"petaled" poems
Two girls there are : within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these.
In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time
As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame.
Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies,
She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun's blade.
On that green alter
Freely become sun's bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor's pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter
And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry ****** to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.
9.1k
It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.
The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.
The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass
that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:
Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.
Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.
The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart
a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
breathlessly released
unrestrained,..
evident
as the pressed and dried flowers
cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
bookmarks of the heart
traces of the wild bouquets
that often soothingly caress’d
the energizing tingles
inflaming a tantalizing touch
the yearning empty voids
feverishly undressed,
traced in the hidden sands
of unexplored oceans..
though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
as gentle feather’d touch
the evanescent sunset afterglow
where the earth and sky align
the dimming of the day
loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―
the perennial dawning of an
unpromised new day
will someday come again
bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
flourishing in the meadow of my heart
Someone you used to know
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
The scent of the pollen allured her, hanging in the still air of the morning. She would stop in her travel and visit each flower that she found. The precious nectar oozed from deep within the petals and she would thirstily drink at each one. She would gently land in the scented shade of each blossom and coax the precious nourishment from it. She never gorged, but rather drank from each flower what it was willing to give. Some were full and over ripe and bursting with the honeyed juice. Others had a smaller treasure, but she would drink lovingly of their gift leaving them an offering of pollen as a thanks. Her small, delicate tongue would gently lick and probe the recesses of the flower hunting the sweetness inside. The pollen on her coat would touch with the very deepest innards of the bloom and enter its very core. Her gift, as she suckled each part, was imparted into the scented womb of the softly petaled blossom. Each flower awaited her coming and spread wide it’s scented opening for her to enter. Their swollen pistils would be gorged with the potential for life and their gently glistening stamens would tempt her to feed on their sticky juices. The soft buzzing of her wings caressed the delicate parts of the fragrant blooms with a gentle breeze as she drank her sustenance. She sheltered in the colored shade of petals, hung round her like colored sheets, as she took what each one had to offer. When she was done she would move on to the next, slowly and deliberately milking the juice of life from each one. Every flower needed her and each one did what it could to tempt her in. Some threw heavy fragrance into the air so she could catch their scent while others bared their large and swollen glands so she could see their abundance. She traveled from bloom to bloom, sometimes enticed by the shaded shelter, and other times the sight of glistening pollen. But she fed on each one, large and small, and in each one she left her gift. The pollen that she carried would be imparted on each ***** stamen as she fed. The glistening end of the shaft was soft and sticky and waiting for the pollen that would carry on its life. While she fed each day, there was a gardener who tended to her plants. He took gentle care of them, weeding and pruning and tending to their needs. The flowers that she fed on were his future sustenance and he tended her as well. He would follow her sometimes through his garden and watch as she gently buzzed from plant to plant. She was used to his watchful eyes as he watched her drink from each bloom. He knew that his crop depended on her and he would peer into the bedding of petals as she caressed the sweetness from each one with her tongue. Her long tongue would probe deep into the recesses of the fragrant flower and find every drop of nectar. The gardener watched as she carried on the cycle of life for him and would wait for days to see the swollen fruits of her labor burgeoning from his plants. When she left each flower satisfied with their delicious treat, she would fly off to the next, not knowing that a seed would be swelling in the gorged pistil that she just left. And so it went as the bee buzzed her life away every day. The gardener would be there among his carefully tended crops, watching and waiting as she moved among the flowers. His gaze would follow her as she traveled through the foliage and landed amongst the blooms. Every day he would watch as she coaxed the sweet nectar from each one and left her gift in return.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
I softly tread down marble halls,
my bare feet echoing on white stone floors
that have seen millions of souls
just like mine.
I pass over the stoop
that has felt the endless touch of foreheads
prostrate in humble reverence.
I stand silently by an altar,
coins and offerings scattered at my feet
before this monument that is
the silent ear for so many unknown prayers.
I can almost hear the silent supplications
of all those that have come before,
endlessly echoing from these golden walls.
This place spoke to each of them
just as it speaks to so many today,
just as it speaks to me.
Though my knees do not fold
and my lips do not kiss the marble floor,
though no muttered scripture falls from my tongue,
though the songs on the air remain a mystery
and their lyrics tell stories I do not know,
though I bring no offering, leave no coin
at the petaled base of the altar,
even so,
my mere presence here
has bound me both to this sanctuary
and to these strangers.
To their prayers.
To their alms.
To their songs.
To their hearts.
Every heart
that has been bathed
in the golden light of peace and charity
is forever brightened
and strengthened and soothed.
And now, my heart is counted among them.
Many hearts,
One love.
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 12:30 PM UTC
Tell me wistful wisteria,
Why do you shed those regal tears?
Is it for a fallen child,
A bud of love so dear?
Can you tell me violet crier,
Why flows your petaled pain?
Did you lose a lover?
Does it hurt to speak their name?
Or wisteria, darling tear stained one.
Is this glumness misconceived?
Does happiness reprieve just hold you,
and bring you to your wavering knees?
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Goodbye
my one petal rose
Whose life devoured
the innocence around your crown
Even
the bees
fly past your pollen
on to better petaled exquisitetry
Your
thorns turned
brown and fell away
Left you defenseless in every way
While
more luscious
buds made fun of you
you cried not but inside you died
Goodbye
one petal rose
I'm the gardener
come now I to dispose
But worry
not my one
petaled perfection
Today you decorate the House of God
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
The world was stunned as the a Dark One fell,
His legacy blooming like a black-petaled rose.
The thorns pierced through the eyes of man,
And the Devil cried with me.
He showed the frozen skin of morals--
With gaping pride and ******* strength--
Adorned and caressed by machinery.
And the Devil cried with me.
There was babies in the barrel,
And an alter upon the horns.
******** cries far-and-wide.
And the Devil cried with me.
Harmonics perching on twisted limbs,
And darkness bursting from our chests,
Our greatest nightmares echo His sinister sight...
And the Devil cries with us.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Watch me as I unwrap... passionate,
In the drench of our rain.....
And night falls...
A silent murmur
Where the heart pauses,
A malachite shadow
Penetrates fire,
Burning
A flame's fierce lick
Beneath pulse...
Somewhere....
His smile touches
Warming the red sea of my heart
Pulsating ripples, spread
Soliloquies upon my skin
Orated in Southern sighs...
Slowly...
Desire engages,
******* hardening
Under tongue's brush;
Moist ripe, swollen folds
Tempt his lips to kiss my yielding
Where breath catches,
And I ... smolder within each touch...
Drenched..
My scent quivers languor,
Rhapsodic,
Drowning pools, orchid petaled
Finger parted... tender;
Under sweet seduction,
Stirring the supple bloom,
Tasting the restless currents
That throb through my milky sea...
Small moans...
Electric blue hangs the air..
Primal lust etching curves,
Tracing dewy flesh,
Heating
Skin on skin,
****** scent….arousing,
Tongue brushed hardness
Between dampened lips...
Hot....
The scorching sear... stigmata
Sin licks along thighs,
Essence, dripping,
S W E E T
Sensory overload,
Breaking my binds...
Feed...
My appetite,
I am.. lashes soft, licking thoughts
No words
No words...
Just....
Feed the need that overwhelms,
Grow inside me,
Fill me once again.......
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Someone once asked me
questions I would answer blandly
they weren't what I wanted to answer
Questions of perfect dates
and perfect people
when simply
I wanted them to ask
"What is you favorite flower?"
I could respond with my fascination
with these tiny
white petaled
flowers
ones that made me smile
so wide
eastern Europe could see my teeth.
I wanted someone to ask
about my favorite food
So i could respond
with this amazing blend
of rice and fish
and seaweed and other ingredients
but I'd add
that I only eat them with chopsticks
I would look at them and ask
If I was to fall in love with you
could we share these things
and face the world?
but I couldn't do that
because who wants me,
the girl who wants Sushi and daisies.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Lazing peonies
Smooth petaled, plump and blushing
Hummingbird's harem
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
Supernal abodes ours where we be as
soul-sheaths more transparent than we aspire
*in abodes we of
self-modification more transparent than we petaled hope*
of here, realms where bloom delights, beacons of
petaled hope, amid the rhythms of ice-pins
*amid Supernal beacons of delights
space, sensation soul-sheaths expansion of ice-pins*
in expansion space, sensation light and
self-modification all perception
*be as bloom ours where all perception here, realms where
aspire light and the rhythms*
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
A collaboration between Elisa Maria Argiro and SG Holter.
Dear feather. You fell on my heart.
I keep you on my person now; pocket held;
An eternal companion.
As beautiful as you, I remind my
Thoughts to be.
I wake up as Buddha every day.
Peace is the corner stone of my breathing.
Dear Last Crescent Moon,
adorning Lord Shiva's brow,
smiling toward Morning Star
enjoying her sweet presence
in clearest predawn light.
She smiles too, drifting into feathery sleep.
Birdless flight, unclenched, un-
Clung to.
With this dew drop in my palm
I need no ocean to swim in.
How can Life's castle, with its wars and
Tragedies, hide within its
Towers of
Noise such quiet chambers?
Paper sails, bamboo, emerald waters.
Single feathers rest even when
Airborne.
From your outstretched palm,
sweet taste of morning touches
my tongue, oceanic dew drop
sharing itself across floating time.
An offering holding the last shining
starlight of this new morning. Drifting
now through limitless space,
finding words in our common language
on your yellow paper sails, we gaze down
from these towers of our ancient dreams,
emerald water below us waiting to catch
the falling feather.
Dear insight.
Light as the wind itself, you
Floated; fell on my heart.
Merged with heavy memories
Like paper balloons rising;
Tsunami of kamifusen
Render my whole being
Weightless.
Third-Eye-Hindsight sees me
Remembering nothing with
Bitterness.
One or a hundred lifetimes
Wandering.
Finally now,
Even waking hours feel like
Dreaming.
Dear Wisdom, Guardian Planet,
Buddha's radiance shining.
Thousand-Petaled Lotus
is now your own effulgent mind.
Smiling, eyes closed, feeling the
glowing kamifusen of magenta,
scarlet, turquoise, and yellow
floating above us,
we swim so deeply, diving down
into these warm emerald waters,
winking at the luminous fishes
dreaming all around us.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
i fall and ascend in a sea vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits
industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering satanic eggs and tumors
i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom
you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls
before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of granite and stone
i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering tassels
i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus
blatting hells jaundiced shriek
Pluto conjunct Saturn
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
A silent space
focused and diligent.
Jasmine and clover.
A long long petaled flower
sweet all over.
Fragrant delivery in the name.
Unique in space.
Constant and beautiful.
Jasmine for the minute or the hour.
A tall cluster. for the minute or the hour
Euphoria and calm
Sweet where it is warm
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
My beloved night was dense,dark, wavy, soft velvet,
fully naked, moving in rhythm with me, frenzied, sweet,
we moved heaven and earth to reach the acme of delight,
then flew in to a sudden culmination,words fail to express,
the day dawned, blazing molten gold,ages were impatient steeds,
together we rode, gained wings, became transcendentals, sublime
reached that tranquil, trident blue peak where silence for ever reigns,
we had a deep yearning to sit and peer deep in to each other's eyes,
and see what remains after the last wave returns to the ocean's heart.
Above the emerald mountain,ran a river that fell in to an abyss,
the white foam of it's smile told us, about all we sought thus far.
"Ÿou have reached here in your frenzied search for the elusive
chasing the essence of a conundrum unexplained , cyclic, cryptic"
looking at us sang a little bird, from a low hanging branch
of the tree of diamonds, that shaded us with it's clear light.
We felt the thousand petaled lotus bloom within us that moment.
"Day and night are the horses that draw the chariot you ride,
an oasis you'll reach, then hear stories that would ease your pain
you are in a story that reflects on the periphery of a bubble,
that exists in innumerable worlds simultaneously and hence
none is real, your truth you create,every minute and live"
We are somnambulists, that sit and paint colors in our fanciful dreams,
when we smile the colors stick to our souls till the apparition dissolves.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
His smile never met his eyes
expressions shatter
tensions flow
lips flash a twitch, truth hides
Remember still the evil grin
Telling one lie
Leaving behind another
respect is flattering
charming
He tells you one thing,
Then decides another way
Left is right when he wishes
Where do these conversations lead?
Respect is fenced by thorns
Underneath the petaled flower
She'll draw blood if provoked
Graze the blackened storm
Its here, this hurricane
Blow by blow, these scars are torn
Pillaged memory, lost feelings
Beyond a road I don't wish to walk
The hammer stings the lonely stone
Calling our names
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 12:34 AM UTC
Just up ahead is a trail
Where people seldom go,
Sidling down the gravel hill
Into growths of ash and birch and elm,
Thickets of wild plums,
Chokecherries, leaves turning dusty,
Verdant armies of stinging nettles
Protecting coveted stands of juneberries.
Bittersweet vines entangle aged elms,
Siphoning life, to produce four petaled reds
As summer goes down to autumn.
Leaving the wind above
To batter the old truck,
I descend into the silence,
Trees stand tall, but low
Below the breeze.
Down in this steep place
The wind cannot come,
The sun, when it finds its way,
Warms gently on the coldest day.
The spring my father dug
Before I was born,
Set into the weeping gravel hill,
Runs steadily,
Strong enough
To fill the battered tank,
To keep a goldfish or two alive,
To host strange crustaceans:
Tiny shrimp, just larger than ants,
Pebble crusted creatures
More insect than fish,
Frogs in the tank,
Toads out...,
Mosses and mud
Thirty years or more
At home.
Deer come to this tank,
On hot days or cold;
Coyotes, too.
Porcupines dine on treetops
Swaying quietly
A hundred feet below
Wild Montana winds.
Cattle in winter find life
In the quiet, constant water
Flowing here.
I am taken back
To a stifling July afternoon,
But cool here in this protected place,
Dragonflies floating
And cicadas sawing in the trees,
My mouth full of juneberries
As I circle my way,
Eating more than picking...
Coming face to face with a coyote.
Was he dozing?
Passing through?
Or, do coyotes eat
Juneberries, too?
We stop hard,
Stunned.
Then bolt in opposite directions,
My juneberries flying
From the milking pail;
His tongue between his teeth,
Tail low,
Feet flying into the brush beyond.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
My touch can start brush fires.
My fingers are ***** matchsticks,
the kind your mother warned about.
My petaled lips spark against yours
like flint against steel.
My volatile breath, an overcast of smoke
creeping from the belly of my throat.
My twisted tongue douses your chalky skin
with fuel, a gasoline spreading to your logged limbs.
I leave your organs to curdle,
and by morning glow,
you’re nothing but a burn victim.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Shall this sample punctate the front
Again written in invisible ink
To those with no eyes always on the hunt
For a word, or phrase, that brings the link
Footlights the night, blooms the rose 🌹
Artistic communication inspires a try
Sprinkles petaled paths everywhere it goes
Floramour intoxication within tiny ****** of why.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 12:37 PM UTC
Cascading blooms on twisted vines,
wrap round the old lamp pole.
Reaching out to the night time sky,
to bare their petaled souls.
The lamp globe casts an ethereal glow,
through frosted, crackled glass.
The night moths flutter round the light,
perform a frenzied dance.
As clustered flowers drape the pole,
in a fragrant gown.
New, slender vines, twine bout the top,
like a leafy crown.
light winds caress the dew dropped blooms,
send their scent aloft.
Droplets, shimmer, as tiny jewels,
kiss, petals soft.
Blooms by day are as a rainbow,
arching against the sky.
By night, the shadows mix with hues,
baffling prying eyes.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
Dusky blue the twilight hushed, dimming daylight's edge
cherry tree, green leaves grow - gathering black of night
so quiet, my sleepy garden bows
still warm the sun drunk petaled heads
August moon lingers
only a crescent slicing low
silver birds silhouetted
in shadows flying home
evening deepens, dark the day
silence, the world so far away
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
He knew how to touch me,
Brushing me with the bold of his colour,
My heart beat hard with unashamed bliss
He saw through my 'needy'
And my
Silken nakedness kissed his eyes through the red of sin...
His wet mouthed invitation...
Reached out to where the
Ley lines of my pulse
Meshed in a dance of crimson yearn
And opened the depths of primal
Desperate to escape...
My fingertips elicit the lean lines of faded jeans
Brushing a teasing touch,
Enticing, the heat
Wrapped tightly upon tempting visions of tanned and taut
A hard driving machine,
Risen high, on waves of energy climbing...
He parts my soft lips with his tongue tip
Braiding my breath with sensuality
Licking each whimper,
While I tremble inside the strength of his arms..
Devouring me on the crest of his famine
Scorching my hardened buds......
In the ***** lathe of his salacious tongue
Passion-branding me his...
I find myself
Stretched beneath his skin
Unveiled, willingly, so
Helplessly hypnotised, while
He feasts...
His mouth devouring my spill of silence...and
His teeth graze between my thighs,
As I moan
Swollen in shades of pink tender...
My warmth
A pearled tumescence,
Blushing inside the brushed exhale of his whispered demands
I lay, soft to his touch,
Drenched with the ****** of his stain
I am flamed and seared in an endless Tsunami
In the pour of ache..
His lips play music
Against the soft of my throat
The lush fragrance of petaled fruit dew
Moist, between the rise of his body against mine...
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 4:02 AM UTC
Darling, your touch, elegant,
like a soft petaled flower,
transfixes me in place,
and your scent drives me mad.
Warm sweet tastes,
like nectar, sugar drops,
trail across my skin.
Those flavors, refreshing,
like honeysuckle on a Summer afternoon,
bold and vibrant like the Sun,
coat my lips like morning dew.
My heart flutters,
like a hummingbird, fast,
and the only thought tormenting me,
is the desire to relive it again.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC