"pollinators" poems - Hello Poetry

I'm a bird. Despite the wind, I will fly. I'm a star. Despite the reign of the moon, I will shine. I'm a seed. Despite being buried, I will bloom. I'm a ship. Despite the rogue waves, I will sail. I'm an ocean. Despite the pollution, I will flow. I'm a polar bear in the arctic. Despite the temperature, I will survive. I'm a Lucifer (Not the devil). Despite the darkness of the world, I bring light. I'm a cymbal. Despite being beaten hard, I emit beautiful sounds. I'm a fine vintage wine. Despite aging, I will never go sour. I'm a petal. Despite producing scents to allure pollinators, I do repel undesirable pollinators. I'm a Lion. Despite the size of an Elephant, I'm the king. I'm a Phoenix. Despite being burned, I will rise and live on. I'm an Oracle. Despite the obstacles, I will reach the pinnacle. I am Omokeyede. Despite the evils of the world, I choose peace and love.

0

Jan 12, 2019

Jan 12, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC

keye66

I choose peace and love

I'm a bird. Despite the wind, I will fly. I'm a star. Despite the reign of the moon, I will shine. I'm a seed. Despite being buried, I will bloom. I'm a ship. Despite the rogue waves, I will sail. I'm an ocean. Despite the pollution, I will flow. I'm a polar bear in the arctic. Despite the temperature, I will survive. I'm a Lucifer (Not the devil). Despite the darkness of the world, I bring light. I'm a cymbal. Despite being beaten hard, I emit beautiful sounds. I'm a fine vintage wine. Despite aging, I will never go sour. I'm a petal. Despite producing scents to allure pollinators, I do repel undesirable pollinators. I'm a Lion. Despite the size of an Elephant, I'm the king. I'm a Phoenix. Despite being burned, I will rise and live on. I'm an Oracle. Despite the obstacles, I will reach the pinnacle. I am Omokeyede. Despite the evils of the world, I choose peace and love.

28

I'd never cared for flowers Symbols of affection that wilt And forget memories And fall apart in kitchens and bedrooms and strew their pieces on the floors Dried and broken after only days of being lovely Flowers with their alternating patterns of Unreliable determinations Claiming every other petal as an opposite declaration Of a determination Of love And I never liked removing thorns from roses Because they added something truthful and Poetic But when you gave me flowers I held them to my heart and let my eyes dance across the kaleidoscope that they created in a glass vase I let them live for longer than they did Because they were still pretty even when no one else seemed to think so And when they hang dried on a wall Still colorful but slightly brittle Maybe they'll stay like that if I just don't touch them When you gave me flowers I plucked off every other petal Into a bouquet of He-Loves-Me Because for once there was no doubt For once I believed the sentiment in the flowers and the words from your lips as you handed them over The lack of nots in the petals Pulling apart the knots in my stomach He loves me He loves me Truer than the dirt that holds Wilting symbols of affection Sweeter than the honey Of their pollinators He loves me He loves me A garden of something new and beautiful Perennial and built on symbolism after all Until you let me know that dead flowers were just dead flowers That they were past their worth And metaphors aren't worth the dirt they were grown in That perennials can't return When you've salted the soil And brittle flowers on the wall should always be removed But I always lived in metaphors anyway And I had a new appreciation for flowers that I didn't want to lose I was no longer a rose But a thorn I always thought smooth stems were so boring Not to mention dishonest But I didn't want to make you bleed So painfully I dug an olive branch from my rib cage Then realizing that a ****** token may not be so well received I decorated it with a bouquet of blue Forget-Me-Nots But you plucked off every other petal And handed back an array of He-Loves-Me-Nots He loves me not And there was no doubt in the sentiment The sentience of metaphors dying all around me When all I know is metaphors And flowers were never just flowers And words were never just words But both are found on gravestones and poems and apologies And parallels have fallen into nice and even spacing Reducing flowers to clichés Of alternating promises Of He loves me and He loves me not Of broken promises He loves me Not

0

May 22, 2014

May 22, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC

theatreceilings

Flowers

I'd never cared for flowers Symbols of affection that wilt And forget memories And fall apart in kitchens and bedrooms and strew their pieces on the floors Dried and broken after only days of being lovely Flowers with their alternating patterns of Unreliable determinations Claiming every other petal as an opposite declaration Of a determination Of love And I never liked removing thorns from roses Because they added something truthful and Poetic But when you gave me flowers I held them to my heart and let my eyes dance across the kaleidoscope that they created in a glass vase I let them live for longer than they did Because they were still pretty even when no one else seemed to think so And when they hang dried on a wall Still colorful but slightly brittle Maybe they'll stay like that if I just don't touch them When you gave me flowers I plucked off every other petal Into a bouquet of He-Loves-Me Because for once there was no doubt For once I believed the sentiment in the flowers and the words from your lips as you handed them over The lack of nots in the petals Pulling apart the knots in my stomach He loves me He loves me Truer than the dirt that holds Wilting symbols of affection Sweeter than the honey Of their pollinators He loves me He loves me A garden of something new and beautiful Perennial and built on symbolism after all Until you let me know that dead flowers were just dead flowers That they were past their worth And metaphors aren't worth the dirt they were grown in That perennials can't return When you've salted the soil And brittle flowers on the wall should always be removed But I always lived in metaphors anyway And I had a new appreciation for flowers that I didn't want to lose I was no longer a rose But a thorn I always thought smooth stems were so boring Not to mention dishonest But I didn't want to make you bleed So painfully I dug an olive branch from my rib cage Then realizing that a ****** token may not be so well received I decorated it with a bouquet of blue Forget-Me-Nots But you plucked off every other petal And handed back an array of He-Loves-Me-Nots He loves me not And there was no doubt in the sentiment The sentience of metaphors dying all around me When all I know is metaphors And flowers were never just flowers And words were never just words But both are found on gravestones and poems and apologies And parallels have fallen into nice and even spacing Reducing flowers to clichés Of alternating promises Of He loves me and He loves me not Of broken promises He loves me Not

70

Come wild new splendor Come volcanic wonder Come holy ignition Come heaving impetus Come ardent elastic dreams Come raging waters thrusting Come luscious droplets Come swift organic swells Come thrush of songbirds Come bellows of breaking ground Come auxiliary flowers breathing Come sweet sapling songs Come ****** saturation Come divine allure Come teeming pollinators Come abounding overflow Come copious life Come brimming manifold Come sweet floral air Come bold blasts of bearing Come sun kissed beauties Come fervid spring I Welcome your enamouring rivulets I Welcome your riveting deliciousness enraptured as I am by your employ tantalizing & Alive Bore into my heart Grow through my veins Take me over Beloved Beloved Love

0

Mar 12, 2014

Mar 12, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC

christopher-wallace

Come Springtime

Come wild new splendor Come volcanic wonder Come holy ignition Come heaving impetus Come ardent elastic dreams Come raging waters thrusting Come luscious droplets Come swift organic swells Come thrush of songbirds Come bellows of breaking ground Come auxiliary flowers breathing Come sweet sapling songs Come ****** saturation Come divine allure Come teeming pollinators Come abounding overflow Come copious life Come brimming manifold Come sweet floral air Come bold blasts of bearing Come sun kissed beauties Come fervid spring I Welcome your enamouring rivulets I Welcome your riveting deliciousness enraptured as I am by your employ tantalizing & Alive Bore into my heart Grow through my veins Take me over Beloved Beloved Love

57

I worship the mattock that tends my Spring field .. The Apple tree with it's Fall yield ... The tractor that criss crosses the meadow .. The firewood keeping me warm in the hard months of Winter .. I pay homage to the Summer rain .. Give thanks in May before our pollinators every day ... Pay respect to my water well on parched evenings ... Most grateful indeed for every change of Season ...

0

Feb 6, 2016

Feb 6, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC

randolph-l-wilson

Plowman's Prayer

I worship the mattock that tends my Spring field .. The Apple tree with it's Fall yield ... The tractor that criss crosses the meadow .. The firewood keeping me warm in the hard months of Winter .. I pay homage to the Summer rain .. Give thanks in May before our pollinators every day ... Pay respect to my water well on parched evenings ... Most grateful indeed for every change of Season ...

8

50’s beach party complete with twitchy go-go dancers leather jackets and old Plymouths sand kicked in the faces of squares as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot picket fences shift from white to orange and pink as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day – free lovers swing signs written in crayon attempting to challenge the establishment create world peace through **** abuse and music in the park subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform aged hipsters look at faded photographs imagining a time they changed the all – blown out coke head bent on disco ***** and easy living watches as Miami explodes CIA operatives feeding high grade dope to low rent projects in an effort to funnel money and guns into the Middle East – gas wars and brokers as billionaires death to glam rock and hairspray the rise of bling and swag selfies take center stage unabashed introversion as the skies are geometric grids and the crops **** pollinators – looking over a lifetime of altering perception and changing habits the habitual nature of humanity shines as a solid base from which all else stems forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank I stand as an observer and documenter cleverly bending the woes of the world into words for the lost –

0

Jul 1, 2014

Jul 1, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC

s-lyman-temple

a look back

50’s beach party complete with twitchy go-go dancers leather jackets and old Plymouths sand kicked in the faces of squares as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot picket fences shift from white to orange and pink as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day – free lovers swing signs written in crayon attempting to challenge the establishment create world peace through **** abuse and music in the park subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform aged hipsters look at faded photographs imagining a time they changed the all – blown out coke head bent on disco ***** and easy living watches as Miami explodes CIA operatives feeding high grade dope to low rent projects in an effort to funnel money and guns into the Middle East – gas wars and brokers as billionaires death to glam rock and hairspray the rise of bling and swag selfies take center stage unabashed introversion as the skies are geometric grids and the crops **** pollinators – looking over a lifetime of altering perception and changing habits the habitual nature of humanity shines as a solid base from which all else stems forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank I stand as an observer and documenter cleverly bending the woes of the world into words for the lost –

41

When I first began culturing my memes, I found the soil was rocky, had poor drainage, and little organic material But life is relentless and these first thought experiments rooted. They weren't much to look at from above ground, But those roots were doing important work Every weak point in the bedrock of my mind was found and exaggerated. This action created micro fissures And as the seasons turned and those early plantings faded into oblivion, Erosion took over the heavy lifting. With the bedrock now permeable, and the rainy season upon us, Those cracks filled with water which then turned to ice and, As autumn turned to winter, the mechanical action of freezing and thawing, Was responsible for metamorphosing those fissures into actual cracks. And with spring came more rain, Washing organic elements into the cracks, Now my mind had a proto-soil and was much more robust. However, my garden was always ready, I just didn't realize it. Life always exists, When we use the cyclic reminder of the seasons as analogue: It's much easier to see. I find it much easier to see when I close my eyes. Bring those spring rains, bring the pollen, more seeds, spores. The pollinators are waiting

0

Sep 30, 2014

Sep 30, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

Have you ever planted something in the garden of your mind?

When I first began culturing my memes, I found the soil was rocky, had poor drainage, and little organic material But life is relentless and these first thought experiments rooted. They weren't much to look at from above ground, But those roots were doing important work Every weak point in the bedrock of my mind was found and exaggerated. This action created micro fissures And as the seasons turned and those early plantings faded into oblivion, Erosion took over the heavy lifting. With the bedrock now permeable, and the rainy season upon us, Those cracks filled with water which then turned to ice and, As autumn turned to winter, the mechanical action of freezing and thawing, Was responsible for metamorphosing those fissures into actual cracks. And with spring came more rain, Washing organic elements into the cracks, Now my mind had a proto-soil and was much more robust. However, my garden was always ready, I just didn't realize it. Life always exists, When we use the cyclic reminder of the seasons as analogue: It's much easier to see. I find it much easier to see when I close my eyes. Bring those spring rains, bring the pollen, more seeds, spores. The pollinators are waiting

