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Keira Lane Feb 2014
standing still
feet glued to a floor that’s falling through
destined for destruction

your eyes glass over
you turn your head away
you don’t see me

you release me
from your gentle grasp

a cinderblock
 falls on my chest
 crushes me
i can’t breathe

all hope is lost
but
right before 
i flat line
my lungs fill with air
my heart begins to beat
you rescue me

for a second
i’m weightless
i’m safe

time passes
seconds are short
and you remember
our little
 emotionless game

the cinderblock
comes flying at my head

how did i 
ever 
feel safe

he loves me
he loves me not
it’s like picking petals off a dead rose
leaving everything to chance
throwing a dice 
and hoping it lands on the side you desire

you wrap me in your arms
yet i still feel 
miles away from you

love
anger
sadness
envelope my mind
sending my thoughts into a whirlwind
of crazy emotion

drowning
in the tears
that escape through the cracks
of the glassy walls
that you constantly break down

i’m naked
you see through me
no secrets
nothing just for my mind to know

my body
my eyes
 scream every thought
i desperately
 want to keep inside

i tell myself
be strong
protect yourself
with the glassy eyed distance
with which he drives you insane

failure must be my strong suit
‘cause having strength
when i’m with you-- 

impossible
feedback?! **
Jamie Cohen Apr 2014
I'm as transient as pollen today
but yesterday I was just floating like a gossamer
watching the wind blow seeds off of dandelions
and the daylight drum on the daffodils

white water lilies in my bedroom and cool jasmine at my window
the perfumed petals seeping into my psyche
no, I don't love you dearest
I only love the cloudless sky
Molly Sep 2013
Corralled at the ceiling,
a garden of flowers
tied with delicate, colorful stems.
Helium petals bob softly above and
I pluck a blue stem of my own.

At home, out of sight
my small clumsy fingers
knot the blue string proudly around my neck,
like a trophy. I giggle with delight -
the orb floats just above me,
a faithful bird, a pet.

Then, down the hall come the quickness and shuffles
of house-shoed feet feeling possible threats.
Mother’s face blossoms red, breaks open
exposing her white bear teeth.
Her green eyes **** and twitch.

A black ballpoint pen meets my flower, and slowly
it wilts, crinkles, shrinks
beneath her feminine fists.
The severed blue stem bleeds nothing but silence
and momma's eyes bleed tears
of what?
This is a school assignment so excuse the 'poem about childhood' cliche. I just need to know A) if you can tell what it's about and B) if it's even remotely effective. Any and all feedback is appreciated.
CautiousRain Apr 2016
It's so unfair to us roses,
truly,
to be admired by every passing glance,
but what of our desires?

It is only fair we get a chance,
to peruse among such lovely sights,
and instead of glorifying our petals,
we could take fascination in your image.
Me? A softie? No way! Not like...not like I keep comparing him to flowers or anything. Okay, I do. I've got it bad, you guys.
Paul Hardwick Sep 2013
Birds in my youth
where delicate like petals
Hitchcock put a stop with that
with his film The Birds
even so I muddled on in my youth
and found a woman
now Birds is just custard
that we have on pudding on Sundays.
Brian Hoffman Apr 2017
I woke up to this rainy April day.
Thought I'd hear the birds chirping, but all I hear is rain.

I try to roll out of bed, but I feel so drained.
Why oh why am I in so much pain.

My dogs barking at these men they are fixing our stove, but yet I still feel blank and kinda cold.

Today is just like any other day because of this dreary dark rain.

It keeps me in my depressive state.
When can I have a clean slate?

I'm laying on the couch not wanting to shower. The rain falls as time passes by the hour.

I make breakfast and decide to clean, but then something inside me stops me.

Could this rain not want me to break free? Could all this pain just be inside controlling me?

I'm losing my control of things I need something to change. But I can't do anything because of this lousy rain.

I finally get myself into the shower the rain pours and maybe just maybe will bring me May showers.

I do myself enjoy flowers, but as of now the rain falls and all my petals come off faster and faster by the hour.

While in the shower I feel the warmth cleanse me, but I do not feel all that clean.

The anxiety, depression and mood swings like to daunt me. Like a hopeless child everything seems to taunt me.

When when will I be fully happy?

This endless cycle like the rain in April you'd think would put one at ease. Oh unfortunately not for me.

Steadily I break and lose all my leaves like the giving tree.

But unlike the tree I have been given such grief. Will my chaotic mind ever set me free? Will it ever let me be me?

Will the depression disappear? Will this anxiety finally stop running through me like a tease? **** these god awful mood swings.

