"sepal" poems
The Key To Success
A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal,
A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special,
Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk,
This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk,
The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal,
Land Of The Ganga
In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself,
The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves,
Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers
The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main
attracter
A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
19
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer’s morn—
A flask of Dew—A Bee or two—
A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
And I’m a Rose!
2.3k
satin slats
plumped slick
sepal pearls
Elysium entreats
welcoming warm
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
Hills, brown rustic reds
skies pile colored layers on
Rattlesnake vertebrae bones
scent of creosote
high desert home
Lover, painter
wild poppies - orange paper
petals, sepal magnification
watercolor, oil painted
gradations
Abiquiu home,
desert ghosts, coyotes
wildflower gardens grown
to pick, to paint perfection
a flower
alone
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
Drinking before noon--
not my habit
In the quiet of my favorite room
of softest brown and purple ciphering gray
One wall off-white reflecting light
or a good mood
or something--
I once needed
from my soul's depth--
Trying to forget
Startled by a train's screech and howling wail--
its bell about an intersection
“Look the hell out, why don't ya!!”
--get outta your own...
my own way
and let the failures just stream by
Days--
There's this calendar by some bankers called:
UNIVEST
adorns the wall
between my daughter's sketches
that I seldom see
on well-worn afternoons
among accustomed things
Yes-- "One here!"
to un-invest
in this day
I have no interest
in sunlight or the ceaseless
songs of birds
I forgot to turn the pages on the months
Forever sunk in April
having given up on June
with its birthdays of the dead
missed events, appointments, bills come-due
Just a picture there-- the bottom of a tulip
stung in warmest pink
within the sepal hand of green
that holds it steady-- ******
A year-- dangling from a nail
if that's allowed
--my ***** mind, I mean
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Some stalks escape the shears.
Children gather inflorescence
into paintbrushes
weary of so much slaughter.
They kneel into the aroma,
mistaken for praying.
Bees bend one last flower
sepal to stem, sated
and heavy. Far from home.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
lips upon swell of breast,
caresses like a dance in
bated breath; a cry of
hunger unclothed to
nakedness; mouth travels
south, seeking to quench
libidinous drought; tongue
glides, nibbling kisses;
silently I sigh, each taste
he gets thicker as I become
wickedly *****
scents of honeysuckle
permeates the air as
tongue teases hardened
strobe; I glow within his
nature and he whispers in
elated breaths; I arch against
masculinity in sultry
poses, smiling in blushed
tints, fore, he knows me
and tells of his wants
to satiate my needs like
a rose opens its petals to
a bee's need; to suckle its
sepal of sweet nectar's
honey, sipped in little nips
inebriating his wanton
longing, he breaches
my honeycomb in gentle
easements...flushed
he whispers against nape
of neck as hands control
movement of hip, tongue
glides against silken thigh;
in foolery baiting to entrap
me within his desirous
taunts of beggary...I sigh
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
long silky filament
curved, reaching for stars
peduncle, sepal and petaled
ovule, jewel - seeds of renewal
encased in velvety red
pollen explosion, pistol potion
anther tipped stamen bled
evening stars now far-off shine
bees drowsily dream
in wax house, honeycombed hives
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
13/9/22
*black the soil
black the stone
black the grass
black the fruit
black the sepal
black the seed
black the thorn
black the petal
black the leaf
black the eye
black the breath
black the dye
black the flesh
there's a dead rose that
grows in my garden*
@writeweird
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 10:56 AM UTC
Moist petal flower spread
Those earthen made beautiful
Red wings like
Birds do fly fly out Among the skies
Above
Do not be bound by
Rules or norms no man
Ever made or normality
Or dread
You're silk
You are the songs
Butterfly's
Make
Abandoning
This ground.
Yours are earthen cries
Made heard that change
This world
And come a day then
When unfurled
The sky shall open up
Heaven on this earth.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
Walking down the sidewalk of my suburban neighborhood
Littered with wild flowers clumsily drifting across our path
A path beaten down by the hurtful feet of children at play
Flowers struck down from the bicycles speeding past
Until one day, one particularly flower caught my eye
Red, full, leaning deliriously into my field of vision
I plucked the top from it's green stem and pressed it to my lips
Sweet, soft, and fragrant I traced my eyes, cheeks, and lips with it
Then stuffed it in my shirt, hard, against my chest
So when my mother took my clothes off to bathe me it fell on the floor
And I screamed and cried and picked the crumbled petals from the bathroom rug
Raced to my bedroom, **** naked, to put it somewhere safe
And every morning I'd stuff the wilted petals and stale sepal down into my pockets
Until finally there was nothing left but the dust of a once beautiful flower
Heartbroken, that is the day I realized beauty is to be admired, not suffocated
But realization and affirmation are too very different things
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
I thought to acquire
A piece of wall art;
Reproduced in mass would be fine
As long as it’s attractive, yet honest,
without tasteless jest,
And appears to be organic,
Cultivated
At the artist’s discretion.
In the catalogue, my attention falls
To a print
Of an anatomical drawing
From a botanical field guide,
Colored with pencil: the perianth
A pastel pink
That yields to a gentle yellow
Just before
the petals are enveloped
by the green sepal coat.
High on the hanging stems
Round buds of emerald and buttery cream
Follow their elders
In gradient lines of expansion
To the end where the eldest
Bend into blossomed bells;
All come together and seem
As a pink and gold Easter dress.
From the petals stretch
The pistils and stamen.
Reaching
Reaching
Gasping, I can nearly hear
The flower’s patient breathing,
Waiting
For a kiss
From a fluttering errant proboscis.
The pistil aims for the ether,
To another’s anther and
Pollen dusted petals.
Tempted now am I
To wear always
A corsage about my neck.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
In
The hours
When the lips of the rocks
Were gummed
The howling waters
Wore the garments of tranquility
And laid allay
We
Stood on the waters
Head truss
Like a petal and a sepal on a stalk
We spoke no words
Yet our minds
Understood the language of the heart
The burning flames within
And the sparkling urges
Then
I lurk through her breath
And stole her soul
Together our spirits went aloft
Over jaundiced shadows
High and higher to the clouds
Till it gulp us onto the universe
There
I tucked her arm onto mine
And walked her
Down the aisles and palaces
Of the planets
Jupiter was no more,but Johanna
Then
I sat her on the hallowed throne
And touched her hands with the smiles of the sun
With the candies of the moon
In her mouth
One,two,three,...
I counted the stars
As my parole of love
Infinte Parole
©Historian E.Lexano
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
A soul’s vine is encased with demise.
Towering stalks desiccate to bister mummies and
Aflush dreams of romance capsize into sour, obsidian soil.
Exhausted leaves crumble when the sun goes down
And amber tears of stinging sap drizzle from hollow sepal’s
That once hugged tender safad petals in the raw night
Like a child clinging to their eham biar yadashte.
Eclipsed roots search for taskeen semblance.
Divest thorns flourish on their throne,
Devouring golden seeds of promise.
Tishna fruit wither into ember dust,
Particles brushing away in the restless wind
Until all that lays are flattened memories
Forgotten, forsaken, fanni.
Word Search
Machana Ruh (roo): A Wilting Soul
Safad: Pure milky white
Eham biar yadashte: That feeling of something from our childhood that gave us inanimate affection. Something we, still to this day, can not let go of because it carries all our intimate memories and emotions (Like a teddy bear or blanket).
Taskeen (Tash-kean): The warm feeling of home
Fanni (Fa-nee): Mortal fragility
Tishna: When a person is dehydrated to the point of death
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 4:42 PM UTC
Uncertainty clings to my mind
like morning due to brand-new greenery.
I know not what weeds lurk unseen
nor of the beauty that has yet to be
should I remain a lone flower
sheltered in the shield of a sepal
in waiting for my hour of opening
unprotected to the **** of people
yet fully alive, honest and free.
OR am I that withering ****
in need of severing with one Swift swing .
harsh enduring and ruthless
a hideous prickly mess
growing at the price death
one day will I grow to bare a beautiful fruit
or
draw blood from those that pull on my root
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer's morn-
A flask of Dew-A Bee or two-
A Breeze-a caper in the trees-
And I'm a Rose!!
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Sepals to skeletal fingers, to yellowed limbs
sunken
She watched the moon, all hazy
and small.
So rugged its whites
as sheets with times stained
Watched it on she did.
(So dusty the skin) Oh, I had loved you
Tens a monsoon’s rosy day;
had loved you dry, as
the suns danced and danced—
So shallow the gaze and the dark’s quiet tusks
So deep she
into her noisy withins.
The forth storey roof with
its precarious railings
and the pitiful, grey street, a wound below.
Its drains and gutters all sawed open
and naked—
In the sudden, spinning fright
I almost held her;
a palm or a palm
or an arm
I almost held—
I knew you so ample.
Whispers of touch, and ballads
such and such
rolled so effortlessly now
on the tongues of memory
As birth her I
though tens a monsoon’s rosy prayer
Bead on bead falls
in this wretched, unending rosary
(With drought-coated of lips) I had loved you a petal
so chaste and unbloomed
and a sepal you had—
Not a blossom I,
still she held, as the winds
As vultures reeled around our beds
So frail our bodies
so terrified and alive,
As dirt bowed, and leaves bowed and all
to the vultures mad
Two lambs us, yet gods we stood
'til whites of her wilted to gold to rust
to dust, and slipped
through the cracked of my hold,
Through a thousand guarding winds
and tens a
vacant sepal
(As crowns and cages
of blossoms wilted unused, they stood)
So shallow a gaze
and the dark’s quiet tusks—
Wade I,
swim I, in the caverns of me where an echo
breathes, and
drown I, undying.
Such windless a serenity
As damp of monsoon’s mornings
rosy,
I had loved you a vulture mad,
but dare I—
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 4:38 AM UTC
You hold my hands
Wrap the gauze around my bruised knuckles,
Whisper me pieces of words
For my mind to create
Into stained-glass portraits.
My love, I trust
That your strong vines
Will grow into roses
Not torn by the sharpest of thorns
Or the purest of shards.
You promised me a crystal lake,
Said if I were to be a fallen star
I’d land in a place to call home,
Enveloped in the sepal
Of your cold embrace.
A brick house
In a dying meadow
Where you promised
The grass would grow greener
If I believed it so.
You gifted me a diamond necklace
On a gold chain
That tightened around my neck
With each passing day as
Love’s most exquisite noose.
I wore your broken jewels,
Let them jab into my bones,
And you wiped away the blood
As you braided rose petals
Amidst my sun-drenched locks.
Grass dies as the rose petals
In my heart collect frost,
Leaving me numb as the thorns
Embed themselves
In the bone, leaving scars,
As do you, snapping
Your vines with your
Crystal-crafted knife
From the mirror in which
You looked twice,
And I, once.
Glass is sturdy, but fragile,
And flowers burn
When stars fall without grace,
When they are expelled from the hearth
Of their love.
I watched you set our bridge aflame,
And my portrait’s glass
melted to raindrops,
turning glass petals damp with regret.
My love, you lie
As skin does when its
Elasticity suggests refusal to break,
And your vines snapped
Under grief’s crushing weight.
Bones snap and veins shred
As I land hard on the ashen stone
You called our home
And to you,
I was never a star.
Fire runs wild when
You don’t control it,
Scorching those for which
Weeping won’t bring coolness,
Freezing those for which
Love doesn’t warm them.
Your glass digs in whenever
It’s told to, oh my love,
To you,
I’ve grown cold to.
For your promises were as empty
As the glass from which I drank them.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC