"mimosa" poems
If only you could see
I am like a mimosa tree
My branches you can climb
My leaves will give you shade
When my spring arrives
My flowers you can see
The aroma is only for you
In the night
My leaves close
It is how I hold you within my arms
In this way I exhale
And you receive the oxygen
For it enriches your blood
And your heart becomes happy for it
Dig into my roots
They are dug into the soil of our togetherness
Feel the richness
Smell the earth
Look upward towards the sky
As the light of happiness
Filters through
If only you could see
I am more than just a tree -- Wade Lancaster
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
**We’re Gonna Need Some Sunglasses For This Mushroom Cloud
Gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
it’s 6AM I’m in LA it’s been a long night for sure,
just gotta get into that cafe get that cappuccino,
then get safely unnoticed and back to the idling car,
Jar,
of Flies,
sorry I’m not sorry,
that’s a bad reference to 1995,
bad because Jar of Flies was a different year,
different year different name,
’95 was self-titled,
‘Alice In Chains’,
remind me again,
what the heck we’re talking about,
this poem has no parameters,
it’s off course but still going along,
gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
like my glasses like I like my roast,
with my Valentino’s and dark cappuccino,
and you with your mimosa my dear Yoda let us toast,
“To the Next Episode!” let’s go,
No Dre though it’s more of a Good Day,
not to be rude to Ice Cube but I got ice cubes in my flute,
in perpetual motion from chronic transitions of change,
and when I say Change I’m not talking about Rock The Vote,
because we all see where voting got us,
now we got ‘ Donald Duck Mr. Talk A lot of Nonsense’,
we got that stone cold soviet ****** Kim Jong-un launching stunner missiles like Steve Austin,
dropping finishing moves ’Cold Stunning’ but instead of a drop kick he’s bomb launching,
we can’t even stop him as in Kim Jong-un with bad movies and meetings with Dennis Rodman,
Oh My God Son!
We’re really gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
have you ever seen the magnificence of an Atom Bomb,
a mushroom clouds of the most beautiful hues,
a moment of infinite Light just before the moment we’re all eternally gone…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆**
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
*
Cast among the downpour,
gates beneath dark clouds are left open
The creek is rising, drowning underbrush,
darkening tree trunks,
moving swiftly the discarded,
Collecting at the walls of this place,
as stone and mortar slowly crumble
From a desperate vantage point
overlooking nature’s angry powers
I see a shape, a floating aura,
eyelet gown of gold stitch, woven ribbon dreams
Mahogany hair flowing, eyes captivating,
drifting atop muddied raging waters,
directing the flow with blown kiss persuasion
Suddenly swept away, barely a breath remains,
swallowing life in surrendering gulps
Flailing intoxicated waves, undertow’s grasp,
when a hand reaches, fingers interlock
Glazing blue skies whisper in sunlit reflections,
ocean breezes soothe washed out tides,
as a sand dollar wishes on a seashell
And now upon this beach I lie safely within soft arms,
tasting her mimosa lips, warm and sweet
I drink in her flavor neath palm tree shadows,
cool in the heat, but hot of her skin
My heart hears the glistening, tingling my senses,
awashing me in desires impossible to imagine,
as I happily drown in her*
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Dear Prozac,
Thank you for saving my life.
Maybe one day, I will be a good wife.
Ill witted me, now singing softly.
Dear Xanax,
Thank you, for now I can breath.
Too much, and I can’t talk .
Just enough, I can barely walk.
Dear Adderall,
My favorite of the bunch,
For you always keep me up.
Grinding you in a powder,
To feel your mighty ******
Dear Vyvanse,
Always necessary and prescribed,
When you can never eat,
Who needs bulimia nervosa?
The daily calories are in my mimosa
Dear Ambient,
Thank you for the sleep.
All the others make me wide-eyed.
With you, I feel the day, complete.
No longer I will be, a zombie.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
Beautiful she was,
All sleek pine and cotton wool rigging
A beautiful deck made for a'spying
And a secret cabin boudoir fit for a king
Plenty of nautical miles ahead
Just open sky blue and free
So shiver me timbers and come take my hand
We'll take the Mimosa to sea
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
I was a touch-me-not before you broke my heart
living in a child’s playhouse
now I say, “touch me please”
it is the demons that make angels exist
some girls say that sadness makes you feel dead
you made me become alive
you cried when my hair covered my eyes
so my sadness carried it away, it
uncoiled
a heartbeat per ounce I love your ****
but still we have conversations about where you
want to be buried
when you die.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Luscious swirl colors
Sunlight reflecting off of
Rainbow jeweled depths
White cotton absorbs the laughter
In banded, restricted patterns
Blue lazy afternoon
Pink sugar candy
Green that's not so easy
Indigo spot light shining
Mimosa bubbles fizz with comedic intent
Juicy honey bells spiking my taste buds
I soak you up, great God of life
In turn creating sacred geometric love
On simple fibers
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Red
Fuchsia
Purple
Cobalt
Green
Amber
White
Like stars
Low to the ground
Luminous orb
Under pygmy palm
Tiny Frog
Riding rainbow lit lily pad
Rhine maiden spotlighted
On small rock pond
Reflecting
Pagoda lanterns
On glass bar
Mirrored in pool
Seated reading girl
Nestled near tiny mimosa tree
Shimmering butterfly flutters by
Crackled globe
Casts speckled glow
Towards gnomes seated below
Peeking out through
Bushy philodendrons
Faux mosaic lamps
Cloudy days
Leave dark marks
Empty holes
Longing for lost luster
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
my Achilles heel that I feel too much, I deal with so much, the waves too rough
my realism steals my happiness at mimosa littered brunch, a shot just for fun
talking behind the mall in your car, tongues tied in the dark
intertwining my love like ivy, growing into your fruitful mind
driving through the busy streets to your private oasis
return to your arms, return to the basics
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 4:51 PM UTC
Mind body lump
sushi tastes people
blanket's warm sausage
loopy plaid pants
mimosa fueled mathematics
map making pancakes
waffles don't know ****
Add chicken and enjoy.
Dance like a coked up Napoleon
ecstatic to heard Vincent Price reading Poe
while Moby **** writes rhymes opined to killer wale
princes and lords.
Service the dinosaur's automobile
when you get a chance
don't dance on like a midnight acid FLOWER
power of the hour scours the loud crowd
to life after death.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Violet, in her blue dress
Of fresh, giddy dreams,
Flounces under waves of wind;
Twirling and bowing
To dandelion greens.
Throwing caution to the breeze,
Unveils her heart
With envious ease;
A natural flirt, and temptingly close
To feathery pink mimosa groves.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
to be frank, I never cared for fall
not enamoured by the warm-hued leaves riding the winds as they fall
to the ground where they crunch
too cold for my old mimosa littered brunch
the rain also won’t stop
who could claim this season and for what reason?
I miss the sunlight and the warm embrace of the wind
I miss the stressless summer bliss
instead, here I am racking my head, studying for exams
hoping I can just get back again
to kayaking in the blue, wearing my swim trunks like a tattoo
instead, here I am racking my head, swimming in the deep end
will I drown who knows, thank god I love to idle and float
or else I would be meeting Moby **** when the depression hits
Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
Maybe it's the
champagne or
maybe it's faith
But it's strange
anyway
That we've never
shared space
kind of
deranged
in a way
that I can't
kiss
your
face
I hope it's okay
that I say it
It's on my mind
everyday
I've had so much champagne
I can't deny what I'm saying
it's insane that your face
blinds my right of purveying
or in saying
sometimes saying
it's a game that we're playing
i'm not playing babygirl
it's [your name] i've been saying
it's your face i've been blaming
on every single curve
catch me cursing the verse
your name leaves on my shirt
i disperse it
well of course it's a curse
a voice
I haven't heard yet
so of course i'm submersed
& of course it is yours
& you
the most gorgeous of all
and me a thrown ball in Autumn
watch me fall
watch me fall
watch me fall
watch me fall
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Royal Road slopes
enough so that your toes know
which way you are going.
Kudzu and ragweed accent the driveway
pitted with bushel basket size
holes amid roaming plastic grocery bags.
A 1960’s version mobile home
fights Mimosa and blackberry bush
to remain visible.
As I ascend the creaking steps
a neighbor cracks the quiet
to announce that, “Jesse is on the way.”
I hear the clop, swish, clop
as Jesse corners onto Royal Road
and chugs toward me.
Sweat rivers from his beard.
He greets me with,
“Thanks for the groceries.”
I said, "I need you to sign
to show I brought food."
I didn’t ask, “How did you lose your leg?”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
The warm yet slightly cool is blowing through
The sweet taste of this mimosa sends me to a heavenly high
The bass to the song that plays is making it's course through my veins
The beat takes me to a distant memory of an old familiar soul
And it makes me happy
The soul to a girl that knew she was apart of everything wonderful and she herself was an amazing entity
Ah yes! I once knew her before her mind was polluted by lies, hurt, cruelty, and all the dark side to an unforgiving world
She once had a strong yet precious grasp of the most important thing... her soul
Yes I definitely remember
So beautiful, so graceful, so infinite
I see her
I know who she is
And it makes me happy to catch a glimpse of her through the window of time
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
A chilled but passionate solution
Bubbly mix with bracing sensation
Dashes of bittersweet fruit in flute
Sends forth your day in joyous pursuit
An inward touch of coy affection
Close to perfect prime of your generation
Afar I lay on your sinuous path
As frivolous lace of vast green swath
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
◇
The morning sun
in your hair,
a new blue dress,
geraniums blooming
on a terra cotta veranda,
a sparkling mimosa
in your hand,
pelicans float silently
above melodic
aqua marine waves...
Yet, all I see is your
eternal deep brown eyes,
for perfect beauty
is what I seek
on this morning
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
rather than the pretty rose,
that was showered with
praise and poise
and sunshine smiles,
the mimosa plant always was
pricked by the curious calico cat,
curling into itself
and if i were to do the same,
would i disappear too?
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 2:17 AM UTC
I can't stand the way you don't understand the light.
You imagine yourself painted in gold walking among sandy beaches as the tide comes in,
Sipping on a mimosa, biting at a croissant.
I imagine you think everyday will be like this.
Time grows a bit weary,
We go home,
We leave the tide behind, we can't bring the sand home, we have no space.
I'll be at my desk writing away at the next piece, the next big shot chance at trying to prove to you and the world I got it this time.
You'll go to work, you'll come home and
you'll tell me Sally isn't cut for the job but Andy, your boss, he won't fire her.
You'll look over my shoulder, think to yourself about how this one isn't going to be the big shot.
You'll tell me: "it's coming along well honey."
I won't here the sincereness flicker off your lips. There was no fire starter to begin with.
You'll crawl to bed,
You haven't the strength to speak to me in tongues.
I'll ask, "baby doll what's the matter?"
You'll tell me, "I can't stand this place. I can't stand the way the sunrises. We need to go back."
I'll tell you now, "baby doll, like Rick said to Ilsa, we'll always have Paris."
"We never even went to Paris," you'll say to me.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
The sun sets gentle as it is painted
and painted over,
a portrait of sliding sky.
in gradients too slow for
notice the painter erase the day's melodies
brooding all the
while the sky finishes its fall
onto the rising night.
He is a quiet man, all
calloused hands, stained forearms,
more accustomed to solitude than
the daylight of scrutiny.
With the precision of an almanac,
the painter finishes, canvas cleaned
of its light and
sliding quiet beneath his blanket of tattered stars,
the man waits
in hope, that tender lunacy,
to find the lady who resides in the corners of his dreams.
He longs to touch her outside his mind's eye,
but all too soon he is asleep
and she is nowhere to be found.
His breathing evens out and
rising unconscious from the bed,
he shuffles towards the canvas.
Sitting picturesque before the easel,
he eases the woman into existence,
champagne beneath his brush.
She never stays longs, though,
leaving with the drop
of her mimosa glass,
bleeding orange onto background and body;
he rushes to catch her oils as she
drips between his fingers.
The painter sighs deep
and begins to cover his work.
Every night his heart breaks
as he paints and paints her over.
When he finally wakes,
dropping the shredded sky from his frame,
he finds the canvas inexplicably different
than how it was left.
It will be forever, it seems,
until their two shadows will be allowed to meet,
concrete as a realist's ache
for resolution.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
(Chiara, Francesca, Rosa and Pedra remained on the beach.)
Chiara and Pedra decided to take a look along
The coast to search some food; Francesca and Rosa carried
The boat across the beach to hide it; 'How can you be so strong? ''
Asked Rosa; ''I listened to Chiara when I got married.
We depleted a fortune and Lucca was very rich.''
''So, this strength of yours comes from your tristesse, '' replied Rosa.
''My inner emptiness became affection.'' 'She's a witch.''
'She's a good soul, but inside her, she keeps thorns of mimosa.''
They had to undergo that difficult time and to
Organize their lunch; Rosa stopped to sip some drops of water
From the canteen she carried, '' it's entirely up to you
To leave him now.' ''My father is ill; I'm his only daughter.''
They were tired after the grim events of the previous
Hours; meanwhile, Chiara and Pedra were sifting through the salty
Air of the beach. Chiara said, '' I don't trust Fargo, he's devious.''
''We have no other chance, '' replied Pedra. ''His logic is faulty, ''
Continued Chiara, ''they should remain here with us.''
Pedra stayed for a few minutes being caught by the sparkle
Of the broken waves; she said, ''we have something to discuss.
Don't you think that your ideas are too matriarchal? ''
They enjoyed the salty stink of the seaweeds and the clicking
Of the living shells that they had tossed together for the meal.
While eating, they cut off the mollusks from their sticking
Shells; dozens of gulls were wheeling over the waves. ''Pleasant peal, ''
Said Francesca, '' the chance of meeting another one while
Staying here is very slim.'' '' I really grasp the scale of our
Surroundings, '' said Chiara while giving her seaweeds with a smile.
Rosa said, '' eat some kumquats, figs, and pears; you need power.''
(Rosa brought some fruits to complete the meal.)
(To be continued…)
Poem by Marieta Maglas
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
It was in pastures of green when first I saw her
She was the daisy at the dawn of spring
In my heart a fire stired
In my soul a symphony rings
It was in piny groves when first I loved her
She was the majestic pinus resinosa
My senses flashed then blured
Tis sweeter than mimosa
We mingled and danced in autumnal fields
We were with ancient amber grass
From our courtship love we yield
Like the soil we will forever last
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
Is it more beautiful the moon
or the sun?
A night of stars
or a day of summer?
A drop of dew
or a reflection on the water?
Is it more beautiful
the almond tree in spring
or the mimosa
in its most intense yellow?
Don't ask me
what I love most
because an ocean
wouldn't be enough
to appease my thirst
and the universe
to fill up my heart.
20.2.'13
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC