"ragweed" poems
He laughed about the idea of a god asking for permission
He joked about the prospect of talent waiting their turn
Sing ...
Sing ...
That is NOTHING !
Idiots ... !
Sing , by crusty bread .
For you anything goes !
Fools !
Until the last day I will ask ragweed .
Up to the last , against the wall !
Better be vencid , than to be forgotten
But at least I cry , sweat and expel my soul !
You die with your soul in your pockets !
folded ,
useless
Just like money not spent abroad .
******* ...
You Apologize
Laughing together
about your own failure .
Embrace the rage .
The man of the future does not go back to be benevolent .
Express your devotion
Ask apologize and thank !
Give thanks for the arrogance
because it leads you !
And you, woman of the past !
Thank his claws in your flesh
That lead you through the air ,
Although he was distant .
It grabs you like a bird of prey ?
Burns the house where you were born ?
So what?
How much is to be timeless ?
Forward!
No silly demands ,
Without losing time,
and without looking back !
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
Royal Road slopes
enough so that your toes know
which way you are going.
Kudzu and ragweed accent the driveway
pitted with bushel basket size
holes amid roaming plastic grocery bags.
A 1960’s version mobile home
fights Mimosa and blackberry bush
to remain visible.
As I ascend the creaking steps
a neighbor cracks the quiet
to announce that, “Jesse is on the way.”
I hear the clop, swish, clop
as Jesse corners onto Royal Road
and chugs toward me.
Sweat rivers from his beard.
He greets me with,
“Thanks for the groceries.”
I said, "I need you to sign
to show I brought food."
I didn’t ask, “How did you lose your leg?”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
The days grow longer my temper shorter
Houses are built of brick and mortar
Buildings collapse plants die and wither
The only flowers a’ bloom are ragweed and heather
This circle repeats on and on forever
What can we do to change?
To alter it in some way?
When light is closing and the day is done
We’ll ride towards the sunset on the open range
Home comes closer as the light is gone
At the end of the day one fact remains
Tempers still rise and cause great pains
Is it the change in seasons that causes the decline in civility?
Or are we so easily swayed that silly quarrels can ruin a family?
It is better to stop and think before we speak
Than wait until the havoc has been wreaked
Admit you erred when last your temper flared
Like a roaring tempest that resides once the damage is done
Speak up be heard your voice can be the one
That stops the chaos and quiets the shouting voices
And makes loved ones put aside petty annoyances
Loves forgiveness is stronger than any fickle fight
Resolve your problems before the sun goes to bed and you must say goodnight
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
A great expanse of northern sky;
Cirrus clouds,
faux marble blue and white.
Late afternoon’s golden sun;
red autumn leaves,
fire on fire it seems to me.
Tall, silent, Mast Pine forests
haunted by Owls,
ancient Indian spirits
and dreams of sailing ships
on wild Gulf Stream rides
across the sea.
Waist high fields of Ragweed and Clover
rippling with the wind.
Clear, crisp days
geese in flight.
Iridescent dragonflies zigzagging overhead
like jet-fighters
hunting mosquitoes.
Noisy crows squawking the news,
people in the back forty.
A deep blue, Lapis sea
sparkling in the breeze
just beginning to chill.
Ohh…what a feeling;
these late summer
just a blush of autumn
cool New England days.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
A sullen , blue eagle sentry patrols stone fruit orchards
Black and tan beagles braying for the hunt filled morning
Orange Alabama horizons , China goose down caught , drifting south
Collard pods rattle white -washed homesteads , pollen entombs tiny towns with ragweed ferocity , cattail gardens and fog induced rainbows ...
Dove mourn blackberry winter , dew washed back roads drift quietly into lake country ....
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
These days, the unattended icebox
of Gaia’s daughter, Sky, flickers
on—
(a layer of cold crystals decorate the grass)
after her nightly
shade-shows:
turqouise to that cherry cotton-candy hue
to the mixed lavender & orange
like the Trix yogurt you used to eat at lunch.
When the color show is over
and the light returns,
Sky sighs—
Blonde powder does the flying tango.
It swims from the Ragweeds, small yellow
Tornados swarm the fields,
Dance above the rivers,
Among the highways.
Up the nostrils
of the rows and rows of people,
always moving on the earth.
They
begin to sneeze. Gasp.
Pinch their foreheads in disgust.
Curse at the Ragweeds they were given
and destroy.
We have to relate to everything and
We bond in our destruction.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
she clutches her body
a frayed rag
and she remembers his
ragweed teeth
the bobbles in his ears-
skin stretching like fabric on a loom.
there are no tears anymore
just a quiet knowing
like the sad eyes of a cow
off to the slaughter house
and carcasses hang in strips
a ****** mouth
torn open in a grin
and the hard glinting metal of a knife flaying open skin.
her skin,
her legs like wishbones,
cracking apart,
thrusted in obtuse angles
a conveyor belt life of sludge
and consumption
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
I barely woke this morning...
Could hardly get up.
My head was fuzzy,
and my nose was running....
I grabbed a hanky.
"What's wrong with you?"
My sweetheart said,
"You feeling janky?"
"Allergies," I paused.
"Nothing too swanky,"
And blew my schnoz
Into a hanky.
We've come to August
And late summer sun;
The apples hang robust;
The garden's almost done.
It's time to go and have some fun,
And now my nose decides to run.
The ragweed and the goldenrod
Fill up the air with pollen pods.
I'm gettin' cranky feeling janky!
I will thank ye to hand me a hanky.
Janky!
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
I can't drown the noise that fills the gap between breaths
Everything has a voice tied to a heartbeat
that bludgeons sanity unrecognizable
The soil once tilled for the garden last Spring
is the perfect patch of defiance
in the form of ragweed and allergies that mask fruitless tears
Places yet unseen carry life in the air
Breathing in impossible memories of tomorrows unseen
of dreams that haunt each breath with a beauty unsurpassed
Time was silent once, in your arms
Now, I can't drown the noise that fills the gap between breaths
that feel like razorblades to the eyes of what's left of my soul
And the only hint of peace I find is in the clothes that still smell like you
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...
Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?
Cuccu!
Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
of good and evil
once there grew a garden
of great and mighty trees
flowers of great beauty
but also ugly weeds
their petals never wilted
the green leaves never turned
winter never came there
fire never burned
children came to play
to climb the highest boughs
to pluck as many flowers
as their small hands would allow
some trees had lovely fruits
figs to please the eye
ornamental oranges
the apples of a lie
though they held great beauty
had colors to alure
they held worms and maggots
and tasted of manure
innocent of this
the children picked this fruit
and were poisoned by their evil
for evil was their root
in lands of yellow wheat
those young folk became tares
but they didn't know it
and so did not despair
and so they played and frolicked
so this story goes
and good appeared as ragweed
*and evil as a
ROSE*
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/12/2015
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Spring fever hits harder than bricks fashioned from commitment. Modern medicine might only mask me but disguise also fights the monster called allergies
When the bottle is half empty of pills
When my psyche is half full of fractured theory
I’m evened out
Swallowing Zyrtec just to cover pure symptoms helps me clear chaos clogging vacant voids.
Hiding what is really there, like the ragweed that has me all destroyed
All while covering up the fact that I don’t even like
And spending every waking moment trying to convince myself I have to.
I’m prone to be known as hypersensitive to my surroundings, tearing up and twisting tissues.
My brain is battered like a broken fish tanks clattered over my head.
So when you speak, words caress my cochlea but don’t make it past the membrane
You think flirting with nature is only temporary
I’m deviant in the fact that I’m simply just a minority
I get so nervous that sometimes I can’t breathe
Attempting to break through fog façades provided by pollen pestering septum cavities
So I’m going to put in time to rhyme and scatter thoughts like daisys carelessly
Because I am careless about what exactly us is.
Me, with my moments you'll never intake.
Sorry you mistook my misadventures as mistakes
What makes you think I'd ever tell you anything
I don't have the ability to speak
You, with your headaches and vapid complaints
You’re a joke man
Late you are in the car when you pick me up
Thanks for the scarf to satisfy this sickness
I wear it. It gets heavier and heavier
You’re satisfied, I’m strangled
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
You used to call me your
"Lily of the Valley"
now I have to buy my own flowers
and put them in the broken vase
that you left behind when you were
through breaking my heart
Now I feel like "ragweed"
just run me over
with the
"lawn mower" of your deceit
I hope you run out of gas soon
my roots can't take it much longer
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
lets speak like there are no periods
and keep our need for our tongues
to curve into commas and let our
lips visit the taste of hesitance only
when our breaths begin to hitch like
ragweed on the itch of a cough lets keep
talking like our lungs have no need for
replenishment lets keep speaking like
we have no need to stop
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
mama,
the dolls on your dresser stare at me.
their eyes are your eyes
and your eyes are mine,
mama,
I wear the skeleton of the body we buried,
her weeping eyes full of soil,
mama,
where have you gone?
the swamp swallows all..
no sand nor mud
can hold you down
mama,
your stare cooks the ground
bubbling,
a foolish witch's brew..
oh mama,
what have I become?
silent
swamp and mud and bone..
Have you buried me mother,
with your regrets out back?
dear mama,
cook for me one last time..
salty ragweed soup and cat-tail tea,
oh mama,
bury me
under the sand
beside my dead cat
mama,
bury your daughter
bones thin as my sisters,
oh sister,
dear sister,
your song
breathes out,
down in the muck
whispers of blessings,
of bones,
and the earth down below
the sister we buried
and
the skeleton I wear,
yes bury me mama,
lest I steal your air
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 2:36 PM UTC
When I was young
I was as wild as ****
A Goldenrod intrusively
A ragweed in desires
Wherever I went
I left discontent
The soil was sandy
The soul's roots lacking
I was tumbleweed tuff
Twisted as mesquite
Learned about thirst
How to take the heat
Unattached to the land
Bowing to the wind
scattering of the seeds
I was left to fend
Sep 3, 2022
Sep 3, 2022 at 5:28 PM UTC