Shandel Pruitt Sep 2009

look at me
i'm growing
& blooming
my mind is
the light
the dark
converting them
to energy
to fuel
my dreams
a process

Zowie Georgia Oct 2013

Resistance is a weed stunting the possibilities of us, our nature,
and the sun that resides in us all.
When we let go
we always move forwards.
And when we hurt we grow,
we heighten,
to a place that isn't initially seen,
as holding on doesn't want to recognise
you're no longer there.
The illusion of resistance crumbles
when we empty our hands,
when our hearts tell our minds
Just let go,
here we regain the power of trust,
of faith,
and the wild playground of our lives
prove joyful again.
To extend out with all we have
knowing this reach has reversed equally.
Dropping the weight like a stone
surrendering in the sea of life,
expanding further still as we sink,
knowing that holding on to that
which resists so much
is not ours to be held,
we are not to remain stunted
in a state of tug of war.
life around us says so,
we are to learn and beautify
as we rise,
as we fall
We mustn't resist.
And so we are,
so we shall be

D Lep Feb 2012

Restless, restless
Exhaling a thousand sighs.
My wasted breath
this rotting fruit.
The seeds won't germinate
and I won't sleep.
Have the vines
choke 'til slumber.

Process by which plants make their food and clear our air using light,
They have no feet or hands but they make their food right,
Being self sufficient,I bet they've got no need to fight.
Nature is inspiring,
Birds always happily singing,
Guess their songs are never expiring,
And they're surely thankful for the air they breathe through photosynthesis,
Do we appreciate our trees enough?or maybe the point of their existence we miss?

Don't chop them off unless you       need to.

Kinda modified the definition to stress my point..
Klara Mar 2014

I felt the leaves
on my tree
grow stronger
in your light
you should've warned me
that I shouldn't become
dependent of you
you should've warned me
that lights go out.

the titles are the only part of my poetry that I actually like ugh
Alexis Martin Jul 2012

I want to sit in the soil
until my veins transform into roots
and reach through the Earth
clinging to nutrients
slowly my skin becomes petals
opening with the rise of each new day
basking in the glow of the sun

I want to sit in a jar
that you placed on your bedside table
on a warm summer afternoon
reminding you that I am forever yours
but as I slowly wilt and wither away
and you begin to lose interest in me
you will find a new love to call home

Michael Feb 2014

I am an idle garden, and you are my gardener —clearing out all of my long dead, overgrown worries, making room for neglected words; everblooms shrouded beneath the tangled debris of fear. Your dedication and diligence has smoothed me out with gentle hands and has planted new hopes in a still-budding imagination; sharing all that you are so that one day I could hopefully, in some way, give back to you all the beautiful parts of you that have grown in me.

Though not many birds,
still perch up on my branches,
I miss them more,
as the years turn into dust.
I miss the flock,
resting on my limbs,
tweeting at each other.
Rabid in their lust,
quiet in their departure.
It has been too many years,
since these leaves,
have been of any use.
Since i have been,
of any importance.
In the summers,
I was shade.
And those little kids,
would play tag.
When they got older,
they would read.
In the spring,
i was a treasure.
As I laid fruits upon their feet.
When they got older,
they would make mysterious drinks.
In the winter I was warmth.
They would hack me off,
and build a fire to tell stories.
When they got older,
they installed a furnace.
In the fall I was beauty,
if only for a moment,
as my tips turned into gold,
or a gorgeous shade of red.
Then I was naked.
When they got older,
they never admired my beauty.
For many decades,
I endured it all.
I was there when they were born,
I was there when they all left.
Or died or went to jail.
I used to be strong,
and absorb these frigid winds.
Which now threaten my boughs.
When i was a sapling,
i would hear,
“This one will be big.”
And i believed it too.
To have so much potential,
but never really amount to much.
I had the makings of a prodigy,
the tallest, strongest tree around,
but I failed myself.
Let alone those who,
believed in me as well.
I had it all not long ago,
but even trees get sad,
if there is no one,
to use us as we were meant.
What am i,
if not the past.
There is a future,
but im not sure,
I will survive.
They will say I died of frost.
but its been too long,
since ive heard a pretty song.
Or had laughs around my bark,
celebrations under my shade.
A simple admiration,
of my natural magnificence.
I will be another stump
on this cold earth.
But before i fall,
I would like to ask.
If a tree fell,
and no one heard it,
Did it serve a purpose?
Or a reason.
I will not live another season.

Iris Roo Sep 2014

tumbling trees and bumbling branches
leave it to me to weed through the circumstances
perhaps you reflect the mess of second glances
with these days all sideways I'm not much to take chances

I never felt like we were quiet
quite a perfect match
you leave it to me to unravel the riot
I leave it to you to deadly the catch

and you're next
and i'm next
and we're next
and he's next

and one day this will all be mine.

Pauline Chan Jan 2015

once in a while,
love changes form
it turns from a sweet sunrise
to a sad sunset
a beautiful love song
to a melancholic tune
and though love hurts
when it changes forms
love will always be love
through the rain and fire
love prevails the change in intensity
and that's what I learned the day I learned
to let my anger,

Rohinee Sharma Aug 2016

Potted daisy by the window sill
is in love with Mr. Sunshine - the morning brings.

Dapper and Radiant and oh! So warm!
Daisy is spellbound by his charm.

At every first blush ...
she sings her song...
that his love makes her tall , that his love keeps her strong.

But as the daylight begins to wane
Ms. Daisy feels partings strain .

With the setting dusk
the waning glow
the night is set in Indigo

Repose Ms. Daisy , don't rue for the day
For , Mr. Sunshine is but a few hours away !

It's about love
Emily Townsend Nov 2015

I crave human affection as much as
a flower demands photosynthesis
hiding beneath a shaded tree. It has
no control over capriciousness
from the sun.

this is rubbish ignore it, I'll finish it later

Despite his shields,
He lost his heart to sunshine
No sunblock ever made could block the rays
That warmed his body,
penetrated his soul

See the thing is
This was fated for him from the beginning
For how could a boy who lived his life in a cave
with nothing but cheap, artificial light
not fall in love with the sun?

Seduced by its heat,
consumed by its light
He wondered if the sun knew of his passion
He wished he could tell it
But he hadn’t yet learned the language of stars

He knew he could never go back
To a world without sunshine

He would stand, strong and stubborn
In the face of any storm
Through hail pelting his bare body
Staring down lightning without a wince
And winters that freeze his bones

Awaiting the return of sunshine
To peel back his skin and warm his heart once more

Just a boy of the dirt in love with the sun
And my God, he would fight for it.

For the girl who brings sunshine
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