I need to find myself some inner peace. Maybe once the sun is near I'll light up, glow and cheer joyfully.

But will that actually make me satisfied and happy?

Will I get rid of the depression and anxiety? Will my mood swings tilt and shift or unravel inside of me? Will I ever be fulfilled and find happiness?

Will the pictures on the walls of my house look like art and less of a mess? These feelings have always found their way inside me controlling my stress.

Will these showers ever pass or when they eventually pass still have me feeling like this will always last?

I feel a breeze the rainy draft.
A gloomy April none the less.

When May comes will I still be feeling any of this?

But I guess for now as the rain falls down in April I wait for May to hopefully find myself again. Peaceful.
Depression Anxiety crummy weather
Little Bear Feb 2016
My hair is made of gossamer
my eyes are of dew drops
my lips are just a wisp of wind
my throat dandelion clocks.

My skin the early morning mist
my blush made of rose petals
my bones are made of porcelain
my feet the snow that settles.

My body is made of tissue
my heart is just a sound
my mind just a forgotten thought
of silk tread they all are bound.

My dreams are made invisible
my tears the evening rain
my fears now silently approach
laying ruin to me again.

So delicate and fragile
the wings of a butterfly
could scatter me entirely
unto the ether I will fly.
Some people are emotionally
more delicate than you might know.
Be careful with your words
and use them wisely.
They can be used to build up
or so easily to tear down.
They hold much more power
than you may realise.
Words ill used can stay
with someone forever.
Hitting harder than any physical blow
and leaving scars that may never heal.

re-posted from my previous account.
Jim Kleinhenz Dec 2011
The drought is over. You can see
the wet leaves on the wet sidewalk.
They look like the petals we wore for clothes
when we were kids. That morning we
held hands, while the morning flowers impeached
a more unnecessary presence from the earth
than us. The egg, the leaf that curled
like your young tongue, the tomato
un-sighed for and far, far too red,
left far too long and on the far-too-long-and-withered vine—
left so unsuppressed.

Yes, all the grass is wet and green again.
The land is lucid, ripe.
I was nine, you were ten.

© Jim Kleinhenz
bluedomes23 Sep 2013
It’s been a more than a week now
I still welcome the feeling
Bleak, sad, melancholic
As the sun kisses the day goodbye
As the red petals fall to the coarse ground
No grace no energy, no charm.


I had a deep fall, painful and chronic
A fall without any precaution
To him deemed unworthy
As committing a sin so passionate
As not following orders so easy
Everything came smooth, yet mistaken and immediate.


At all times, my mind entraps the thoughts
Of his sweet words and warmth
So sudden, they had perished
So hasty he has changed
As the wind blows the leaves of a dying cypress tree
As the strong waves erode the coast


Puzzled now how to mend
The shattered dream he had left hanging
To move on as if he never existed
To comfort thyself, and live life anew
As the caterpillar metamorphoses to a butterfly
As the sun creeps in the mountains to give light for a new day.
AE Jul 2021
The winds from where you grew up
Strike conversations at midnight
Your thoughts, now paper planes
Take off into memory lanes
And your feet, aching soles
Search for branches, and petals
That remind you of home
The taste of sweet dates still dancing on your tongue
Sweet syrup stretches its limbs
Through your nose
Sensations of a past soaked in white noise
When did you leave it behind?
And you think back to the time
When you walked with your naïve self
Too young to comprehend
Back onto a boat
In those dreams that never escape you
Called memories
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
Once a feral kitten, that hubby took pity on
Found in a scrap yard, to hubby, he did bond.

I carry jars of homemade jam, down the basement stairs.
He swipes at my legs, I drop the jars.  He doesn't care.
I'm straitening the bathroom drawer, he gets all frenzied.
Later on that day, I find, all the contents emptied.

I pick fresh flowers, neatly arrange them in a vase,
it only took few seconds.  There's petals on his face.
Our, brand new, leather furniture arrives, to our joy.
He claws the cushion up, looking for his catnip toy.

Christmas tree full of lights, with my antique ornaments.
He attacked!  Maybe he thought he was protecting us?

You might ask why it is we keep such a rascal cat.
Look at that innocent face.  I couldn't refuse that.
When it is, that we think about redecorating,
we just point and say, "This is why we can't have nice things"
desert degraded and diminished
your soil
lacking and wanting
of minerals
a bloom graces
your
inhospitable landscape

standing tall
and upright
marvels found
in your delicate might
the seed that held you
had inborn perseverance
harshness not deterring
the flowering
will of your bloom
struggle is your exhibit

in the sky minimal rain forms
falling upon you
it caresses your delicate bloom
enfolding your petals
exuding life upon you
Violet Lundy Oct 2011
We will deign on rose petals as silence suffocates us
Yet we will not whisper, nor will we weep
We must enjoy the last breath that’s ours to keep.

Dead in the heart
Dead in the soul
Because you won’t pay death’s deadly toll!

Grave robber, grave robber,
Please leave us our thrones
Lest we gnaw on our own finger bones.

Rub mud in your eyes;
It won’t make you see
Soiled and blind is all you can be.

Don’t you ever come,
Cry and plead
I’ll give no more answers, guaranteed.

It was all for you
That we sacrificed our life
But please go on and cause more pain and strife!

I have the army
But you still denied
That you continue to fight for your pride…

Twisting, choking
Bruising, burning
Pushing, biting and finger-turning.

We’re the Olympians
Daughter and Son
Hear our mute roar and in terror; run.

Flee in the night.
Rob our graves. Run.
You coward, you fool. You exodus of one.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Voices weave words around and behind me,

softly burying me in whispers and whims.

I’m a wallflower, pressed and trimmed inside

the neat frame you placed on me.


Cool, clean, crisp and curt,

I belong shrinking from the light, so you clearly say.

Clinging to the shadows covering the walls,

I have a voice but I only long for you to hear it.


Fanciful freedom lost on summer breezes,

fine lines drawn on hidden walls.

I’m the flower that blooms in the shade, in the night,

whilst you frolic and fade away.


Hiding hurt and shying from prying eyes,

huddled, hastened to escape the trickling lights.

You back against the wall, folding into me,

you can tell something weeps behind you, but

you just can’t see the petals.


Languid, lost and lonely beneath the silence,

I lurk in wait for your eyes to spy mine.

I linger over words unspoken, shared through time lapsed

between you and me,

I’m your wallflower, forever more.


I long to be over you.

I long to make you hear my voice.

But I don’t know how to press out from the wall,

to make you see my blossoms against such a wall so tall.


I ache to hear words spoken,

even lost in the static air between us.

I need to hear you notice me breathing, me whispering

sweet notes in your ear.


I long to feel touch, to know warmth and craving,

I’m in dire need of you, so please, just notice me.

I long to tell you of the tears I spilt for you,

that you didn’t notice on your shoulder, that you never see.


I am so tired of being quiet,

I have words to whisper but I can only be so hushed.

I need to tell you I’ve been there for you from the start,

but trodden and paled and left in the dust.


Everyone sighs over you.

Everyone mouthes and soothes and steals your gaze,

but I’m the one you press against for safety,

I’m the one you seek in you winding maze.

You don’t know it yet, but I know in time you’ll see.

It truly is, me.
Frazer Charlton Apr 2014
To the Pixie of Te Tokerau,
from the fields of karaehe tu
where you belong
e **** te ra ake ake ake .
     Piercings and Tattoos
drugs, spirits, and taboos.
     Your journey will be successful
the Mountain is steep
but the footholds are strong.
     Haere ki toku taha and let
the petals fall, bare all
ki te awhiawhi the ****** of our minds
thoughts and fears.
    I haere no nga whīra
engari me hoki atu koe
I will fall
into the chasms of the seas
into the depths of the chest o te ngahere
and I will wait in the craters of the moon
ki te matakitaki i tō harikoa.
But,
when you return from your fields
and venture from the pratum,
explore with me.




Te Tokerau-The North
karaehe tu- tall grass
e **** te ra ake ake ake- the sun shines forever
Haere ki toku taha- come with me
ki te awhiawhi- to embrace
  I haere no nga whīra- you walked from the fields
engari me hoki atu koe- but you must return
te ngahere- the forest
ki te matakitaki i tō harikoa.- to watch your happiness
Yeah, so I wrote this we thing for one of best friends,
A mixture of English and basic reo Māori,
both are important to me.
Maria Rose Aug 2012
You
Into a kettle
I let vapour drip, all of you - witches brew
- I float and whip
your ev’ry hue,
so to me
you stick, so thick like glue;

never ready,
a red and bubbling stew
oh yes
it was death we dodged, flew through

into a mess of petals
on which
I tripped;
my heart in flips,
falling for you, my lips
all blue. To stone I turned;
the flowers around us grew.
louis rams May 2013
Years may come, and years may go
But of my love this much I know.
You can never find another love
The same as me, if you lived thru eternity.

My love was a seed which was implanted in me
And has grown bigger than the tallest tree.
Its roots are deep in the foundation
Whereas I feel every sensation.

I feel the tremors and I drink the waters of life
Which makes me stronger, every passing
Day and night.
And as a gardener who takes the petals
Off its flowers.

My love comes back stronger and
more beautiful to your sight.
For it shows my strength and might.
Look at the beauty of my love
And smell its aromatic fragrances.
Releasing all your feelings and
Which gets your senses reeling

“ feel your heart flutter”
for another love like mine
There will be no other.
This is the deep rooted love that
I have for you and
“what you do is up to you”.

louis rams
AlanK Mar 2016
Acceptance based on faith
And blind intuition
Was the first step on the path.
A light from a dark solid rock
A lotus blossom from a murky pond.
The path to Nirvana has no guideposts
Often overgrown or even sandy
And shifting beneath our feet.
But true pilgrims persevere
And follow the silent call
Of destiny or dharma or desire,
Not earthly desires,
For they are a temptress
And an illusion,
But unseen desires,
Unfelt desires,
Deep desires that complete
A Karmic fate.
Our journey is pure and
Preordained,
If we melt into oneness
And feel the soft petals
Beneath our blistered feet.
beth fwoah dream Feb 2019
i.

water-born,
the dark skies of the lily,
its song of petals
and gauze.


ii.

unwrapped and
white,
rushing in
streams of
bending flower,
ghost of a blue star.

iii.

ghost of a tender night,
calling out to a misty sky -
the breath of a star -
light spaces, stormy opals,
tranquil air.

iv.

sweet flower of
the dusk,
gathering the
glow of the lake,
gathering its
honey’s and frosts.

v.

below brooding clouds
that drop their tears
like heavy dew,
the lake deepens
and whispers,
carries its grey mask.
Francie Lynch Aug 2014
They were her hands,
Destined for pleasure.
Fingers tied knots
Ringed with gold,
And pointed the way
For growing old.

Palms held petals,
Bows, ribbons
And pages;
Wrists watched
The measured time
Of keys and games;
Wrapped packaged treasures,
Opened doors.

They were small
Determined hands,
Covered in flour
White skin
Powdering her face,
Inviting
Me in.

Hands held in supplication,
Joy and despair;
Hands in need
Of salvation.

Like leaves on
Autumn branches
That branches
Can't hold,
Her hands
Lost their grip,
Then closed
And fell cold.
Analise Quinn Sep 2013
What's the likelihood
Someone ever writes
The same poem as you

That they realize how
Pretty it sounds when
A certain five words
Are strung together
To make a sentence.

Or that instead of
Comparing her beauty
To a temperature
It's more like a
Sunshine summer day.

Poets see and write
Of sunlight-catching
Rays, and how we see
Beauty in ashes,
Rose petals in dust,
The wonder in
The wanderlust.

But maybe writes
Isn't the right word
Maybe we should say
Discover.

Because poets know
Sometimes when you
"Write" a poem
It feels like more
Of a discovery.
Star Gazer May 2016
I saw a flower seed
planted into the ground
and grew by starlight
to be forever dirt bound.

I saw a flower's first petals
So unspoilt, so pure
As I witness the scent
sprayed to allure.

I watched a red flower
go through photosynthesis
growing warm with sunlight
seemed rather intimate.

I saw a flower bloom
amongst a lamp post
under the light of stars
that lit up the coast.

I saw a flower in the night
its petals spread across
the seas coating the waters
with a little bit of gloss.

I saw a flower, so beautiful
so I uprooted the flower
hoping that it lived beyond
the confines of an hour.

I saw a flower, uprooted
from the soil
yet never once did wilt
or ever spoil.

I saw a flower so beautiful,
a rose that casted a shadow
in my heart, forever giving
me shelter and making me glow.

I saw a beautiful flower
a scarlet coloured rose
that could have made me
abandon poetry & prose.

...For I could not call myself
a poet, knowing that I could
never describe the perfection,
of the rose as a poet should.

...For I could not call myself
a poet, knowing that I haven't
learnt the words to describe the
rose that showed compassion.
Troy Petersen Nov 2014
Petals of the yellow rose
sing of friendship….

Petals of the red rose
burn with the fire of passion….

My heart withers in fear
fear that the fire would burn you and I
– the yellow rose.

Yet I yearn for you
I need the warmth of passion
I need the fire of the red rose
burning within my heart.

So for you I shall pick a bouquet of roses.
yet whichever color I choose
I shall bleed from its thorns.

22-February-1993
Rebecca Shain Aug 2014
We got high in your dark room,
It was lit up by candles that illuminated the shadows flickering off your skin like fallen leaves.
Here in the dark you looked like a volcano. So powerful.
Why are you afraid?
Shadows flickered down your walls like the petals that lay in my hair. The weeds of my past fill my veins like ivy, strangling me with every breath.
Breathe.
Found this in my journal, don't even remember writing it but it brings back vivid memories
RIKKI Jan 2013
She ate rose petals,
and with her hands to the ground,
she felt the earthworms’
chants vibrate from the soil below.
Espresso manic Nov 2017
Art is an extrovert.

She goes out clubbing on Saturday nights,
scotch in hand,
indecisiveness plaguing her mind,
dancing ‘til her feet are numb.

She rings the tune of a
possessed conductor.
White dress, black collar,
I know her face,
but not her name.

From the bar I watch
her obsidian silhouette expand
as her skin becomes rose petals,
and her hips conduct the music.

She looks like a drunken mess,
arms flailing, heels bending,
but to the peculiar mind
she paints
an alluring picture.
Inspired by Phosphorescence by J. *******
i was out of motivation to come up w a better title
Ellis Brown Jul 2012
You are the petals
to my rose
and the seams
to my clothes,
the everything nice
to my sugar and spice.
Without you I am
but half of a soul
aimlessly roaming,
a spoon with no bowl.
My darling, I must have you
right by my side
for life is a sight
but you are my eyes.
If I am a song,
then you are my notes-
if I am oatmeal,
then you are my oats.
I love you, sweet pea
you're the crackers to my cheese,
the bees to my knees,
the thank you to my please.
Most important of all,
you're the you to my me.
Jennifer May 2019
You all say such nice things to me
Such pretty empty words
Paint me beautiful with compliments
But underneath all the colors run together
And it’s just a mess
Keep your sweet words
Give me something real
I am drowning and you are throwing flower petals at me
Emma-Leigh Ivy Nov 2015
I am enveloped in the expanses of your painted sky,
satisfied & glowing underneath your weight as you
lay yourself down across the peaks of my mountains.
You have illuminated my hidden wildflowers with the
golden wash of a new spring & the warmth of your sun.  
You cast divine paint across my landscape
like a canyon sunset brushes every ***** with vibrancy.
I am enveloped in the sultry scent of the potent desert
& your intoxicating masculinity.  
Your perfume is imprinted on the soft pearl of my skin
as you are imprinted in the atoms of my being.
I bit you in a kiss that burned your mouth into my memory.
I taste you every time I close my eyes or pass my fingers over
the petals of my pursed lips,
& spark a hunger that stirs in the deepest chasm
lurking beneath my navel.  
Every fiber in my body is tempered
by the heat of our fervent fever.
I am enveloped in these moments spent:
My lips poured across your collar bone
like red paint caresses a canvas with passion.
My hair entwined & rooted in your lustful fist,
holding me fast & grounding me to you.
My tongue engaged in a dance across the ridges of your teeth,
as our hips meet and our lips meet in a fevered tango.
For MLB, my desert cowboy.
k Apr 2015
(mischievous) sin; throw your collapsed arms around my body,
you make me so, so, selfishly weak.
shape shift into my throbbing and elastic skin, perpetually suffocate me with your breath;
promise you won't resurrect alone.
pale flesh:
you're in bloom. your old petals have grown in disarray, crooked teeth bear a smile of reluctance.
dust has collected like the last spring on earth,
*there's nothing anyone can do but mourn for you when you're dead.
Karen Wine Aug 2013
Love me-love me not
we used to say, pulling out new flower petals
one by one around the flower stem

Love me-love me not
we would say with an innocent smile
hoping the last petal would be
"Love Me" at the very end

Love me-love me not
now I say alone with great wonder
hoping you shall not hold my flaws against me.
beth fwoah dream May 2019
in a garden, slender with summer rose,
where the silvering petals
gathered whisky clouds and love,

the shadows smouldered
while the breezes built bridges of
leaves, in a darkening, near nocturnal world;

and i sat, marvelling at the pretty sunset,
at the shady boughs, at the gorgeous
sky in the fading light with its golds and blues

and i felt calm and settled, while the
sun grew smokey, burnt to ruin,
(in the soon ruined sky) dulling, nearly black.
Spring is beautiful.
Full hills,
green.
Round;
soft as breast.
And then,
the leaves,
breakout on the trees.
The petals drop,
carpet the Earth,
pink and white.
Behind the fruitfulness,
are men,
who experiment with seeds.
Men of chemistry,
men of disease.
Men at the borders,
men who quarantine.
These are "great men".
Driving the Earth to produce!
My God!
There is a crime here,
there is a sorrow here,
that weeping cannot symbolize!
There is a failure here,
that topples our success!
The fertile Earth,
dying.
In the eyes of the people,
failure.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio

— The End —