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Kevin J Taylor Feb 2016
Sunflowers! Crowns golden!
Violets! Sweet petals, blue!
Carnations! Pinks! Whites!
         —And my Love for You!

Dahlias! Such beauty!
Tulips! Who knew!
Orchids! Red roses!
         —And my Love for You!
Both can ****
        The only difference is
                      Cigarettes shatter lungs
         She shatters everything

            I remembered the first moment
my lips pressed the filter
     as I lit it up breathed it all
                savored every smoke
       as if we covered up painful lies
        in a container of painkillers

The same way  
we used to pressed our lips
     sparked something between us
           savored every moment we had
    as if our love was a rose
               in a valley of tulips
in the face of spring~
tulips eye the first rain drop~
ahead of sunshine~

Logan Robertson

Semicolon Jul 2018
And when I planted
Your best loved flowers on your grave,
I knew I missed you.
And every time I see a bouquet of tulips, I secretly hope it's from you to me.

© Semicolon
m h John Jan 29
I walked through
The garden yesterday
And be-headed
The tops of daisy’s
After they repeatedly
called out your name.
I passed by the tulips
And cried with them
Understanding their pain,
I sat by the lilacs
And watched them stare
As they said
Their finally goodbyes.
I passed by the roses
and watched them bloom
And I remembered the time
When the thorns told me
That only roses
Bloom for you
I hope you find the one flower in your bouquet that lasts forever
CA Guilfoyle Feb 2017
These winter trees
cold and shouldering winds
their bending branches unhinge
falling limbs crash and break the snow
further still a secret world of mud and bulbs
that in the spring blooms of tulips and violet mossy lawns
and too, the sun that comes to warm and fills with green the tree arms
this wooded home that breathes with sheltering birdsong.
King Panda Sep 2015
the only flowers I
recognize are
defined by

kiss me
are the
that can
survive in my

I think I
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Sunlight streaming through cracks in my heart.
Rembrandt painted tulips breathe color back into my life.
The palette of time brings possibilities of love again
moving in and out of my consciousness.

I’ve made my way to this colored landscape
hoping more than trusting in the future.
Trying to outlive the past, making the most of this time,
living with cracks in my heart.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Harley Oliver Feb 2015
a piece of art you are
in your worn out sleeves  
and heart shaped eyes
laid out in a bed of cherries
and a field of tulips to share with me
your ocean view windows
that streak the black sea
into a shift of sheer white pearls
that melt onto me
like chocolate fondue
warm and sweet
you are the taste, the mouthful
of words that sit on my tongue
get along with your truffle kisses
and your red wine lips
begging for the chateau
to soak in the void
and with a mind shining thought
you traced my back
with the stem of a flower
that went on and on
for the next half hour
wren Feb 11
flowers bloom in our heart
i bloom eternal tulips
but in You, only periwinkles can grow
why am i always back to you
Dlusionl13 Sep 2018
It’s a bond formed with thousands and thousands of hours
It’s a friendship adorned like a bouquet of flowers

A cluster of yellow roses
For the companionship that bloomed
Or a bunch of chrysanthemums
For the wholehearted support during the adversities that loomed

A few irises
An unsaid message of dedication
With some violets
  A proof of everlasting devotion

And pink carnations
A promise to never forget each other
Plus some hydrangea
A gratitude for being understood in spite of our soul bearing different colors

Some blue tulips
For the genuine loyalty
A vow to never leave
And of course ivy
A promise of continuity of the wonderful friendship
That we will definitely achieve
Dedicated to my best friend
Shine Chiong Dec 2018
The sun was gold
But nothing compared to your hair
The ink was black
But nothing compared to your eyes
The sky was blue
But nothing compared to your polo
That you always wore that I love to stare
The day was dark
But nothing compared to your favorite jeans that you always wore
And I love to stare
The tulips was pink
But nothing compared to your lips
The roses was red
Like the ones you always gave to me
Whenever I am sad
The water was plain
But nothing compared to the day
When you took one step inside the train
Everything was colorful
But nothing compared to the colors of our  love way back then.

zebra Dec 2018
i like it ickity split
mad to exceed the world
in dark dreams ******

to evoke blood wet mouths
insertions paradise of fluorescents
in a dark aperture

her pudenda
a rolling hill
gaudy wound like a smash mouth crying
split torn tearing, pink estuary
for gluttonies' joyride
that can hardly be endured
twisted tongue spice melts and glitters raw

the sheets soaked through
matted hair in saliva
blood and eggs
the screams of monsters rapture

oh feral abandon
every thing else a toil

winged *******
hell toys for mama
like heaven cant know

his *****
like hanging bats

Nagasaki goes off in her ***
bodies; quake in silence
the bedroom; a chaotic bathroom
tulips shrill flutter
gulp and swallow milks flame
rosy welts laughing
flushing ******'s

shoved urns
all spilled libations
touching and *******
crimson **** runnels
in bathhouse foam
down the drain
to earthen bowels din
where the dead push up daisies

i am the worm in the fruit
patty m Oct 2016
Velvet mouth
crushed beneath my own
your breath whispers intimately.
Our shadows dance to the flame
of flickering candles,

I often smile when winter is upon us,
slipping into the warmth of you
that is spring again.  The time
when tulips are their best,
the air fragile and golden,
I come alive with you inside
dancing with delight
to the rhythm of your heartbeat.  

          Our shadows linger still.
MKF Jul 2017
I am from New Jersey.
From the paradise of small towns
And the inferno of concrete jungles.
I am from truck tire playgrounds,
Porch Clubs, and the whistle
Of the Riverline.
I am from divorce.
From alcoholism and denial,
From broken doors and hearts.
I am from next to hell.
From pouring out full forties
For one's homies passed away.
From too many candlelight vigils
And sidewalks littered with fourth grade pictures.
I am from the garden state.
From cows, corn, and Clinton,
And tractors in the parking lot.
I am from tradition.
From pasta and seven fishes,
From "Mafiosa!" screamed in the streets
And "No WHOPs" pasted on storefronts.
I am from love.
From three parents and four siblings,
From six dogs and duplicate holidays,
And the smell of tulips and holly.
divinity m Sep 2018
we are floating where the oxygen is thin
high above the clouds
and rising continually higher
with each drag we take
from the small harmless blunt

we are buzzing with the bees
more tipsy than the tulips make them
and getting more dizzy
with each swallow we take
from the burning liquor

we are happier than a blind person
who sees colors for the first time
even though we are losing vision
because we start to view the world
in only thin white lines

we are full of laughs and giggles
as we pump our bodies with more chemicals
than a pump puts gas into a car
because we are much too far gone
as we turn ourselves into a human pincushion.
Even the stars
shake when I
speak your name,
a woman bursting
her heart,
red and raw,
arteries like arms
wrapping around
a wound, a bloom
of tulips
in my chest,
a cavity of
dirt, a wisp of
seaweed stretching
a lonely hand
into the ocean,
begging a wave
to answer
Nathan Young Aug 7
Am I the right piece that fits your life
or was I merely misplaced in the wrong box?
The shapes are starting to spread thin
and the puzzle is nearing completion.

There once stood a beautiful meadow where the tulips grew,
but the vibrant colors have wilted to a palish gray.
The appreciation for this natural serenity still exists,
but the love...the love is questionable.

Have you outgrown the nutrients that I provided
or is it simply the necessity to spread your seeds elsewhere?
I cannot and will not know the truth
for all I am left with is memorial remnants.
island poet Apr 2018
~for Verlie Burroughs, a ‘fellow’ islander poet with a sense of human humor~

walking the reservoir on a warm spring day,
Central Park littered with tourists and pale face,
fellow islanders, all of non-Algonquin Indian descent

released from Rikers Island (of course) Prison,
six month sentence served
behind bars of winter grayscale skies
and snowy steel and grey prison everything

an out-of-townsfolk young lady passes me in a pink t-shirt,
where humans these lazy days declare their entire philosophy,
“I’d rather live on an island”
and thus a poem commissioned

well, rather brought forth from the chilled, deep waters surrounding the brain where winter vegetables rooted but cannot  surface,
the iced ground frozen impermitting bodies to be buried,
no war and death monument foundations to be poured,
flower-powered poems unable to pierce as well,
even with the upwards ****** of cesarean birth
and or, one last push and me begging
winter strangled

but I walked today
the Central Park reservoir and
all I got was that stupid t-shirt provocation
tulips and daffodils, dogwood and magnolias, and
cherry blossoms confirming,
it’s okay today to write of
islands and shoreline once more,
boundaries now and again

though the idea had prior brief transversed
the thought canal, was struck into action
when realized suddenly a dawning -

a l l  m y  l i f e,  I  h a v e  l i v e d  o n  a n  i s l a n d

counting backwards seven decades with a
collegial exception, of living by a great lake,
which is but an island in reverse,
poet *** prophet had to always walk on water to get home


my poems are travelogues,
not pretty words and tonguing talk,
sorry not,
more tales than wagging tongue wordy tails

but dumbstruck by the ocean notion that I live by the
grace of an Ocean that waits patiently to reclaim my island,
stealing my unborn poem children and
tried with a Sandy haired girl a few years ago

hurry home to scribe, and imbibe,
write upon its streetscape
with colored chalk and
upon it once more,
the concrete paths and
a reservoir dirt path surrounding and shorelines
that are all the shaping of me

all my life, and Neverland realized
I am a seagull disguised as human
It was a day of brilliant sunshine,
one that rarely lasts;
And with a sky of deepest blue,
a wonderment was cast.

Just beside the woodshed,
a garden glowed of Spring;
An awesome sight of color,
urging the birds to sing.

Open air and fields of gold,
that graced our tiny town;
Daisies, lilies, and tulips reigned,
as queens of great renown.

Our eyes would delight in early light,
of sheer delicacy and sustenance;
Fanciful thoughts swirled in our heads,
of pixie dust and angels' dance.

And in a childlike vision formed,
a bright clearing upon the land;
Of cherished moments still calling us,
like the sea always meets the sand.
ATL Sep 10
i tear into bookshelves
as if i only eat peaches
to crack my teeth on the pit,

yet you have a dog-eared page

stained with scrawled hearts,
folded and flown across the schoolyard
by a boy walking circles
round a swing set.

yes i picked tulips with you when i was young-
when i never went past eskimo kisses
or knew about roots and ****** falls.

every day i carried needles in my stomach...
i wanted to stitch our skin together.

now you’re landlocked in the rustbelt
counting change all day-
i’d buy you a plane ticket if i didn’t look like saint jude.

i suppose i should
treat you suchlike a sweater
i don’t know whether to fold or hang,

plant seeds in foreign gardens
and carve our initials
when they turn into trees

or scatter your ashes on the throughway,
near a city you’ve never seen.
Corey Jan 2017
They say roses are red
And no one ever warns
They hurt you sweetly with their thorns

I've got you stuck in my head
Writing music and poems
To try and explain my blind emotion

I'm sunny with you around
And you open like a tulip
Soft but firmly rooted

I'm sunny when I think of you
And my barren land grows
From my head down to my toes

When I'm dark your petals don't fall
They don't close or even fade
They simply wait in the shade

When I open I see a vast field
Lilies and tulips to run through
In the center waiting is you

A bird singing in the distance
A flower perched in you hair
I stop at you and stare

You stand and reach for me
I reach and pull you close
Your toes step on my toes

They say roses are red
But to think that alone is foolish
So are the lilies and the tulips

They say roses are red
I believe them and you are mine
But I see you so many other times

I find you in the air I breathe
I find you sitting next to me
I find you in the birds and leaves

I find you in my thoughts at night
I find you even in daylight
I find you in a roses bite
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