"vinca" poems
We all know that life can thrive in the most inhospitable of places.
Plants grow from volcanic soil.
Bioluminescence crawls beneath
immense pressure on the ocean floor.
Microbes most likely thrive below the icy,
radioactive surface of Europa.
We all know that life—love—perseveres.
It’s nothing new.
But we don’t talk about
how ******* hard that actually is.
That’s what the strengths perspective is for.
What resilience gives name to.
But what if I don't want to? What if,
for today,
I’d rather the **** not?
Is that okay? Is that allowed?
That today I'm the vinca vine dying on the ledge?
Withered up and not drinking any more water.
Today, I am every succulent that I’ve ever accidentally killed.
Today, I am excess formaldehyde. I am a brain floating in a bell jar,
undulating in an existence that is an ethical quagmire.
Today, I am in limbo. Purgatory. Stasis and static.
Suspended upside down in a frozen wasteland, Dante style.
Tomorrow, I will thaw.
Rise from the soil fist first.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 9:48 PM UTC
There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor is death and decay
But in a little town near Georgia
From away from this bloodied land
A girl by the name of Linda
Has my son in her arms
And a hand on her hip
And planting little vinca's
Is waiting for me.
There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor in death and decay
But my husband is waiting for me
In Petticoat, Maine.
And even though we fought before I left
He's expecting me home
A kiss
And for my head on his chest
There is no glory in bloodshed
No glory in death and decay
But I'd give my very life for you
For I Have grown to love living
In the US of A
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
Fowl meadow grass - Glyceria striata - the striations
on the lemma. Drooping rachis
a weeping willow of a grass.
Recurring periwinkles, myrtle, Vinca.
Helicopter petals. Evergreen leaves.
Escaped from gardens, alien or native?
A little further by the spruce stand
a new mustard, cuckoo flower - Cardamine -
with pinnately compound leaves. What a find!
A good day turns bad.
After you've died, one of them dogs digs up your grave.
You may sit in the rain and think.
Maiden pink.
The dark circle inside the flower
a g-string or garter.
O to fail well. To lay low. To live long.
To run slow. Feel the hill. Pressing down.
Do less. Until one thing's done well.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
Again I don't want anything
Apart from your love
Because of your love in the middle
Your body, mind and heart are everything
Rose and vinca
Lotus and sunflower
Different kind of like your laugh
Different season, they are also
Your laugh and sad face
I have the mind to be able to see
So your face I love
My cry like you cry together
My happiness just as you also be with happiness
So your body and heart I love
Darling I season for you
You nature for me
You give me, I take
I give to you, You take
We both cry sometimes
Sometimes we both laugh
Darling we both love
We are both love
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
As I sit . . .
green leaves hang . . . motionless . . .
~our earth spins on it's axis over a thousand miles per hour~
As I watch . . .
adagio grasses bow in repose . . .
~our earth orbits the sun over sixty-six thousand miles per hour~
As I rest . . .
vinca vines trail unruffled . . .
~our solar system whirls around the milky-way over five-hundred thousand miles per hour~
As I wonder . . .
flowers pose placid and serene
~our milky-way hurls headlong over a million miles per hour~
In my garden . . .
stillness reigns resolute . . . amidst this unimaginable tempestuous maelstrom
I am called to witness this defiance;
this static anarchy against the universe's irresistible momentum
I am surrounded by leafy verdure in stock-still solidarity;
blossoms colored with un-budged boldness
and tendriled vines in composed contempt
I am called to witness this unperturbed mutiny against torrid irascible forces
As I sit . . . musing on this peaceful anarchy
I think on He . . . that humble anarchist
waging peace against war
love against hate
grace against revenge
His submissive cheek immovable against brutish forces
I sit . . .
peacefully content in my garden of Eden
unmoved . . .
by the celerity of this careening world
geo.vuy 2015
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
O vecchio bosco pieno d'albatrelli,
che sai di funghi e spiri la malìa,
cui tutto io già scampanellare udìa
di cicale invisibili e d'uccelli:
in te vivono i fauni ridarelli
ch'hanno le sussurranti aure in balìa;
vive la ninfa, e i passi lenti spia,
bionda tra le interrotte ombre i capelli.
Di ninfe albeggia in mezzo alla ramaglia
or sì or no, che se il desìo le vinca,
l'occhio alcuna ne attinge, e il sol le bacia.
Dileguano; e pur viva è la boscaglia,
viva sempre nè fior della pervinca
e nelle grandi ciocche dell'acacia.
501
Hello, I'm Vinca
you are not going to like me
and I will hate myself
so please, **** off.
(actually, please, stay.)
Hello, I'm Vinca
I'm insecure, clingy, needy
yeah, a recipe for disaster
you have to save yourself.
(actually, please, stay.)
Hello, I'm Vinca
someone hasn't grown into
the girl her mother wished for
I understand your reason.
(actually, please, stay.)
Hello, I'm Vinca
not that I wished to
be Vinca
can you blame me, though?
I know, you won't stay.
I wouldn't stay either.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC