"replanted" poems
-The Neglected woman.
I was an overlooked
Dahlia,
Trampled without a care
For my welfare.
Then you plucked me
And replanted me within
Your keep.
With care,
You nourished an invisible outcast.
At last!
Someone gives a
**** about me!
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 9:55 PM UTC
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak,
well, attire me in slavic myths and
i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too
for a helium bubble to become a comedian,
i know a jittery ******* addiction
when i see one...
if one thing the catholic schooling system
taught me was how to avoid
sniffing glue and how to recognise
a Freudian apostle - still, with all
the hippy **** you'd think
sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism
prescribed with paracetamol,
catholic education just said: no no.
**** me it's the late 90s and we're talking
post-Chernobyl antics...
but that's how i see the left, leftist politics,
the right
utilises prefixes and suffixes in the
old stance of simple pre- pro-
anti-
qua-
-so so...
the left? oh they're right in there...
their prefixes are
Marxist-
liberal-
Hegelian-
whatnot...
they don't
use abstract prefixes,
their prefixes
are concrete,
they want the porridge in their mouth
to ensure a slur that never comes,
among a range of onomatopoeias they argue
from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd,
via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech
to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother,
****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method;
i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo
experimenting, it's called experimenting with
thought rather than practising with will,
former no chance of footstep evaluation for
cult status imitable -
the left intellectual
has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro -
it has to be concrete layered and a shut off
perfect architecture without fault -
it can't be what it is -
con-
has to be conservative
pro-
has to be socialist
you once said legitimate
transparency - but you didn't say legislation -
well, the left understood it as legislation,
the right too wanted legitimate transparency -
the green party said we could have neither
but could have the replanting of a thousand
oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first
oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest...
b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye -
hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity
too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's
fingernail toothpick!
at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of
place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes!
ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding!
*** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
They'll use Martin Luther King day to sell anything from mattresses to cars.
Even he has been ripped up and replanted,
capitalized, like Christmas or Easter,
by the people who give us images of a white Jesus,
but you bet they don't pay everyone equal.
We have boulevards, schools, and libraries named after King,
but streets over, we have Confederate soldiers carved into a mountain,
we call 'em heroes, that's what I was taught,
the ones who fought, the ones who ate lead,
But, they aren't talking about who really put a bullet in Dr. King's head.
What the **** is wrong with us?
America will go see Selma in millions,
this weekend, go back home to their all white neighborhoods,
thinking about how it was bad then, but now, it's all good.
Who are we really trying to fool?
Stand up for the pledge in school
Put your hand over your heart and forget
all this country denies you
telling you that there isn't a heart of a human beating inside you
because you're gay, you're black, you're not like that,
She was a flirt, she wore a short skirt,
Every day you try to heal the hurt
Justice for all? Like are you kidding me?
There ain't such a thing here as liberty
Do you know where you stand
was Native American land?
Ripped from their bleeding hands
And don't even get me started on Iraq and Iran.
You know that mountaintop?
The one I was talking about,
Did they tell you it was a KKK meeting spot?
Bet not.
I wonder, is the clay here red from all the blood?
We hide our history,
sing promises of liberty,
say that racism ended with slavery,
and it's Stonewall Jackson, he's a hero, they say
but never speak of Stonewall Riots any day
and I'm afraid for our children and what they will learn,
in classrooms, will they be silenced?
Come here kids, let me tell you a story,
of Ferguson, New York, Hong Kong,
about how people will look back and see they were wrong,
But some never did, some died with hatred,
some died because of it,
Let me tell you about homeless LGBT youth
Let me tell you about all these issues
Let me tell you the truth
And there are different ways of seeing it,
but only one way to say it,
you and I both know,
You just have to listen for it.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
To the woman who scolded me for moving on with my life after my assault at age 13:
"Your life didn't skip a beat, you went to school and hung out with friends and everything," is what she told me.
Yes my life did not skip a beat when I was entirely uprooted.
What happens to a plant if it is uprooted? Can a plant survive if it is pulled up out of the soil?
I have found that just as with any other situation involving injury, there as some steps you need to take in order to repair it.
First you need to assess the damage. Broken stems and wilting leaves are obviously very noticeable symptoms of distress. What is important is the condition of the main stem and the roots. This will determine whether or not the plant can survive. The sooner you can take emergency steps the better.
The next step is performing first aid. The plant benefits from little additional trauma as possible. Torn branches need to be cut back, to avoid any additional tearing. Keep in mind that any cutting done should be gentle and done with sanitized tools to prevent disease in the already weakened plant.
One of the final steps is replanting. The plant can now be replanted even deeper than it was before, and watering it regularly can reduce its stress.
Lastly, monitoring the plants success is important. The key to restoring a plant that was uprooted is patience while waiting for it to adjust through a period called transplant shock. Note that the situation may look worse before it looks better. Large leaves may wither or drop. Transplant shock can last several months or even seasons. Provide persistent care to the plant, and do not judge it until the next season of growth, usually during spring. It is usually worth the wait.
So, yes. I did not skip a beat.
I did not skip a beat after I was ***** and my life became uprooted because the sooner you can take emergency steps, the better. I learned how to replant myself instead of letting my life wither away. And do you know what? It was surprisingly worth the wait.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
Trampled, yanked from their roots, strewn across the dirt;
A single, beautiful rose lay, treated as lowly as the soil beneath,
Loses sight of its true worth and perfection,
Amongst the several other damaged "objects".
Used and abused in manners undeserved, yet she still perseveres.
Replanted, freshened, and dusted off, she stands *****
Portraying beauty and elegance, others do not see the damage;
Yet it is visible to me, as clear as day are the harsh conditions endured.
And so is her strength, to bear another day.
And so is her worth, deserving of more than the world can offer,
Or that I can muster; I'll try my hardest to give her everything.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
Let's say,
you're an apple,
but you'd rather be a pear.
The internet recommends
phoning the produce gods,
in hopes of being replanted.
However, there's a catch:
it's a collect call
to another dimension.
And so you sulk and rage,
and pretty much bruise your skin,
until it dawns on you:
Wormholes are
spacetime's phone booth,
and it just so happens,
you're full of them!
Yes indeed!
Going bad never felt so right...
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 11:44 AM UTC
i could write in my own blood
and you wouldn't see the hurt in my words
I still cannot believe that i can tame my tongue.
But i turn it from a dagger, and hide the dagger in the churned earth
among the spring seeds,
maybe when the flowers bloom,
they will bare a sharper sort of beauty.
Maybe when the pain returns pain
maybe then it will rain, and in the rain
I will see past lies that looked so like truths
and they will be more plain
Perhaps naked petals will unfurl,
and wildflowers will change their minds to be replanted
Memories of that sincere girl will sprout,
and i will be refilled with trust to uproot my doubt,
Perchance i will trace the stems up to the flowers
and pick each golden oval, off of its shadowed bower
hidden there among the aged leaves and cowering
under the trustworthy arms of an ancient oak tree
look deep and remember that it has a place etched deep in my craggy heart
but that place is empty and not the same, as was the carving,
from the start
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
I am going to bloom,
Whether or not you want me to.
Replanted by a heartbreak,
I no longer grow between your bones.
It hurts to taste such liberty,
Your heart is no longer my home.
Your blood's no longer my sunshine,
I am free to grow and grow and grow.
I will water myself with my own tears,
Photosynthesize my fears,
Turn darkness into sugar,
And grow and grow and grow.
I will bloom where I am planted,
Take in every ray of light,
Push my soul into my petals,
And grow and grow and grow.
I am going to bloom,
Whether or not I want to.
Because if you're not blooming,
You are withering.
I am going to bloom.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Your eyes are blue water
subterranean caves, swimming
you are the sun moving across summer fields
daisies always dancing toward your feet
an uprooted child, replanted
you flourish in earth and sky
dirt black hands in loamy soils
deeply rooted from the core
your salty, sweet red apple lips
are orchard fruits and fields to kiss
your arms hold worlds of weight
they are fragrant flowers, embracing grace
gentle as wings touching still waters
you are rainfall, washing
true as water
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:13 PM UTC
Death Is Not The End, But A New Beginning
It is not the end, but a new beginning
a place that is the ultimate in giving
but a lifetime of attachment down here
clouds our minds, thinking of it with fear
The body replanted, with your soul finally released
a new way of living, part of a group called deceased
even though mentioning the word death causes fright
it's a place promised to be a delight, yes, for the upright
You're thinking how I can dare, mentioning death as a kindness
but your fear is natural, and perhaps caused by your own blindness
how would G-d, your Loving Creator, bring death upon you for naught
perhaps it has a benefit for you, but something you were never taught
The body is purged from sin, because our earth has this power to cleanse
so by burying the body in the earth, we will then enable it to make amends
if the soul is found worthy, after the day of judgement it will be redeemed
to be reunited with a pure body, something you would never have dreamed
Death, for the righteous, is then only the beginning, a harbinger for the ultimate bliss
an indescribable happiness beginning with G-d, taking his loved ones with a Divine kiss
thinking of death you no longer fear, because living a virtuous life you are now committed
the greatest happiness awaits for you to experience, knowing you will surely be admitted
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
There was a Promise For Two
I am here, because, there was a promise for two.
It was a commitment to their bond,
a mutual elective.
But Maria’s beam disappeared after five hours.
Separated from mother’s womb,
her innocence was unable to endure the rigors
of an indifferent world,
She was suppose to be daddy’s little girl,
Mommy’s alter image and brother’s shining star.
Soft....angelic.
Their expectations converted to muted despair.
A balanced homecoming became questionable.
and over time, insurmountable.
The heartaches began to escalate, and eventually barricade concern for the mysteries destiny.
Tears fell, for what never would be,
tears for dreams,
and tears for abandoned dreams,
tears for Maria.
Two years past
and I was the one chosen to replace her shadow.
Conceived to witness the hearts vacuum.
To kneel, with my back straight, next to an older brother before the hallowed space,
where, under the tightly packed sod, among uniformed columns of god’s beloved children,
sweet Maria lies in peaceful repose by the stone Grotto.
My adolescent hands squeezed the polished silver,
as they pounded the cross into the unforgiving earth.
I pondered my existence, while questioning my replanted tangibility,
trying to comprehend the equity of life through a spectral identity,
and wondering where my place might be, if my sister had prevailed and flourished.
One day, I returned to place a wooden crucible where the silver once glimmered in the sun.
I marked her name in burnt lettering.
Again, the effort was pilfered by the same callous world
Maria’s tiny fingers refused to touch.
There was never coherence, but, eventually I understood.
I am here, because, there was a promise for two
and for a small coffin,
that was lowered into the cold ground of North Arlington.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
The sun~poem also rises every evening…
*A.P.U (as per usual):
this testimony~phrase tilts me sideways,
to relieve the condition, needy to be righted
one must expel the belly kicking seedling,
looking to be outed as a full fledged tree,
a poem planted, a gatherer of insects,
giving shade, perhaps shedding fruit
the sun bids adieu, self~same~centrifuge
of our solar system, is indeed alway rising
somewhere, though the light of our naked
eyes weak, incapable of trajectory bending,
to follow its course’s curvature, nonetheless,
we know it but struggle to believe just as we
struggle to complete, compare, and compose
replanted words in your heart, words that trigger,
are the notions inherent, of a center, rarely eclipsed,
that never ceases to offer up nouveau hope in each
of the days, a placenta to fret you blood and oxygen,
once purposed, discarded into darkness,*
b u t
**the words rise again, offering what you seek,
diurnally, need, to find within them, for my child,
is now
our child**…
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC
For many years we were planted in this soil together.
We grew from seeds to saplings, our roots entangled.
Now there are thick forests separating us,
and I have been replanted into such foreign ground.
Sporadically I catch your leaves on a gust of wind.
They tell of how you are no longer a young seedling.
They tell of how you are thriving in our soil,
even with my roots no longer intertwined into yours.
We have learned to blossom in our own earth.
And someday we will become only stumps of what we once were.
We will no longer flourish with fruits and flowers on our branches.
But my roots will still know yours,
and they will remember where they were once interlaced in our beginnings.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
There we are, our depiction is a funhouse mirror reflection
you are the baby plant that is watered and fed daily
you are cared for and cherished, as your buds begin to grow
you are put in sunlight for your stem to grow,
your leaves to flourish and your buds to blossom
you are replanted in a special place for all to see
you are given room for your branches to stretch out and up
you were lovingly pruned and preened, held in highest esteem
you are protected from the wind and rain, from the frosty pain
And there I was at times in your shadow, where I fought for the light
I was fed and nourished just like you,
I was cared for and cherished just like you
but somehow things changed, and I became easily forgotten
no regular feeding, no sunlight to grow, no buds to blossom
one by one my leaves withered and died,and fell silently to the floor
starved of love, starved of affection, such a pathetic reflection
but the miracle of life touched me one day
and the spark of nature encouraged the green from the grey
I have grown strong and mighty, for many to lean on
I protect and encourage, and love with joyful abandon
Today the reflection in the mirror has changed
But the memories are still deeply engraved in the bark
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 2:10 PM UTC
The wizen winds whispered
Let him go
So you can grow
Let your roots settle as they may
Or tare up the earth so
You can stray to find a new way
So slowly she seized upon the pain
Clawed at the ground
Hands bloodied and bruised
Nails push backed to the point
Of unbearable pain
She ripped her roots
Out of the earth
Ready to move on
And he came back
With just a glimmer up hope
She replanted her seed
Bent down on her knees
Begging him please
Promising she would change
Contorting herself to his demands
While he stayed the same
What a shame
She was a lovely tree
Free as the wind
And ready to be
Something better
A new butterfly
Now the butterfly dies
If she reads this
She will despise me
Say, I do not understand
I’d say that the person
Woven in to the pattern
Cannot see the design
Cannot cut fates golden line
When they do not know
How the story goes
Oh, well it’s not my hell to bare
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
I know a girl
Who was like a flower
Growing between the cracks
In the sidewalks.
Wild
Beautiful
And
Unexpected.
Except this girl,
Lived not in the cracks
Of sidewalks
But in the cracks
And crevices
Of her own pain.
Just like those
Flowers
She had been
Trampled
And
Damaged
And
Uprooted
Just to be hastily replanted
Again.
And although she always
Bloomed once more
I'm afraid
That one day
She wont find the strength.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
The sounds of church bells and the pleas of pastors saying "do not fear for God is near" echoes in my ears as i watch my father leave his temple to walk with the almighty.
The warmth of his hands began to fade into cold, and lifeless limbs i did not recognize.
Lingering sounds of a flat line accompanied by your voice of despair to let my father go.
That was when the first few petals fell.
Your vivacious smile accompanied by your long midnight hair was buried within the garden under the dead apple tree.
The whispers of silence were deafining to your ears as you wet your pillows with the taste of brandy on your lips and the black streaks ran down your cheeks.
The once so full flower was beginning to thin.
My hands turned cold as yours pulled away into those of another who was not my father.
A rose petal fell.
Time ceases to stop or slow down except when we are feeling melancholy.
But time with you was like taking roses off of a thorny bush with your bare hands; delicate and painful.
Just like you and i.
A child was left for the elders, but little did they know, she was an old soul.
I saw the sadness projecting through your eyes as you were trampled by this concept we call life.
I attempted to be of aid to you mother, but the demons wouldn't let go.
Little did i know your demons could wither a flower.
White oleander ran through your veins as you put those little white pills into your mouth.
A rose petal fell.
Then the day came where you were flying high. The sounds of white noise and tear drops hitting my skin haunt my dreams as i learned of the rose being taken away from me.
But did you know mother?
Did you forsee the quick end to a great future?
I did not; however, i knew there was not going to be much of a story to tell if you did not stop playing with the thorns.
But like a flower, you were delicate.
I guess that is where i get it from.
With every beautiful flower comes a root.
The last rose petal fell.
All that is left is a seed and thorns.
But to make a new flower, you only need the seeds.
A rose is like a Phoenix; the flower dies, but the seeds are reborn.
You left me with a seed of your life that i can use to continue to blossom into a beautiful rose like you.
And one day, my petals too will fall and wither.
But my flower wont be made weak with thorns, but strong with them.
The thorns i have will be my story even as my thorns watch my petals fall to the cold damp soil that is my pillow.
Every petal falling is a different ending.
Your rose died with you.
Just like my fathers died with him.
But my petals wont fall.
My petals will one day wither to only be replanted again.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
182.5
The year has taken its last breath
As I’ve inhaled the air of new hopes
But with this end was also a renewal
The seed of our love has been replanted
In the midst of the bitter cold winter
And the pain of past mistakes sinks in
The music cradles me as I sway along
Like a leaf falling from a tree in the fall
My heart has sunken in again, with my bones
Yet I still have a feeling that this isn't the end
I see the brokenness in your eyes
As you feel the hurt upon my skin
We taste the passion, that bathes in desire
Yet with a match we set fire to it all
Watch it burn before us, as our bodies sink
My dear, the truth cannot be hidden
It's been 182.5 days since we've felt each other
And still we become like wolves in flames
Loving as the sky rocks the stars
And so I wait…for what’s another day
Compared to a lifetime with you
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
i find broken tree branches littering the floor of your bedroom, and as ive searched forward, i have come to the blatant realization that the physic resembled closely to your very own build. your own kind of relative nature. cut down and abandoned and stripped of your blossoms once quivering through the wind and giving into the storm. a frail heart etched into your side, telling a once colorful story, now rotting away at your roots.
i liked watching you grow, how your roots shared your thirst, and entangled with mine. but your roots have been exposed and mine along with them. now the earths crust splits to welcome us home. you, already being picked again, watch as i lie next to your replanted seeds.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
My battle,though not in Normandy is the landing beach inside of me,but
the war zone.
becomes a DMZ, as I and I cease hostility and come to an understanding.
You see,
I finally reached the beach when the tide had swallowed all those within reach and the Moon was on the wane, and understood that the battles like life were just a game,and as the good go on, the bad will wither away.
'The night of the long knives'
The cutting of life from the bough,we are leaves that will fall,hallmarked gold,assigned to be loved and to hold onto this,
we kiss like it's our first and our last,our future and the past slowly devours the remnants of...can anything last,would each day that has passed since we met fade away,who can say?
We are Olympia.
We are the races we run,the discus that's flung into the air,the javelin thrown and we become all we've been told and have known.The medals we wear, bright on our vest are a chest full of treasure,the pleasure we take,the records we make will belong to the future that goes on and on and we will rest on the laps of the gods.
Epiphany.
It was never to late to be replanted on the shady side,to be reinstated,able to grow well beside those who had grown well before and to sit out of the sun seems to give me more of a perspective on the times I have run through.In the gardens of grace where each face meets a face of the faces he wore,
if there ever was a war
I see that the shore is now silent.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Written upon paper receipts
Where angelic kisses repeats,
Our love born upon cobbled streets
Emotions showing on backseats.
We were hearts in forward motion
Crashing on each, sand and ocean,
I drank you like a love potion
Affection riding emotion.
Could this one longing single kiss
Invoke such moments of pure bliss,
Distracted eyes of brown abyss
Lips joined once again reminisce.
One moment a seed was planted
Like a fairy tale love was granted,
Moment forever enchanted
With each new day love replanted
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
I held a rose
I loved her at night
How I admired her petals
Perfect in my sight
Drunken from her scent
I stumbled and I fell
And in my shameful descent
Fell my vase as well
But my rose just kept growing
And facing toward the sun
She even brought me light
She knew that I had none
I wanted to feed her
I love her with my soul
But my vase was still broken
My rose felt alone
As her petals got brighter
I marveled and said
"my rose is so lovely"
It rang throughout my head
I searched for a light
And thought I found a source
I wanted to share it
But my rose stayed her course
I wondered and wandered
Found a well and filled my cup
We cried when I got home
For the drink wasn't enough
My rose still grew bigger
I thought it a sign
'Til one day my rose
Was no longer mine
I adore you my flower
My heart's stricken with grief
I mourn you when I'm upright
I cry until I sleep
Sometimes I can still smell you
It hurts me all the more
I pray that you still feel me
My heart beats at your door
I'll never take you for granted
Oh, what a fool I've been
You'll see when I'm replanted
You'll long for my garden
Oh lovely, I will find you
You'll be my light again
I'll repair this vase like new
I'll fix it until then
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
she silenced her phone
trashed the social media
cast off weary fake friends
ceased to lay eyes on junk
or accept empty invitations
she was like a tree or a flower
rudely dug up and replanted
in a grotesque garden
there was one way to wholeness
one unrushed road to finding self
and it wasn’t out there
or hiding somewhere
it was a gentle determined stroll
the deep measured cleanse
feeling the slow but sure growth
down to the roots of her tingly toes
until she and the earth around her lightly sighed
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 2:54 AM UTC