As the time passes by season to season. I wait and wonder if this flower will ever grow. Planted so
many times what seemed to be the right place , but once again it was not right at all. Struggling to
blossom so it can show its color and beauty to the one that matters most of all. Thirsting for the warmth
of the sun , starving for the attention , not really asking for much at all. So many times it felt so right ,
but things would change so quickly in the middle of the night and all would be lost. Slowly it would wither
till there was no hope of blossoming one day. As the time passes by tears fill my eyes and there is nothing
left to say. I only know that this flower will grow , but not this way. It must be cared for and understood ,
loved and nourished so it will blossom and grow stronger , more beautiful then any flower you've ever known.
Will this flower ever grow? This is something I do not know. Sad as it may seem, it's even sadder to me , That I
am that flower that will never grow , didn't you know ?
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
The Rose innocent white, soft pink, yellows
colors touch your soul vibrant red to amethyst
enhances beauty yet a thorn awaits to break skin
as life does piercing your heart with a thin pin.
My life has shed drops of blood through each petal
as if in return for the love and beauty you feel
hence pain underneath patiently waits the bloodletting ~
The rose symbolizes love yet vulnerable to hold
for when you open your heart it can be left bleeding
The best of surgeons can not beat your heart
It is the inner faith and God himself whom gives strength
whispers in your ear you shall live you will exist
your life meaningful as the water and sun to the rose
For I am your God your existence is not over yet .
You must Live ~You must Bloom
The Emperor and the holy man
Once, a long, long time ago
There lived an Emperor
He had conquered half the world
He couldn’t be worshipped more
And everyone within his realm
They done what he did say
For each knew that to disobey him
Could mean his dying day.
One day this Emperor did decide
To sail to India
He’d heard about those holy men
And the tales in him did stir
A lot of curiosity
He decided he would go
And find one, then bring him back home
He had a need to know.
Romanda was a holy man
He’s deeds were legendary
He never wore no clothes at all
And everyone could see
That he was someone very special
Many had seen his power
And they knew that time with him
Could bring one’s soul to flower
The Emperor sent some men to find
That holy man, did he
He told them bring that Guru back
Deliver him to me
So off they went to do his will
But Romando he refused
He said your man must come to me
Those soldiers were confused!
The Emperor, he was upset
He found that holy man
He offered him jewels and, and money too
And he did not understand
When our hero turned him down again
He drew his sword on him
It didn’t look good for the holy man
That Emperor looked grim!
Romanda told the Emperor
“My friend, chop off my head
If this is what you’re bound to do
But you won’t kill me dead
I left this body years ago
You cannot kill what’s not
Oh, you may kill this shell I’m in
But that’s not worth a lot.
He said ‘why do you conquer
Don’t you know, it’s a disease?
When you have conquered everything
Will you then be at ease
Put your sword away, my friend
Don’t be so childish now
Know you a man who says he’s great
He really has no power”.
The Emperor was beaten by
A naked, unarmed man
The great man? Stood there foolishly
He did not understand
How this man was unafraid
He’d never glanced within
Great Emperors, they only know
The mind and all its din.
12 September 2013@1835hgrs.
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.
21 February 2013
Stars are the other amazing suns,
probably more awesome than our own,
they must have many planets spinning around them...
there are many more unknown worlds invisible to us;
on the clearest night: gaze far and watch them
as they astound us with a stellar manifestation!
Since childhood stars fascinated me with a mystery so intriguing
and wondered who was that great Designer and Being
who had made them to hang in infinite space;
they surely had a specific purpose to accomplish by diminishing
some of the darkness and make the observer feel safe...
oh, starry August nights are quite amazing!
Stars like the Earth will outlast all ages to puzzle and dazzle minds;
how can Science declare that creation is a myth, or even a lie
and deny God's existence with animosity?
Why haven't they seen a stellar manifestation through a believer's eyes?
I exult His exuberant designs of creativity
and delight in everything from a tiny flower to an immense star-lit sky!
The truth is always there.
I’ve heard a lot of stories
I’ve read a lot of stuff
I have never believed a thing
It’s never been enough
Yet somewhere deep within me
I hear the breath of truth
It’s written there for each to learn
No need for any proof
We must see beneath the words
Let the silence come on in
Words don’t always mean the same
They’re here to pierce the din
When a master tells his story
His truth is like the breeze
It will flow into the soul
And fill the mind with ease
Then as life’s, days diminish
The mind will grow so wise
Mystery will take the hand
The Phoenix, she will rise
And it won’t matter where it’s from
This truth is meant to be!
It’s shrouded in your deepest soul
A game of mystery.
10 April 2014 @ 1350hrs.
Effulgent sun proffers love
Above the undergrowth…of
Thorns and weeds
The moon unravels wonders
Hussshhhh of the sea breeze
Bolobok Cave nears it
Rain drops falling on my face
Trim down my long pony-tailed hair
Small crabs crawling over the brownish sand surface
Small stones scattered over
Small caves with limestone
And having freshwater downstairs
Said there were ladders to climb and unclimb
To see the down caves
Now in a mysterious looks waiting for renovations
Where are these caretakers of nature?
The beauty of eye lenses looking at it
Please come and rescue this whispering ambiance of serenity
For generations to enjoy
If this is an early human settlement
Come take your responsibility
Oh the caretakers please come
3 January 2013
Early Human Settlement
Bolobok Cave (Sungab Bulubuk)
Bongao, Tawi-Tawi Island
written 21st June 2013
A 'single'.. rose grows with purity, into a field, en-fenced
from that 'moment' it buds, watch...as its passion, and grace.. intertwine
It begins to bloom, with such confidence
showing off.. its elegance, with 'complete' dominance
For you are left... 'totally' unaware of an, 'entire' field of daisies, swaying.... such poetry
such passion, and grace.. still exists in the heart, of humanity
The worlds future... 'completely' relies on 'peace' to become heard
but how far has...man let it go, our hearts hold hope, for the same entity
Peace, love and harmony
for those "who" choose to believe
Jesus freed, the curse we received by 'Adam' and 'Eve'
they have found, love and peace
Taking it upon themselves, they help... the next man, to be 'free'
within God's own time, we 'will' see, heaven on earth
For it is 'still' a gift... we all receive, at the hour of our birth
Sew my eyes shut
So my tears will dry
Cob webs and scars down our arms
Gouge out my eyes
So I can’t see you with him
My winter sky has grown horns
My life gives way
To all these problems building up
A black cloud overhead, and afoot a bed of thornes
Three words she will never say
In these scars we have earned
The greatest lie: “it is all okay”
Death machines – a husk that’s hollow
In my letters burned
Paper-cut veins sewn up
Bleed my sorrow
Colors my love as a serpent
An empty promise of tomorrow
Poisons my ears
I rip them off
And cement the holes they leave
A voice I will no longer hear
Love is no choice in the end.
Deaf to all those voices & bladed words
All those doubts and fears
This story has had enough
To the tragic – the chanceless begins
This sky is about to birth dusk
The letters we never send.
A dawn that finally never comes
A dawn were we will be together.
I will shut up
Sew up my mouth
Blind, deaf, and now dumb.
I am reversed
two of cups.
Am I now done?
Written Dec. 29th 2014
By Joel Thornton
Passed by on the street with a glance or a stare.
Forgot in a moment; Why would I care?
Roaming the night feeling your soul bleed.
Always alone with your shame and your need.
Shying away from the suns warm glow.
A wounded child unable to know.
The glorious flower hiding inside.
Yearning to burst with color and pride.
Who tends the garden sowing the seed?
Feeding and trimming and tending all need.
With his love and his word the flower will bloom.
Glorious color bursting forth from the gloom.
Unto the sky the flower will raise.
Full of joy, full of laughter, full of praise.
Copy write 2011
Russell H Smith
I do not know?
You and I.
Your heart blazed,
with a warmth of spirit,
soaked in truth.
Your smile burned,
branding me permanently,
enveloping my being.
Your love was complete,
from the depths of your soul,
bathed in silent knowing.
Your dreams were poetic,
fluttering in the afternoon breeze,
infused with the distilled essence of rhyme.
I squandered your generosity of spirit.
I vainly discarded your priceless poems.
Now I stand,
rotting inside, day by day.
He has sunflowers at night;
he wants to see the light
in thick darkness
(This haiku poem was published in Issue #25 this April in Three Line Poetry, Prolific Press)
There he stood in the
garden,a gentle fellow
with glowing gown;
His countenance was
that of an Angel,
The Padre of old St
As I approached him,he
gave me a warm.
Then he told me why he
came to the mission,the
mission in old St Anthony.
We knelt down to pray,I
thanked the Lord for a
man such as this.
Then the chapel bells
the rang,I heard a
voice"child it is time."
I looked,lo saw I a fiery
figure beckoning him to
He stood up and looked
at me with tender love in
Then I knew this man
was an Angel,the Padre
of old St Anthony.
With joyous heart,I left
the vicinity of old St
Sat in a friends garden surrounded by plants, birds and bees.
Sat admiring each leaf and petal, all delicately made by the creator.
Looking at each bumblebee with it,s colours and watching it work,
moving from flower to flower gathering pollen to be made into honey,
that tastes so yummy.
Clematis, lavender and fig, so many plants all around me in one place to see,
so many species to memorise not so easy. The garden a place of beauty, peace
and harmony, a place of relaxation, rest and inspiration. A place to be close to
nature and in the presence of my lord sat at his feet.
A sunny day a comfy chair and a cool drink to hand. Just sat in the garden,
talking, praying and singing, me and the lord undisturbed, unbroken, undiluted
pure sweet fellowship. The way it should be. thank you God for the garden
The waters clear as I stand by the river
I see the reflection of someone long ago
As the storms come in I know I can't let you go.
Rain pours at times in this life you've given
But the shadows fade when my prayers have risen
Your love for me I've never new until now
When I see the waters clear, my reflection seems so near.
As time goes on I know you are near
Just seeing the way you help me stand
Just seeing the way you remove the fear
It helps my weakness seem so clear
That without you I am small
But as I take your hand, the walls get knocked down
The waters clear, the reflection I see now,
is you in me, this my Lord helps to make me free.
Written by://©Betty Bolden
I do not know?
hello! hey! boungiorno! what is the date?/
this world of dimensions created duality/
no letters/ no words/ are enough to express/
someone like you/ in reality/
i filled all your emptines/ MY still quiet bay/
as Jhon opened world in his Yoko/
you searched perfect princes/ looked for "right him"/
now at only one overman looking/
i swear/ i will hold you/ as much as i can/
would become all the axes/ and outer space/
voice is speared by the screaming wind/
falling down/ flakes to your place/
going crazy just seeing your knees/
don't regret anything/ my Benito/
unbelievable/ perfect/ unbearable/
you whisper/ "la comedia e finita"//
I was running through the darkness
through the pain and the sadness
I emptied my worried mind
and I never looked behind
voices whispered in my ear
they were quiet and not that clear
I ran and never stopped
and the tears in my eyes dropped
then I spotted a flower
that stood and sparkled like a tower
it filled me with all the strength and power
and I felt each passing second like a passing hour
this flower gave me hope and faith
and it made me love life and forget hate
I asked myself if what i'm seeing was right
or am I dreaming about the flower that is white
I hope I'm not
because this white flower is all I've got
and if I was
in my heart this white flower will always take a spot
In a moment, a lapse of anguish
Through the sanded markets that
The mind implored.
Dust coughed up
And crystallised silence;
Each moan and cry
Of every wrapped face
Became a whisper,
As blood might echo an unheard drip
Into a lake of cold concern.
I do not know how the street kings felt
For upon re-opening they continued much the same;
Decrepit focus on none but their own.
It would sadden me to think the whip of this
Aged and ground earth
Was nothing more than an inconvenience…
But I do not know how the street kings felt,
For my only sense was the smell of mud from my hands,
As I pushed my eyelids shut.
I was never one of the stalls;
I had played that game and not liked it.
Instead what was I?
Scarce confess more than a ghost.
I had dropped an eye into the weeping tomb,
I had retraced each bone with affection
And made self-labour of their wandering loss.
I had carved a hole so deep within
That I may plunge.
Rise as I did, in the scope of the curious
I had no form known to this winding world.
I had a difference, for sure, there was much that I could not now.
Only sleep and give; remaining as dead as I ever was.
I lay naked upon the grazing sand,
Skin as cold as the failing tree.
But in this moment
The mournful fled,
My arms less heavy than known.
The wind spluttered,
Shook its anchor from retreat,
Revealing sights of the like
That opens the lungs.
An image serene, that beauty becomes existence.
I had dropped an eye into the weeping tomb
Now, returned with a thousand unseen truths.
This scope, upon which all light was born,
This blessing, upon which my skin was warmed,
This infinitely gentle and delicate sky
That I had long looked for.
Myself had withered and decayed
To reignite a brighter flame.
And as this new form,
My mind was able to understand these sights.
I lay still upon my back,
My eyes awake with the possibility,
My mouth gaped;
Hope wrapped its arms, like a quilt;
I was soothed enough.
And as in a touch, I breathed.
THE POWER OF A FLOWER
Time for tea, early afternoon,
Pretty flowers on the cup.
Does it taste any better,
Will it life us up?
Perhaps if the cup were plain,
It would taste just as good.
Flowers add beauty,
As we know it should.
Roses for the lady,
Makes any day so grand.
Gorgeous in a vase,
Special in her hand.
The wedding hall so fine,
Flowers every where.
Festive love and beauty,
They show that people care.
The garden home so new,
This life we now do share.
Spreading love and happiness,
Flowers add a special flair.
A new-born cries,
A mother smiles.
Flowers brighten the room,
For a special child.
The years just seem to fly,
Children here and gone.
Celebrations blessed with color,
Flowers made it a home.
Now the bugle blows Taps,
Another patriot gone.
Flowers cover his grave,
Lord, please welcome him home.
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
He Forgave Me and Gave Me
Presented In A Posy
Tied With A Bow and Knots
He Forgave Me and Gave Me
Picked Fresh With Daisies
… That’s What I Got …
He Forgave Me and Gave Me
Plucked Fast From Wild Fields
and Planted In Posh Pots
He Forgave Me and Gave Me
Posed Pretty In A Vase
To Withstand Wilts or Flops
Arranged By Pure Patience To Care
By A Professional Property Shop
With Prayer-Cards & Poultice-Packets
So Finger-Pointing & Pain-Poking Stops
Petite Flowers Under Peace’s Pillow
and Some Beside A Puffed-Cushion Cot
and Some On Pages of Perfumed Memory
or Scattered On Silver Platters Like Props
Some Petals Were Pictured In Pewter Frames
and Some Line A Pink Velvet Box
and Some Are In Porcelain Bowls
or Are Attached To A Pendulum Clock
… Or Pinned To My Ponytail-Hair
with A Pearl-Toothed Comb On Top
And Some Are Placed In A Promise Note
where Mercy & Hope, Ink–Blots
Thank GOD, There’s No Patch
of Leaves That Chop
Just Slender Stems & Roots
and Seeds That Drop …
… to Form Silken Piles
Soft As Rain Plops
Yet Has The Power–Proof
of Ground-Truth In Plots
And I Was Pruned
and Paired Among This Crop
To Remind Me Gently…
Of What I Nearly Forgot
That Love Is Not Only
The Turning Pass-Key That Pops
Love … Is The Prime Slot
and The Platinum Lock
… Oh, He Forgave Me and Gave Me
The Fairest Forget-Me-Nots
Oooo, Land Sakes Alive!
He Loves Me – He Loves Me Alot!
And I Love Him – I Love Him!
Like Medicine Loves Pills & Shots
Yes, I Love Him – I Love Him!
Like Pyrotechnics Loves Hot
and Because …
He Forgave Me and Gave Me
Precious Forget-Me-Nots …
Written & ©: 6/14/2013
By: The MoonBee
with one little drop living water washes death's sway no weed but a rose -Anastatica
I saw a four leaf clover in a field of green.
I picked it up and looked for it's miracle
on each one of it's leaves and this is what
Four perfectly split leaves with each it's
To bring wealth and knowledge, to any
One leaf for the courage to reach and pick it up.
Two leaves for a deep faith, a gift from God above.
Three leaves for trust, that it will bring all you dream of.
The fourth leaf is the beauty of knowledge that we receive;
When we see the miracle of the clover is the wealthy lesson,
to always believe.
My spirit is like a hungry flower in the rain
Written By Dean Masciarelli
December 14, 2009
My spirit is like a hungry flower in the rain
That wants to continue to grow and climb
As it soaks up everything until its time is done
And when the sun
No longer shines again
My petals will fall one by one to the ground
And then all of my seeds will be spread around
To all the ones who I happened to leave behind
So that they may continue to grow and blossom
I saw a flower standing in a garden,
With petals that time had hardened.
Yet its beauty endured,
And my lonesome heart by it was allured
She stood firmly defying time and wounds,
Her beauty sang to me the loveliest tunes.
As I approached it I could see her fear,
For my intentions to her were unclear.
With the softest touch I took it,
With care and love I watered it.
With time her petals and wounds healed,
And with a kiss our love was sealed.
June 27, 2011
See the wonders of the world
As they pass to us unfurled
Such an amazing light
Sun shining so bright
Flying on the wing
Hear the birds sing
The grass so green
Such a sight has you ever seen
The lilies in bloom
Orange hue in their flume
I see stars in my head
Of the roses so deeply red
The crate myrtles so pink
They cause me to blink
Birds sitting in the trees
Catching the cool summer breeze
Dogs continually play
Let them stay and have their way
The fluffy clouds so high
Up, up high in the sky
The trees they sway
In the wind they play
The magnolia blooms
The beautiful pearly white flumes
The scent so pungent
So sweet to the smell
The bees they separate
Jump from flower to flower to pollinate
God’s wonderful earth
Created for our birth
We shall begin again
From now until the end
I shut off years and seasons scrolls their lineage
Bare autumn and
The Vintage Spring
Grass grows emeralds and sun pours Gold
Whole the color-fan Peacock can hold
The blue blue sky mesmerizing the Pond
Mercury waves weaving perfect bond
The color spreads in rainbow…
A straight forward ray is scattered I know.
The buds opening petals to grow and glow.
Who plays Piano in a perfect tune?
My Heart Jumps and slides through vales and dunes
Bliss flows thorough, eyes become moist
Every drop of tear is re-birth of Christ.
Warmth is in the air,
My winter blues are lifted without a care,
The birds are chirping,
Telling each other stories with flare,
Spring is coming!
The World is like a flower blossoming anew,
Sing, Jump, Laugh, feel Renewed
Celebrate the rebirth of spring
And the wonders it brings.
God is alive, painting with vivid hues
Sky so white, daffodils so yellow, crocuses, violet and blue
Smell and feel the earth, dark, rich and new.
The smells wafting o’er us with blossoms, barbecues
and flower scents coming through
Kids are jumping for joy,
Skipping along for they finally can play with all their toys,
Ride their bikes,
Climb the trees to its’great heights
People flinging off winter wear
Transformation, bounce in the step
and a perpetual smile is everywhere.
TICKET TICKET TICKET
TICKET TICKET TICKET
TICKET TICKET TICKET
Every line not just the bus the cafeteria at least in the lesser smaller rules would
have a line and must produce the TICKET to get the product eye can sense it
does not matter now ewe eye has glazed and interest has wandered back to the
television or the window even oh please ewe pay attention. A stub of counterfit
will not benifit the lame or halt or worried for there gender there they must have
the goods in hand the concrete tender the dough rey mee the stuff that makes
mens greed the money. After carefull consideration of the facts it takes the
monkey on his back to make the money that he needs to carry greed to pinnacle
mountains on his overactive garden of imagination he is ON the MARK he is
Standing Toe to Toe with JOE and active in his quest and merciless at rest he
makes his way down the line with TICKET in his hand no matter if its milk or
meat or love or final resting place. Who is that on that cactus patch does it rally
matter MOE his name was JOE they ALL was JOE he could have went on down
the road but stayed to die in cactus OH what was his name it never matters to a
martyer his spirit fled when they killed his body his name is JOE. He had his
ticket in his hand a purple flower clutched so hard he bled. He hollard out her
name he called her Violet and then he came to knoe his GOD again this time in
person he has his TICKET in his hand but what is left is NOT man just another
NUMBER on the list just another burial to be placed he had his TICKET in his
hand a violet flower he is now a man at rest.
Jesus Freak Homeless