23

some plants flower at night blooming on the pollinators schedule tonite moon reflects the sun fully city unburdens its concrete of a heat thump some humans take the night shift some lovers take the streets hands publicly crammed down each other eyes full of moon

0

Jun 1, 2021

Jun 1, 2021 at 12:03 AM UTC

neth-jones

0010

some plants flower at night blooming on the pollinators schedule tonite moon reflects the sun fully city unburdens its concrete of a heat thump some humans take the night shift some lovers take the streets hands publicly crammed down each other eyes full of moon

11

History is in the eye of the beholder If we right the ship correctly Then, maybe we right our trajectory If we write the past correctly Then, I'll bet we re-write our trajectory We are all pollinators Is it possible that if we allow our stories to flow We can change which way the wind blows?

0

Oct 1, 2014

Oct 1, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

The Past Has Yet To Be Written

History is in the eye of the beholder If we right the ship correctly Then, maybe we right our trajectory If we write the past correctly Then, I'll bet we re-write our trajectory We are all pollinators Is it possible that if we allow our stories to flow We can change which way the wind blows?

8

good pollinators the bears like to raid their hives helpful honey bees

0

Jul 2, 2018

Jul 2, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC

joseph-g-schelling

Honey Bees

good pollinators the bears like to raid their hives helpful honey bees

3

Besotted winged pollinators roistering barrage drowned amidst general insectivorous cacophony indistinct auditory signals communicated intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance midwifed edenic floral pullulation sensate admixture viz colored spectrum amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous orchestral suite bedded lambs amorous ewe man like bleating songs nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating profuse living color rainbow pastiche teeming soundgarden smorgasbord cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath visual vistas stilling spellbinding spilling riotous carpeted web uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism despite unanswered queries asper diverse modalities each specie evolved to survive despite countervailing destructive forces generating plethora pandemonium ironically promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks becoming monocultural setting virtual stage catastrophe plus food shortage would become global debacle predicated, sans virulent viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl already widely compromised more so since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring **** sapiens population explosion pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth ***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking mother nature, who will unwittingly spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage forcing capitulation or total extinction meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence a composite having sessile flowers apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.

0

May 27, 2018

May 27, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Like Daisies On Stalks

Besotted winged pollinators roistering barrage drowned amidst general insectivorous cacophony indistinct auditory signals communicated intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance midwifed edenic floral pullulation sensate admixture viz colored spectrum amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous orchestral suite bedded lambs amorous ewe man like bleating songs nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating profuse living color rainbow pastiche teeming soundgarden smorgasbord cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath visual vistas stilling spellbinding spilling riotous carpeted web uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism despite unanswered queries asper diverse modalities each specie evolved to survive despite countervailing destructive forces generating plethora pandemonium ironically promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks becoming monocultural setting virtual stage catastrophe plus food shortage would become global debacle predicated, sans virulent viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl already widely compromised more so since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring **** sapiens population explosion pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth ***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking mother nature, who will unwittingly spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage forcing capitulation or total extinction meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence a composite having sessile flowers apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.

48

God bless the poets! The pollinators they are! The architects of the soul's garden, The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds, The ones who witness and testify The pain of growth, Applaud the blooming, And invite the bees.

0

Jun 29, 2025

Jun 29, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC

Kyrie_Hajashi07

ARS POETICA

God bless the poets! The pollinators they are! The architects of the soul's garden, The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds, The ones who witness and testify The pain of growth, Applaud the blooming, And invite the bees.

8

draws pollinators flowers in many colors fragrant four o' clocks

0

May 9, 2019

May 9, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC