I quickly grew tired of poems about
the supposed gentleman who wanted
to turn his gal into a flower.
I thought about what it might be like
to be turned into a
maybe domesticated in a garden
first, then plucked
or plucked straight from the wild.
Stuck into a vase
on display for people to watch you
People admiring you
with punctuated looks of sentiment,
sniffing you while they watch you
someone might press you into a book
to preserve you for later admiration,
only able to touch you like a
so your petals don't disintegrate into dust.
Nah, I would rather she be a
have her petals embrace me.
She might try clawing out my eyes with rage
and slam the kitchenette
in just that way I can't stand,
before we cuddle together,
an ashtray between us
smoldering with the stacks of Pittsburgh or
Chicago or Buffalo City.
And even if the blue light flickering off the walls
can't fill all the empty spaces
in our hearts,
at least we chose to be there
living for the sole purpose
of dying to look good in the casket,
only to be pressed into a mausoleum.
When the time comes,
I want my corpse to feed
the forces that don't give up
fighting against contrived,
manicured lawns --
that don't stop fighting to break through
concrete city slabs
with the faces of dandelions and chickory,
into bright ruckus
while making love to the sky.
April 7th, 2014
“i am with the roots
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"
There was a time
when I wanted to be one of them,
to somehow fit in
with the fancy rituals
of their high society.
But the da-Dumb, da-Dumb, da-Dumb
made me want to puke,
made me want to bounce my head
off the table, hopefully causing the bone china
to add clatter to their snobbish
Words like "gossamer"
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled
even the candle light appeared
to shy away from those dry wings.
The snobs talked about how
I was too simple with words.
They did so with such a simple,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
smoke a cigarette in peace
while hitchhiking back to my chubby cherub,
feel her belly fall and rise against my skin.
I was finally able to love,
and she died.
The previous pain had been for show:
"Look at the drunk ham
feeling sorry for himself."
But when she died,
I distilled tears
into a different type of proof.
I was no longer willing to be
their carnival attraction
placated under the table,
listening to them upstage each other.
When I was able to stand again,
a cold, sharp thing was birthed in my mind,
I wanted to shoot them all between the eyes,
splatter their degrees and deeds
with their blood and brains.
I found peace though -
stopped wanting to be one of them.
I found peace
away from their chatter
about what to carve on their headstones
or what type of fancy imported granite
their mausoleums should be constructed of.
I found peace in readying myself to be
to be perspired into the open, fathomless sky --
the same deep blue as the bird
who finally pecked his way
through the rusted cage of my heart,
freeing us both.
April 12th, 2014
“i am with the roots
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"
TO THE FLOWER
Your scent beckoned my weeping heart to painless flight;
amidst a garden where God dusts His pretty love.
Spring tints are pure and fragrant, free of guise.
Your hues painted another sunrise for my eyes;
when once I failed to catch the pledge of morn.
A seed of hope was born to white petals blush.
Though there are silhouettes of bitter yesterdays
must all the phantoms of illusions fade and leave...?
Your floating aroma stirred and shot my nerves;
inspiring a nightingale to sing some joyous laments;
It swayed with grace to dance on wind's despotic beat.
among the rustling leaves which hug the earth below;
So like the sun, which from distant horizon smiles;
it roused the sleepy world to begin the pen of baby prose.
The unfolding mystery of your petals brought
my bewildered mind to peacock's reflection.
Alas! All was transient. These eyes probe beneath
but were blinded by the intrusion of some stray shine;
Ambitions which from afar are building sprout;
t'is that which let this self to irksome doubt.
Lovely blossom of the wild, this sojourner nigh
to tame your perfume's sweet stinging scent.
A restless soul by some wicked, destiny pokes;
someone called--- but pity, I couldn't tell a note.
If by magic, a butterfly I could become;
Let it be over my being slowly span.
Then with you
(though the specters in our midst are fierce),
I could jet fly though miseries without fear.
But am just a mortal of faith that blows this wish
for only covenants call for my journey still?
I cannot be forever the one who would share your sweetness;
(Harken, fairies of blooms, this wilderness is not my lair.)
I shall not want to witness you wilt as no time left to stay.
Never again will you see me at day-break's bloom,
save something special for others to experience you.
This fleeting apparition I so adored;
promised me burgeoning petals.
"Be not afraid as seasons change,
beyond today, I won't be here to see that no harm
be done with all intentions to your sacred charm.
I leave you to Mother's Nature tender care,
for I must go to some greater musing-- heaven's ground.
Wilt not, as soon the rain will dash, refreshing you my dear.
If I return someday--
will your sublime scent still be here?"
Inspired by Susan Seddon Boulet's painting:
© Olive Eloisa Guillermo
October 20, 2014
Contest Name Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
“A Flowers Wilt”
Witness the small existence
that abides the beauty of-----------
Freelancers all around,
Just to get a good look.
A baneful abrasion, the flower took
It captivates you -------------
Reels you, steals from you,
Until you pick the right flawless touch.
Dandelions swaying thin,
Here we fall like petals.
Ready to exploit, the beauty of-------
Inhale the fragrance,
Courtyard azure eyes,
Embarking in a wishful eternity,
A crush they become, when loveliness up and left.
A bully against arrogant, threw feminine perfumed veils
Tulips waiting for the better auspicious’ sky
Asters claims the eclipse's,
-dinginess censors it from the brilliance of the sun.
A lonely rose
In My Helix World-
The out-and-out are born.
Cries in the dimness,
A sweet Lotus echo’
Slight yelps of agony, carried off by pollen breeze.
The earth revolves to fast,
Injections of herbal essence in the wind
For a split second, we feel pixie dust
Channel the essential, it fades
Earlier beauty, calmness-
A flourish smile,
Rusk of flower, a bluebird’s bread.
Like candles and dew, they stream and limber energy
Opposing others of its humanity,
Against the command of its importance,
Pierced by its own elegance,
Thriving slowly of its own will,
A short story, gone stray!
Tonight, we plant a tree,
The Flower wilts
The gardener cries
In your beauty, striking jewels within your light
If I where to go into another world
Searching behind each and every fold
Wrapped up inside my mind
There is a never ending vision, of thought
Over half of it one forgets
in a short space me not
Flowering time one stands out striking
It draws from the gentle wishing well
inside the rainbow colors her
all shades of a promise
sprinkling softly in her mist
The heart began singing music to me
as the soul saw your guiding light
I would never break your heart love
one silent promise, made into oneself
at that very moment in time
I felt it
so very special
remembering the sweet pretty birds in song
Magic capturing that very moment
our souls inside out sharing
When the heart fell at your feet
it was truly amazing
You're my dove wings
Flying this heart deeply in love
with your peace the drunken spirit is floating
intoxicated in your space
falling softy emotions swoon
Savoring feelings explode outside reality
your amazing beautiful in my eyes
dazzling the mirrors of dream
On days of childhood past
and long faded into memory,
sisters played beneath a smiling sun
in shadowed rooms of bending willows.
Dainty handkerchiefs swaddled
our Rose of Sharon infants
to keep the newborns warm;
honeysuckle spread sweet fragrance
scenting the summer playhouse
while birds trilled lullabies of joy.
Clover chains hung as garlands
to decorate our home
and snowball bushes' spread
perfumed blossoms carpeting the floors.
Simple pleasures of a simple life
we seem to have discarded
in favor of a busier, artificial plastic world
where flowers bud stale fabric blooms
on bending wires.
The evensong of the whip-poor-will is no more.
I would go back if I could harvest
the pureness of those happy hours,
distilling a rare elixir,
a medicine for our ailing times.
November 25, 2014
The scent of your feelings clings
To the fabric of my dreams
It never leaves….it lingers
The scent of your feelings
The fragrance of gardenia
When you are tender, sweet
Gentle and serene
Tranquility showing through
In the gardenia scent of you
Seducing scent of jasmine
Surrounds you like an aura
Promising opulent luxury
Of flesh upon flesh
With you in control
Leading me deeper
Into the scent of your fantasies
Tantalizing, teasing, tempting
Endless jasmine ecstasy
Sensual and satiating
Is the jasmine scent of you
Perfumed in Damask Rose
Giving off the scent
Of inner turmoil
You are brooding and troubled
Needing to be reassured
Held in the strength of my arms
Quieted by my love
Till dawn’s light
When your safety is assured
And your scent finds release
Along with that of mine
Honey suckle perfume
Your need to nurture
To let me suckle
At your breasts
Your perfume speaking
In words my soul hears
That you live only
To care for my needs
Your perfumed hands
Soothing way the aches and pains
Of my rough and busy day
Honey suckle promises
Of womanly affection
In waves of comfort and light
I taste honey
Nectar that sweetens my lips
For I know it flows for me
I know I am nothing
A poor lost man
Without the fragrance of honey suckle
Wafting over me
When there is venom in your eyes
Sparks fly all around me
And I know a storm is coming
A scent foreboding
Indicating the imminence
Of the unleashing of thunder and lightning
Torrents of rain
The scent of angered passion
I sense it
I smell your brewing storm
I’m unleashed in the elements
And yet….I know
How to harness your storm
How to bring calm
How to let you vent in my arms
Beat at my chest
I silence you with a kiss
Your arms pinned
The anger passes
Left on my chest
Leaves me shaken
In the aftermath
Of your storm
The perfume of surrender
Absolute abandon to my will
The sweetest fragrance
The tenderest emotion
A wilting flower
Waiting to be revived
Tenaciously wrapping around my body
Knowing its source of life, love, and happiness
Your scent moves me
Brings out my desires
To please and reward
To bring color to your petals
By my life giving stream
Lost in this scent
The most beautiful of all
The scent of surrender
The scent of your emotions...
Clings to my being
A perfumed eternity
In your arms
For Anthony Slausen's Scent of Your Soul Contest
Impose your will on the pretty flowers as you may
Trans-formative wonderment of nature
Entrenched, defiled, they pop up any way in clusters
Vivacious are the colors above the solid stem
Cut cold to death, decay and pain, to follow winters grip
Excellence defined in the ability to survive
Dangerous are the forces that persist to derogate them
Yet they prevail against all odds
Death comes but they regenerate
Grass is their shield. Dirt is their pillow there
Negative winds carry with them ice
Reds and yellows grow on below the sun
Visceral, strangled roots, fragile faces, petal soft, grow cold
Ingenious species, green with envy on the leaf, rise again
A Cacophony of nature’s birds and bees disturbs the peace
Flowers come in abundance, remain, friendly on the green
Distinguished in divine fashion, exquisite, generous to the last
Elevated smiles on pollen grains contain the seed of life
Flowers emerge, aware of life
11/22/14 Poetry Contest - "Encounters With Flowers"
erased to try and get it published
these eyes fell down
you're amazing beautiful body
Tingling with warm liquid gold
slowly began melting in fingers
chocolate over soft velvet sweet honey
I began dreaming undressing
deep inside with burning hot desire
Shimmering light of candle
stirring passion flickering memory
gentle kisses burning embers
In the fire ultra warm
sizzling dreaming hot
touches inside desiring love
Once upon a time begins
our enchanting fairy tale dream
From out of the deepest forests
walking on these sands footprints
forever and always will remain special
Left in the heart touching beats
wishing you were here right now
A star shining
catching you inside the magic dust
charming precious held
Within a breath of silver thought priceless
silken wrapped gifted treasuring gem
Faraway whispers sweetly
in silver breaths of air blowing
carried over the moon and back whistling
Echoes sweetly over the hill through the valleys
far beyond time unraveling truth over beauty
almost felt I was making love to you
Under the care of sun and rain
My leaves have unfurled
My buds have burst forth
My own will has been done
This was my beginning
Through the seasons
Spring brought me to life
Summer grew me to new heights
The fall must come sometime
The frost will encase my barbs
And I will return to meditation
Waiting patiently for my rebirth
For your light to peek through clouds
Your moon to hold me within night
When spring returns...
I will dance in the wind
A never ending flower
the Gladiola is never sad
says words with a smile.
Tulips are the pun
not one but...
sound it out, you'll see.
Daisies reveal secrets
she loves me,
she loves me not.
lay it on thick
Carnations rev their engines.
Express themsleves from land to land.
my personal favorites
blow a fragrant line.
are still babies
they're still learning.
as long as they need to
before they speak.
can fly off the handle
but please forgive them
Orchids tend to fib
are they adults Or .....!
a soulful tune
and I love the blues.
Paper Whites appropriately
recite their written words.
the most beautiful
But the best flowers of all
don't need to say a word.
With love you gift them
a bouquet of their faves
as they gently kiss your lips!
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Contest Name: Encounters with Flowers
Tranquil Smells Of Nature
The smell of nature,
velvet feel roses,
dazzling pink lilies,
flowering fruit trees,
tranquil the senses.
Blossoms with lots of
for bees, hummingbirds
Sweet smells of nature’s
tranquil the senses.
By: Eve Roper 2/22/2015
Encircled, by the shadow of your tilt
Do I go or do I stay?
Bereft of touch and in as much
I’m stately poised and full of dew
I’m moist and wet, a bending stem of stain
Sun-kissed and burnt, Sienna sweet delight
Denounce the pluck and leave me in
And later you can have display
Each woodsy peak and tinty load
Is being longed for pluck and touch
Take me inside your house and I’m you’re only jest
Keep me outside your home and I’ll give you all my scent
I’ll be your garden Rose
Ornate is the ironwork that I peer through
as my fingers grasp the garden gate,
and I open my eyes to my Wonderland.
My bare feet step down the moonlit path,
where fireflies twinkle amongst the stars
that reflect upon the flowing crystal brook.
I capture them in a lantern, then set them free.
My lavender dress twirls weightlessly as I dance,
here I am free to feel joy and to dream.
Here beyond the gate of my enchanted garden,
when the golden sun sets low in the evening sky,
the daisies, gladiolas, and pansies never close their petals
and the sunflowers shine in the moonbeams.
While butterflies stay to perch on the blooming trellis,
the song of the hummingbird fills the warm night air
and I fall asleep in my flower bed of thorn-less roses.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
February 17th, 2014
For Nette Onclaud's contest - "My Secret Garden"
And flowers wilt.
And flowers fade.
The eternity is only in me-
The twig that bears the flowers.
Sparrows are born
And sparrows die.
And brighten the sky.
That who nurtures sparrows is me-
A cozy make of a twig upon a twig.
The sun fades
And moon is born.
The twilight blurs
And moonlight spreads.
All the soothing moonlight beams are me-
A crisscross of unfathomed twigs.
Whether in its birth
Or in its death;
In the heart
Of its heart;
The entire beauty is none but one-
A design of mysterious twigs.
What is ? ----- Is it ?
What is happiness ?
A hot summer day, walk barefoot in cool grass
Picking a large bouquet of summer flowers
and then merge a flower crown
Maybe get a good advice of
flower Daisies : love me, love me not,
love me, love me not.......
What is happiness ?
Listen to the frogs love song
by the small pond in the woods
Enjoy a fantastic and very light spider webs
Who can do better than the spider
See the raindrops on a leaf,
which glistens in the sun shining like jewels
Meadow which is full of yellow dots when
Buttercup is smiling and nodding
What is happiness ?
Hand in hand on charity trail
be giddy with love
A tender and gently kiss of the one you loved
The dream of a family, have children
and experience that new life is born
Living life together for better or worse
and that the device love never ends
Happiness for me is that you are here
I reminisce of childhood prowls, the mild
Unfolding through lustrous summer sways
That in my past, musings replay when twigs
Are sprinkled with blossoms rare like
pearls. I find myself wandering downstream
On banks wading softly, entranced along
fresh shrubs…a vignette of burlap and silk,
Rustling like bright confetti that often
Fine dewdrops envy my near sunset’s trend.
And I could but possess the warm flavor
Of buds in heat, my face dipped in their chests
Hesitating to leave the lush of gold as
Nightfall breaks. Then, floral tapestry churns
Against a mural of summer’s rich pattern
Up high, where lacquered glint from hillside bursts.
Full moon rolls with amusement to cradle
Dawn’s garlands, auroral as this child’s eyes;
floating through next seasons when my tossed hair
sweeps a cluster of maiden time's fanfare.
‘ Flora Abunda’ … www.stephaniedeshpande.com
Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande
in Contemporary Free Rhyme...Cyndi's Contest
by nette onclaud
Viewed from the snow covered mountain
Slopes laden with flower beds like
Colorful vase of flowers
I saw the* Him Kamal flower
I asked, “Why are you all alone?
Beauty is to be adored”
Should give yourself before
Your petals fall to dust”.
Quick came the response from flower
“Am not lonely, enjoy these heights
Shelter of blue umbrella”.
I asked if I crush your petals
The flower said he would be glad
Its fragrance will radiate.
Purpose of life fulfilled
If destroyed not admired.
Nearby look at the snowy streams
Ripples flowing kicking each other
Our life like ever flowing streams
Water running towards ocean
Currents never turning back
Perennial flow of life
Small life merging in big.
The nature is peace all around
She only disturbs who disturbs
She teaches wisdom to those
Praise her beauty, not destroy her.
Develop the aesthetic sense
To feel the nature’s beauty.
Looking into the sky
Searching their gardener.
Third place win in
Contest: Thank you by P.D.
Eighth place win in:
Contest: Maverick Free verse sponsored by John Freeman
This is just for you
How inspirational you are!!
You flit about in eager ways
From flower to flower you dance
always intent on your mission
Pretty crimson and deep blue
and shimmered green hues
on your lightning speed wings
Just watching your drive
makes me grin at you
How you are always so busy
Your vigor and energy
irrepressible you are
A bit mischievous….
Dashing through the wind
I love to watch your little loops
and your sudden stops in mid air
How you love to hover…..
Bright, you are….a light to me
On sad days when sorrow comes
you dash to my rescue
with super speed
How I love you
This is for a dear friend. She is much like a hummingbird *^_^*
Hark! Don’t forsake me.
Search for me.
Look down low, in the underbrush.
I will be good for you.
Though I’ve been given just a little of our endless world,
I have the glowing fire of raging cordilleras,
The blazing sunsets of Equatorial skies,
The lustrous skin of succulent citrus.
I am orange truth.
Your e-mail engraves a smile while opening its contents.
I wanted to reply, to share a thought,
but my daughter reminds me during that curiosity,
an obligation to buy new shoes.
Being careful not to lose this thought in the pocket where I found my keys,
I placed it with a melody, a familiar whistle on tongue tip.
She with I weave like a zipper into traffic talk about school, friends, photographs
we found ourselves still framed on 6th and G.
Placing her hand in mine with careful grip,
she stops in time to save a purple flower called moment-
forged loneliness- alone in the parched concrete seam.
Placed it in my shirt. Seemingly protected by a giggle she looks for shoes;
She is only thirteen, tomorrow she will be sixteen
maybe laying in her bed with a realized
pain of the first kiss placed with ruse. Not today.
Today, we drove home foolishly to the radio,
as your thought is misplaced from absentminded lips.
We pull into the driveway. She kisses my cheek
within a single brush stoke of innocence;
suddenly redandblue skyandsun understand the simplicity
of the single purple flower (that replaced your reply,
Her beauty shines so deep
From the depths of her soul
She seems to me so perfect
Like a single yellow rose
Her actions are so lovely
She is giving of her time
Her heart is big as Texas
Her poems are so enchanting
Her scent is inviting
It draws us in to her
I see her laughter brewing
From underneath her words
An angel sent to guide us
Who could ask for any more
A woman with such beauty
Captivating like a rose
I once held a rose in my hand
Nurtured and cared for;
It was all I had.
Content and satisfied I deemed myself,
For it held
True love indeed
From its stem to buds to roots
I could not find another to cherish,
And like a ferry
I was merry-go-around
I gazed at it nights and days
And even went out of my ways
To water and keep
How could such a flower,
Such a blossom,
Fall out of my grasp?
The flower was not for me to keep
Nor was it for me to nurture.
No, it was not my duty
For after all my efforts
It turned gloomy,
And i became moony
Like a wolf.
And i sought to fertilize my flower
Trying to keep it float,
Trying to make it love.
When my efforts weren't enough
I went berserk like a lion to its prey
But i failed to my dismay.
All i wanted was to watch her grow
And if that's what my flower does
I will be happy indeed,
A poor humble farmer on life's teeth.
I will be happy that my flower, I did not ignore,
I will never ignore;
Happy to say that my flower is in good hands
That she has plenty of land
And that that land
Is meant for she,
That such land is better for flowers
Than for keeping close at Home
Where true love takes heed,
A farmer's Home,
Where true love lies indeed.
Leaving a touch of white
Within its darkest pores
Petals floating on down
To the reflective waters
That latch onto
Its very essence
Deep into the center of grey
Which the flower envelopes
And is created into
A color world
It’s nice to see some grey
To fill the void
That exists when color
Is absent and obliterated
The noble being
Of this flower
Blooming through the darkness
Becoming grey from the light
That arrives in truth
Even the water below
Is dark, everything is black
But the slight white
That makes the grey
The flower overcame
Mother Nature’s Verse
Minute after minute
Hour after hour
The poet sits
Watching the blank paper before them
They wonder what their reality means
Is it sad and depressing?
Could there be a ray of light in the darkness?
Where are the angels and demons who fill their thoughts?
Are they needed or even wanted on such a day?
The window gives hope and images that become poems
Mother Nature’s unwritten verses
There for a single poet to see
Does the flower on the hill have feelings?
What could it be thinking as it sways in the breeze?
No one knows and no one cares
The poet will watch
They will think and dream
They will see what others can’t
And that flower will be the one ray of light
The one to open the poet’s mind
And the poem will be written
Mother Nature’s verse will be sung
All because of a window and a flower
Make The Silent Poetry on Floor - Rangoli*
A gift for all Poetry friends
The Poem is dedicated to Deborah Guzzi for the
inspiration from her blog Onam India &
Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S
Making Rangoli is a thing of joy,
It would fill your heart with lovely pleasure,
When you would watch the silent Poetry,
Smiling in your house on the floor,
And telling a lovely story, of your creative art,
You would feel as if, you have found a treasure,
A treasure of wealth and a way to pleasure.
It is so simple a thing and so lovely in nature,
Even a child can get this priceless pleasure,
Just think a shape or design which you can draw,
It would bring for you
The wealth of happiness of immense nature.
No hard and fast rules, to explore this pleasure,
Just clean your place, when you are at leisure,
Specially the place, where you want to keep this treasure,
Make it as neat and clean, as a place of prayer.
You have many options to make a Rangoli*,
Of your choice and colors,
Take plenty of flower petals of different shades & colors, or
Just take powder of Arrowroot & make it colored,
Keep more of Purple, Yellow, Red or Green,
Both light & dark as you wish to paint and keep, or
Simply paint it with watercolors, to make,
A gorgeous beauty at your door steps.
Make a simple flower, a lotus bud or a figure
Fill these flower petals, in the sketch you have made, or
Just carefully spray different shade of powders
You have made, as different color shades to use.
You can make a Lotus, You can make a Jesus
Make a Temple, a Church or a bell of Christmas,
If you like it, you can also make Mosque,
Just draw a circle & fill it with colors,
Its joy to make a Rangoli & more when,
Watching it becomes a silent pleasure.
Just make it near the entrance point,
From where the Goddess of wealth
May come seeing these colorful drawings,
Sitting on her favorite seat of Lotus,
She would enter in your house
With her blessings of wealth & pleasure.
Make a Rangoli to attract the Goddess of wealth,
Just keep only your dwelling free from heat and dust,
Decorate it with your own made drawing and colors.
See how the children would love this creative game,
Of Making designs and art, to bring in them
A joy of creating something from nothing.
*Rangoli (is a Hindi word) means Circle filled with different colors
Kanpur India 24th Sept. 2010
*Origin of Rangoli is given in my previous Poem
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
In limbo, we crawl on walls
Stare into a world behind curtains
Puzzled by the ends of -October dreams
A fight to scream, no one remembers
Once December is gone
Dark illuminating stars
Will carve magic notes on trees
January comes to life!
Ones the old resolutions end
Mortal mountains ready To Bloom
Taking from the clouds of yesterday
Surrender to the ascending view
Never to gloom again........
The winds of a thousand words form a new scent
-A new year begins