gardens,
We tend them in moods.
One day I watch my beautiful roses wilt, each petal falls to the ground
The next leaves fall from the trees and grass grows brown
The sun no longer warms my face instead it hides in the clouds
Weeks pass and I can't coax the color to life, it's just stale air and grey clouds
In times passing my garden my bloom,
the sun will peek from the clouds and smells return to the air the pools of water wont be so dark
This is my Chemical Garden
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Today the sun burst through grey clouds
and sported great cumulus
sailing high up in the blue nordic ocean of the sky
below
resting on the earth
the indigo of the hills shading to infinity
strange distant escape routes for the mind
storm shadows shading the picture
slowly encroaching on this idyll
in ominous grey-black layers
silhouetting the colourful lupins
ah lovely contrasts
how they lift our spirits from the mundane
and send our imagination into celestial dwellings
we only see in our dreams
now the dawn of another day
has come
and gone
and evening light dwindles
behind the winding sheet of the weather
that earlier hid the bright sun
a sense of quiet
permeates the atmosphere
birds have disappeared
they were peppering the birch tree
most of the day
clouds
small puffs of damp
some of which have been stark white in the sunshine
have become pale blue-grey
all is spread like a water-colour wash
beneath a slightly pink pastel powdery paper sky
the hills close their flowers
hush their hawks
streams carry on their gurgle and chatter
among the rocks
and the firs stand upright
to reach a better view of the valley
while we shut out day
and stare into the dark
becoming a part of it
Margaret Ann Waddicor 13th December 2015 (edited then)
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 3:17 AM UTC
An apricot cloud adorns the sky
just there behind the birches
the silhouette of leaves in odd array
one stem a slender trunk
is like a pencil streak
with decorations on the tips
and Skorve sits there dressed in grey
it is the end of a summers day
pale blue the sky up there
beyond
so far away
the salmon on a plate of blue
in the lake of space
its crown
above and out that vacant stare
we watch the passage of that fish that changes shape just there
so seeming near
the scene it dominates in green
so many variations
of colour shape and size
the lupins look surprised
M. Ann Waddicor 1st July 2020
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 11:10 AM UTC
The ocean sparkles in the sun,
An empty dory sits quietly on its mooring.
Shifting slightly in the breeze,
But it does not stray.
No clouds in the sky.
A quiet dirt road made from still pebbles and rocks,
Momentarily interrupted only by my steps.
Stillness so loud,
Accompanied only by a quiet breeze,
Which instructs the lupins to silently wave to me.
They are excited by my presence.
A gull caws above me,
Shattering the stillness for a moment.
Its shadow glides over me,
I can almost hear it fly away.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
like a novice June appears
with powder blue skies
and the longest day of the year
retains its light,
coupled with those balmy early evenings.
Delphininuims and oriental poppies
sway jewel like in their dense hues,
while Lupins make their best display.
All at once this early summer gap
gives spring its last abundance.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Sanguine fluids course my veins,
Neurons, synapses, excite my brains,
Nectar of life in unfolding leaves,
Verdant runner-beans ascending weaves,
Roses deep purple with aromas sweet,
Lupins and lettuces, begonias 'n beet,
The sound of blackbirds in morning chorus,
The light of the sun in breaking auras,
The patter of rain quenching the deep,
Herds of cattle, flocks of black sheep,
Stretching wings soaring the skies,
Laughter and smiles, frowns and cries,
Wind and hail, sunshine and breeze,
Love is the essence of all these.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 6:05 AM UTC
I am from
the old brick house at the bottom of a hill;
from a small, sunny backyard;
that twilight taste of cigarette smoke from my neighbour.
I am from midnight walks through the park,
snow angels in the snow,
a house among the trees and hide-and-go-seek on rooftops.
I am from lots of bed time stories,
_another one, mommy. Please?_
Sitting on the staircase, contemplating whether I should ask to sleep with them because the monster scared me away.
I am from cousins and sleepovers in the summer-shed;
swinging for hours in their living room;
playing minecraft way longer than we should have;
from tag in the woods and more hide and seek down by the creek.
I am from waiting in my room 'till midnight just to make sure he got home safe and sound.
I am from watching the smoke from chimneys in the night,
from thinking that the park was on fire.
Going to twenty different places,
seeing oceans and mountains and adventures,
missing them.
From my first ballet class (and hating it),
from all those competitions and ribbons and costumes,
promising it was my last year every time and finally regretting it when it really was.
I am from going to Grandpa's house everyday after school.
I remember him in his rocking chair, with the cat in his lap, treats waiting our arrival.
He doesn't sit there any longer.
I am from wishing and watching and waiting for nothing.
I am from piles of paper and journals hidden in the corners of my room, scattered with words and memories.
I am from my sister. My mother. My father.
I am from flowers and forget me nots and daisies and lupins.
From the books on my shelves, half of them unread.
I am from staring at my ceiling fan, asking God what was wrong with me.
I am from my Black Book, where those heavy feelings linger.
From those first two weeks of quarantine, reading so much I actually couldn't see properly. And not regretting it at all.
I am from denial, denial, denial was the truth.
But hey, Grace, it's sitting right there in front of you.
Might as well embrace it.
I am from being the sentimental one.
Keeping those shoes that don't fit because I wore them on my trip.
I am from almost diving in too deep.
_Sigh_
I am from letting go. From love. From memories.
But where I'm from, is letting go.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
Be careful of the darkness, be careful of the night
Don't you ever walk alone, beneath the full moonlight
Lurking in the shadows, could be victims first blood bite
The luna cycle is complete, now the moon is fully bright
Hiking across the countryside, it may turn into a sham
Don't get lost and find yourself, inside the Slaughtered Lamb
What exactly is the meaning, of the five point pentagram ?
A star to warn of evil, or an ancient symbol scam !
If you find yourself alone, and your walking in the dark
Don't ever vere of the roads, and don't go in the park
Be weary of the shadows, and beware of
full moons bark
Stay out of the subways, or you'll be the lupins mark
Traveling on the underground, well this would be your choosing
Empty platforms late at night, could turn out quite confusing
A jagged tooth's awaiting you, your life you may be losing
Claws severing your mortal soul, and you wont find it amusing
You will know the moon is full, when the werewolf roars
A soft throat is easily torn, if you stroll on the Moore's
I don't know if you'll be safe, being locked behind closed doors
The wolfs curse is haunting you, a scratch from blooded claws
You'll suffer an unnatural death, if you don't watch where you tread
Condemned to walk in limbo, and be part of the undead
Decaying flesh on rotted bones, untill the last bloodline is bled
A silver bullet should be used, to sever the cursed thread
So don't dismiss the wolf-man, as a convict or a loon
With supernatural forces, it means that no one is immune
Cycles of the werewolf, well they come round all too soon
The Lycanthrope is watching you, so beware the moon
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
I sat among the lupins
a sunny breezy day
my dog was rolling in the grass
I love to watch him play
I picked at little flowers
and watched the bugs fly by
I never get to enjoy the spring
and I will tell you why
usually I'm sneezing
my eyes are itching so
I can't even go outside at all
to watch the green stuff grow
today I soaked up sunshine
and loving every minute
I hope my allergies are gone
'cause I want to be out in it
So I sat among the lupins
till the sunshine went away
soaking up the good green earth
as I thanked God for this day
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC