"oleander" poems
blushing oleander flowers beckon_inhale my dizzy deadly breath
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
I cast the muse into the sea
to wake her from a peaceful sleep.
This poet’s quill is void of ink;
it needs her words to strike the page.
She’ll fight the waves Poseidon sends
til Sirens drive her back to shore
to sip an oleander brew
and hoist the cup of Socrates.
Bring wolfsbane and a death morel!
Bring nightshade and curare too!
We’ll fatten her with woe and pain!
We’ll ready her for war and hate!
She’ll writhe and quiver, seethe and foam
until she spews her putrid verse
upon the blackened sands of time
from which men’s darkest dreams are built.
And when the gods are satisfied,
when Ares’ sword has slashed and burned,
this poisoned pen will rest at last.
Calliope shall sleep once more.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
Our blood is golden wine,
I’ve been told to try sweeter blends.
My cups lay in my favorite number but the unknown in my shadow still stand.
Inside could be my salty songs for a memory that never ends.
I pull you down underwater to see just how far you can be from the sand.
Eyes wide open to the flame of your being;
It’s confidence and conflict that drag me out of my stalemate.
A torch to gaze upon something I know to be worth seeing.
Whether together or apart we still crawl the same trail to feel and be something great.
The oleander and roses course through our veins like the wax that holds together our armor.
We’re meant to grow our vines past the heavens.
That’s the place that holds serenity and storms that you never have to barter;
Where admiration never leads to lessons.
To be strong through our valleys when we feel like we’ll never climb back up.
In this garden is the place where I can accept your oceans dichotomy.
No matter how many wands, no matter how many cups;
I’ll accept it completely but of course cautiously.
All the eyes can see all the burning in my hands.
What could be sparked by nature feels easier to light on my own.
Is it gasoline I smell on demand
Or has the apple already grown?
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 12:24 AM UTC
Oleander wax
Dribble and curl
Betwixt Rosemary, Sage and Thyme
Tiger's eye dust
Lamb's blood and rust
Rubbed heavy with
Switches of Rye
Smoldering Ash &
Freshly pressed hash
Entwine with bubble and snort
Sing for the dead
Cry for the living and
Mop up your tears
From the floor
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC
once we were one, so close
now turncoat in lakes of
oleander, creeks run poison
we two betrayed
what stolen ideal cast
in stone against her?
my anima still wants love
from me, yet twists on proverbial
dime
coats were rejected
colors negated, unflown
prisoner of tumble town
chained like a queen
a shanty wish disregard
so no wings, air of nonesuch
grace barrio color to fly
in my mind, sleeping
mariachis playing loud,
my anima rescued me
real, such desert here
just my shivering id
skinned seal, bad memory
still hopeful still here
surely mi anima mi alma
will grant my dying
wish
I am the traitor of my anima
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
Oleander fair;
your head resting on a verdant bank
with starkest lilies for your pillow
reflecting the harsh sunlight to light your grey eyes.
Oleander fair;
your lips painted with the bluest flush
parted in innocence
and perfect teeth lily-white.
Oleander fair;
your skin a porcelain etched with fine lines of ruby blue
so faint no more than wisps
painted by an artist's touch.
Oleander fair;
soft ******* so still
no rise or fall
to disturb the tranquil air and calm.
Oleander fair;
face framed by the darkest of red
that flows in rivulets around the veil of hair
matted with such scarlet streaks now frozen in time.
Oleander fair;
cruelty that belies
such beauty
it cannot remain free.
Oleander fair;
at my behest was it done
my hands so stained
with the mark of your demise.
Oleander fair;
the starkest lilies
reflecting the harsh sunlight
to dance upon my silver blade.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
The oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall.
The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still.
Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond-scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard.
The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon.
Before across the silent lawn
In sea-green vest the morning steals,
And to love’s frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn
Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my heart’s delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.
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Love cautiously, the Oleander,
from a distance, behold its blooms.
For within its vibrant grandeur,
death's brew does certainly loom.
Profuse clusters of pink, red and white,
are not for your table setting,
Let them be a backdrop delight
for desert landscape planting.
Lush, evergreen, they grow year round,
wild, tall, with abandon.
Or prune them down, so they stay low,
a hedge with blooms embolden.
A poison beauty without compare,
The Oleander draws attention.
Thriving in the dry desert air,
Touch? Remember warnings, here, I did mention.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 5:02 AM UTC
Cracklings
sweet sizzlin'
crickets
Blazing songs
the pine bark savagery
of sharp day's beauty
hunting
the heat on the
Russian borzoi
orange puffy fan
white silk
and vanilla
ice cream
butterflies
landing on my feet;
A current of salty
air breezin' deep
Blessed be! Laurels, Lovers
Shrines
Sighs, Tent massages,
Oleander dreams;
Sapphire mingles
aquamarine
within my
irises: infinite waves
Black portals of White Poets
Consciousness
The body is cool
chillin' in Wireless
Mocca
Beach Bar
Silver Star
Demant!
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
Among black butterflies
goes a dark-haired girl
next to a white serpent
of mist.
*Earth of light,
sky of earth.*
She is chained to the tremor
of a never arriving rhythm;
she has a heart of silver
and a dagger in her right hand.
Where are you going, siguiriya,
with such a headless rhythm?
What moon'll gather up your pain
of whitewash and oleander?
*Earth of light,
sky of earth.*
1.8k
I was looking for tulips.
I found you, oleander,
deadly nightshade.
Nothing grows in the
darkness that you chose
to live in.
Had I known, I would have
left you to wilt and rot in the sun
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 10:33 AM UTC
White hot Flash
Drums of Vibrato
Echo down the Spine
Cold and Sticky
In the Chest
Pulling an Aching
Mind down to
Recollections of Oleander
And Saltwater-
Bloodshot belladonna Eyes
Poppy seed Vision
A loose-lipped Smile
Blurred hands
Violet fingertips
Pale white Translucent
Blue veins dark Stained
Iced concrete and Jasmine
Be still my Soul
Long enough
To Comprehend
The Nymphet Tragedy
Of timid Thorns
And soft strums on Steel Strings
Written longways
Read sideways
Neglected underneath
Rocky steps
Buried deep
In the salted Soil
And mossy Tress
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
No one understands her
she is young
She is cloud and free
greets all with a smile
saying ,"Kisses my friend"
She lays naked in thought
with hands so cold
that cut like knives
Fangs in vein
as she ***** the breath
out of your world
with oleander kisses
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
--In a dream I did see
lovely outstretched hands
pierced with lily white light
between the Oleander and the mad seas.
That by starlight--- chained
for more than twenty thousand years
captive in the vast realms of Heaven,
shot forth suddenly!
--Beneath a shivering willow
I received a flurry of quickened kisses.
The flowers that she picked
entwined their thin arms
in each soft corner
of the violet forest to the
cool raging streams that effervesced
into the warm azure pools--
embroidered with lime green moss that hangs
from each branch
of the willow into the eye
of the poet.
He said it had a voice, firm, yet--
endless...
as I floated back down--
distance knew not time.
I looked deep into the apple green eyes
of the leaping panther
as I fell back
into an ocean of pearls.
I swam back to sleep.
.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
You felt like paper
Flimsy and unsure
I was afraid to take
A picture with my
Mind. You might
Float away when
the flashbulb shines
Losing control of
Everything
all I can
Remember
Is kissing you in the summer
Sliding my hand up the back of your skirt
When I knew nothing else
But the skin on your face
Glowing green in the dashboard light
Another morning off the turnpike
She fills coffee cups for old men
I have memorized the color of your iris
And I play with knives
I have three boxes of matches
Up all night
Coping with addiction
What if in the mind
I could rhyme a bullet through it
I will act as if you arent
And you will be harder to get
I like the variable of your fingertips
And when you hold my eyes
Just a moment too long
If I
Were
To die
Would you throw away my poetry?
Who will sit with you at church?
Let's play a game called: forget it
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Oleander
Melanie S. Moorman, 2/3/15
Such beautiful pain
Such largeness and gain
Hardened by walls
Built up time & time again
White scented petals
Fill the air - so smooth
Fragrantly wafting -
Singing to the Moon
Lovelorn and tired
She's dressed but uninspired
Her mood changes
But her song is the same
Will you come out tonight?
He says with a longing
Will you put on that dress?
A place your body belongs in
She smiles seductively
He knows what that means
His desire shall be curbed
By a meandering dream
Playfully she calls
But he hears - not too well
Lost in his fears
Where his love for her dwells.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
Darkened doorways to the outside, bright wide doorways to insides
My insides, spilled on the linoleum over the smell of oleander
I stare into your black cracked eyes with a loving smile
It’s a gaze in the fog where your thin fingers stretch
You are all the hills, all the ditches and fills, the trills
Of nightbirds and coyotes looking for the ****
You are ruthless, ruthless, ruthless…
And I fly every mile like a salamander slides.
And I must, hush, say this in a whisper, whispering cobwebs
My morning glory, sweet sunrise through black curtain.
I could have learned to live a long time ago
With a gaze in the fog you touched and taught me
You are all my fatal fear, your mind is clear, all here
Your legend floating in a perfect tear
It is endless, endless, endless…
Your crystalline flow on the uncertain ebbs.
How many, many eyes do you have? How many sighs
Drift through your rafters like your own vortex of laughter?
I remember falling in love with a light from beyond you
Your gaze in the fog like the fire from your head
Eggshell lead paint, no complaint, breathe in till you faint
With all your soul that of a stenciled saint
Songs so shameless, endless, ruthless,
Cannot fly through this shell until after it dies.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Your words are a sight to behold-
You can inside-me and outside-me
With one simple line
You are a prophet and scholar I see
Words scratched on every surface
Splashing the lifeblood of an inkwell
On the face of fate
Your arms are covered in poetry
Up and down written
Back and forth
Letters roll from your tongue
Squeezing the throat of my inner silence
Taking hostage my thoughts
Pushing and proddding them
I feel as if you are a thousand years old-
And I am just a boy
A curious child searching for meaning in the blue
You let me poke and **** at your words
Picking up a book
Just to read your first page
And lay it aside
Reaching for another
I am not your equal in the least
I know my place as a student of fate
I am your humble servant-
(Although I wrestle constantly with
Human affections)
How can I be at blame?
You have eyes- full of ancient and knowing light
Your hair is more compelling than an English garden
Full of blooms
Silken strands of summer rays
Cast my heart into shadow
I revel in the shade of your haunting depths
Picking blooms of Nightshade and Oleander
In the mist of your presence
The dew chills me to the bone
In the wake of your departure
I am ****** to a life
Wrapped in your absence
It is so cold in my heart
For the prison of mountains
Will keep you from me
I can only hope that one day
When my body is buried
Roots will curl and swallow me
Crushing the spirit from my bones
So I may wander over the mountains
And watch you rest your legs
As you wait for Aurora's morning kiss
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
What deep spring feeds these tears that flood my eyes?
What well of emotion have I tapped that surges up
And leaves me chasing for my breath?
What unspeakable thing have I done
That has brought me to my knees?
This place, what is it called?
Where is the path back;
The path forward?
Am I lost
Or not?
Oleander
Stands ahead
Looking back at me,
A love sick creature destined
For the protection of her menagerie.
Oh, all creatures great and small, that suffer
From the insults of a world that has no time for love
Have in her home a sanctuary. I am just the latest refugee.
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
Celebrate the invisible embrace.
You will be quite alone,
When the altruistic deed is done.
Content your heart in silence.
No choir will raise its voice
To sing your praises.
Consign your life to anonymity.
History no longer needs
Martyrs to fill anthologies.
Comfort your dreams in oleander.
Flowers are an appropriate caress,
For love conferred in obscurity.
Cultivate a flair for solitude.
Isolation is the purifying fire
That steels a damascene soul.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
As snow does to a fire, lull them asleep among the foliage;
between the oleander beautiful as snow;
like dragonflies threading! he sings and the woods sing!
In the wine of daylight the willows shiver:
- its coolness on my feet, the star has wept rose-colour.
The wolves howl back with great conquering black eyes.
- from violet forests: where the stars are sleeping.
The black gallows moan, on the calm black water
embroidered with black moss and the horizon rushes
and the murmuring waters came snowing;
I no longer feel myself; I have seen maelstroms eternal,
of the sea star-infused and the yellow-blue awakenings
the scented twilight, of silver waves.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:56 PM UTC
I feel a white hot passion
one that might sound queer
I ache for tragic moments
and endless feelings of despair,
My body yearns for broken promise,
words, lies, and lost love,
an episodic adventure
filled with tear stained faces, swollen lips, and pulled hair
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Dry the water from your eyes, leave these dreams behind,
There is no thing here for you, but the haunting ghosts in your mind.
The ocean may be sparkling in the sun, yet the ship is sinking,
Shattered down in the deep, where the beams are never winking.
So please, my dearest one, do not let yourself devour.
They will cause only pain, these dreams of yours so flowered.
The oleander may be a beauty evergreen, yet its blood so deadly,
Makes your heart stop pounding, turning it cold and heavy.
Make your dreams a different kind, like the ones that never fade,
Because yours are turning grey, and will forever remain unmade.
The fire may be an alluring saviour, yet demanding are its licks,
Leaving every soul in ashes, ruthless destruction it inflicts.
Dreams like these were never meant for a heart like yours,
So pour out your reveries, and close the tempting doors.
His wine may be sweet on your tounge, yet it will leave you drained,
And bitter is the aftertaste, wishing you had abstained.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC