The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Koorosh the Great, Friend
All of my heart
Or one Monsoon
No amount, no grandeur
Can express the sorrow
Oh yes, I am sad, I am saddened
I am in sorrow
I am swimming in the darkness
I am missing something
That can not be said in words
Koorosh the great was a prophecy
For only now have we seen
The truth of greatness
Not by Victory, but by kindness
We are blessed to have seen
How simple life can be
Love your life
Bring everyone laughter
Create, envision and dream
Everyone who knows you feels special
Your father taught you well
Kindness that transcended generations
In the end
A humble man
No god could make him bitter
He was as he always was and more
A kind man
Only when you remove a tree from the garden
Do you realize
The tree was the garden
The flowers bloomed for the tree
The people sought shade and comfort
Quietly, I weep
For his family
If all great leaders followed his path
What a beautiful world we would have
Corey, you are missed
Notes: Dedicated to my friend Corey Fazel who just recently passed away before his time. Corey, you will be missed by many many people. It is you with your friendly pertinence that got me to swim, and that alone has changed my life, I will remember the many evenings and dinners we talked about all things under the sun.
MSA is Multiple System Atrophy, a terrible and debilitating disease that attacks the nervous system. It has many of the symptoms of Parkinson, however from onset one has very few years of life left.
Skies so grey
Heart so blue
Flowers of the past come to bloom
Love has kissed the stems
Pain has poisoned the blooms
The flowers are black as death itself
They speak to no one
Living in a veiled garden of darkness
Shrouded in mourning
Lingering for autumns death to devour them
Flowers in waiting
Clouds dance in anticipation
The coliseum of life has another festival
Of the slaughtered flowers
Crushed back to dust
The stars above
Stare down in silence
Knowing their fate is sealed
In a billion years or so
Death shall devour them too
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.
First of all, Eve took a bite.
Then Adam tried the delight.
The serpents plot.
Adam knew it was not right,
before he took that long plight.
The serpents shot.
Bible says God came that night,
they were hidden out of sight.
God called and they answered, "What?
We are naked on this lot."
"Who told you that?"
"When we ate the fruit we got
our eyes opened on the spot."
So there they sat.
Beside a fire so hot
with food cooking in a pot.
"Leave this garden habitat
there is no more welcome mat."
They had to leave.
Punishment would be no pat.
Adam toiled without a spat.
How they did grieve.
In the evenings they would chat
about their past garden flat.
Now they believe!
For David Williams Virelai contest
Bringing novel flowers
To this multicolored Earth,
A really wretched place actually,
If you know the awful truth about it
Taking some flowers with it,
Upon these fortunate plants
Seventeen springs ago,
An ordinary flower blossomed
On this cursed land.
The worst of all curses,
Placed on this pitiful plant
And a fate worse than death
Seasons flew by
And the flower withstood
The immense force of the elements,
Debilitated by great adversity
Brought by the years
Now with spring close by,
If fate shall allow,
Hopefully this spring,
This dying flower will perish.
Its roots turned to ashes
And carried by the winds of freedom
To the promised eternal paradise
A garden greets my eyes
With its breath-taking beauty
And my suffering dies
Pardon my Gardens; they're withered and grey:
Unkempt and wild and quite defiled
Given my odd and reclusive ways:
Eccentric is my fashion style
Look at Life through special glass:
I see it all now magnified
But my gardens grey, my cage, alas!
Damn society- be defied!
You should truly be in pictures,
You were born for it, you see:
Nevermind your fear and stricture;
What a starlet you would be!
Come and visit my grey gardens:
Bring your cameras; we will talk
Mother and I have long been hardened
By the way the others balk!
Jackie O. was in the know,
And embarrassed by our home
We let her in since she was kin
Though we sought to be alone
I am Edith Bouvier Beale,
A model once I was
Did cabaret 'til my dying day
When the flies began to buzz
Oh hear thee well the music
It’s the Maggies lullaby
They’re warbling in that Banksia tree
As the day begins to die.
And their haunting goodnight serenade
Says goodbye to the day
As the Sun lies down to sleep the night away.
Just four weeks from our Spring
My heart feels so alive
As I’m sitting on my garden seat
It be an hour since five.
And as those maggies hush their song
The fountain carries on
She’ll still be heard when all be hushed and gone.
Six Buddha’s seem to sense the silence
There’s a certain kind of glow
As I melt into the evening time
And swim within the flow.
And the evening says “it’s time to rest
Until the blessed morn
Now each must die, on the morrow be reborn”.
17 July 2004
A fragile mind breaks
Wake upon the rock laden shores
A muffled heart begs to echo
Whispers lost among a velvet chamber
Dusk comes premature time and again
Dropping the curtain on an optimistic sunrise
If you never witness dawn
There is no tomorrow
Always the dreamer aches
Never awake to make real what he desires
The restless corpse walks blind
Dead ends seem fitting for one of the kind
Lost in the labyrinth of strangling vines
Love is the motive and the weapon
Taking root in throats dry from weeping
Sprouts of amnesia in place of smiles
A garden called heartbreak holds onlookers captive
The comfort takes hold, sets in the bones weary of searching
A plea for rest lands on deaf ears
The hollow boy tires of himself
The last request he will ever make
Lost and tired
He wishes to be weak no more
Mommy, I know I left you here.
Ring ring went the phone,
Little did we know never again would I answer
Ring ring went the phone.
I was eating breakfast when
Open slammed the door,
That morning how strongly I would have denied
I would end up on the floor.
I tried to scream, Mom, I really did.
But he had me. . .
He used my garden tools to beat me.
He had me.
Those tools used to bring me so much joy,
But his purpose was to aid him.
I had loved greeting visitors with garden so green
It's not the tools' fault though, I don't blame them.
I shielded my face with my hand,
But soon that was broken. . .
The simple trowel was my doom,
All too soon, my face shattered and broken. . .
There was blood everywhere;
Mom I was so scared.
To stop fighting though,
I never dare.
The sleek black laptop I had
Been given for Christmas
Which held all of my
Favorite pictures of us,
With it and my purse,
He ran away,
Not knowing I wouldn't
Be here today.
The white-washed walls
Of the hospital room
Only all too well reminded
Me of Amontillado's tomb.
I left you in the hospital
Though. All alone. . .
They caught him, have comfort,
Even if you're alone.
I'm sorry Mommy,
I didn't want to go. . .
But who ever gets a choice?
I had to go.
How little did we know, that
One day, ring ring,
Never again would I answer
That phone, ring ring.
For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
wipe all your cares away
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....
In the back garden near the trellis wall,
Roses bloom from spring to fall.
Except for one black rose in the sea of red,
Ebony seemed to seed the dread.
Thorns seemed sharper then the rest,
Birds,squirrels and bunnies avoided the mess.
Downing thick gloves with a determination,
I strut with confidence to preform the alteration.
I hummed as I trimmed the spiny vines back,
But in the morning there stood three roses black.
Puzzled, I wasn't quite sure,
If pruning them was the cure.
But, shaking a stubborn head,
Decided again to prune instead.
By next morning though I stared with disbelief,
Black roses covered the wall, "Good Grief"!
and as I pondered this confounded mystery,
I so wanted this dilemma to be history,
As I stared from the back door, a brave little bunny,
Frolicked too near so cute and quite funny.
When suddenly, vines snatch its prize,
As I watched it disappear before my eyes.
I heard one little yelp then it was silence,
Shock so profound to see such violence.
Trying not to make any sudden move,
Dropping the shears, the roses wouldn't approve
Fear however isn't so easy to squelch,
As vines gave a shutter and shared a loud belch.
Chilling thoughts consume my mind,
I once found it hard to forget your kind,
Disturbing feelings dangle from former threads,
When I remember words you casually said,
Now you are just a ghost from long ago,
Yet, familiar spirits haunt me so,
I speak the word and then they flee,
You’re no longer the boss of me,
Nights underneath the moon so bright,
Over powered by his dazzling light,
It’s no wonder you had to quickly leave,
Someday the darkness you will dreadfully grieve,
Swollen by the times we shared,
Inside your box you were quite scared,
Spinning webs like you always did,
I made a vow and spoke my bid,
A pretentious weed stuck in poor soil,
At last my dear I need not toil,
In your garden of false delusions,
Our love was one massive illusion
I have bound you forever by his infinite power
I now know who I am in these final hours
I forgive your sin but surely you will die
Without repentance to the One who is more than just in the sky
My name has been erased from you
For I have grown inside, I have been made new
With a tree of life and a garden of love,
With roses that blossomed and birds which are doves.
Purity, restored in spirit body and mind
Never again will you be able to find.
Me, my heart, my future, my now
In time you will have to bow
To the Creator and give an account for all the souls you tried to steel
But mine was preserved and your motives absurd
without these stories I would have had no glories
without the pain
My testimoney would be in vain.
Goodbye false lover,
Goodbye fake friend,
I always knew you and me would come to a chilling end.
By: Sabina Nicole
This garden grows in rows
The old soil is parched and hard
Stripped of nourishment
Headstones in a graveyard
This garden grows in rows
Sprung from seeds of despair
Grown from consequence
Gate broken beyond repair
This garden grows in rows
Watered by slow gray tears
Tended with old love
A long black coach draws near
This garden grows in rows
The flowers mingle with the weeds
Silence all surrounding
No one visits, cries or pleads
How often I’ve thought , I’ll just stay in bed...
But that’s for sick folks my mother said
So I’ll just linger a little while...
And let my memories make me smile..
My mother was strong and rather petite.....
And my father so strict...and yet so sweet..
They knew how difficult life could be...
And passed that on to my siblings and me....
As they had experience throughout their life..
With all the usual stress and strife..
And the pair of them taught us all so well....
Though the way we act sometimes you couldn’t tell..
The lessons we learn from our parents you see...
Are what makes us special like you and me..
And as we grow and make our own way...
Leaving our homeland so far away....
Years later returning to the place where we were born...
To scatter their ashes amongst the Rose garden thorn...
Was across the sea we had to go..
The memories were already starting to flow...
As we stood outside of the garden gate....
We heard Mother’s voice, so articulate...
“ tea’s ready “....and Dad said I hope it’s Earl Grey...
It was then we realized this was the day..
As they were gone and you can never go back..
So we must face the fact....
Our mind plays the movies in our head...
So with that in mind .. guess I’d better get out of bed.....
earl grey tea
I do not know?
My mind was filled with hope
While laying in a garden of
Take my skin and flesh to boil
I feel the end come as I turn.
Ash and nothing more is what
Are there tears in your eyes or
are there none.
Endure and take when I am a
Know that I'll haunt you
because I loved you the most.
It overwhelms us
Passion is impulsive and possessing
Passion is reckless, yet it's benevolent at the same time
When passion ripens like sweet fruit it's love; but, when it's like bitter poison it's hate
Between love and hate
There appears to be a big difference
But, there's no difference they're the same in every single way
The method in the way that they're used is what makes the feign contrast seem to exist
Passion is a thriving garden
That is flourishing with life and beauty that is ambient
Passion is a cemetery
Filled with agony and covered in dried roses and briars
It will consume us
Will it make us vulnerable or weak?
How will we use our medium passion; will it be belligerent or peaceful?
Love and hate is a part of something we don't understand, will it kill or save us?
In the winter, when midnight's at five,
a broken clock ticks inside my head.
Cold bones ache, so I know I'm alive,
but my life-hung'ring soul is half dead.
Outside is bitten by frost and death.
The tired garden hides former needs.
Dormant plants lack color, vibe, and breath.
Resting hands enjoy a break from weeds.
Caged inside, I hide from endless night,
scrapbooking pictures of life now past,
sunning under unnatural light,
casting aside the stormy forecast.
Today I walked but not alone, through a garden of many songs.
For a gentle breeze took my hand and invited me to follow.
Transparent gold veils streamed through the forest canopy,
enticing shadows to form before my naked feet.
Upon each side of my path stood miniture armies of violets and marigolds,
as I would pass they would brush my skin and kiss my feet."Thank you", I said without a
Dragonflies that laughed like rain led me to a valley frosted in petals.
I closed my eyes to inhale the apple blossom scent of childhood calling.
An azure tear fell from my eye.
Crystal liquid made of innocents became a seed for a wild-rose that awakes from the earth.
I knelt down beside the flower,held her face to my own.
Gentle I let her crimson petals caress my face, and left her with a kiss.
I lay myself down under the boughs of a willow tree.
He sways to the whisper of the great oaks songs.
I watch butterflies dance in a recital performed in my honor.
I closed my eyes.My body and mind lie still as I drew my last breath.
My spirit awakes,atlas..I can breathe.
Today I walked but not alone,through a garden of many songs
In mannequin gardens when thrills
the old pipe of musical deterioration,
there is a leaning to the wall.
The captain of those still folk is surely
lacking nothing of physique;
He is glossy underneath the light and
shines at night only for the chosen.
There is a queen among the crowd
of castaways, a queen without an
artist or a saint.
The captain and the queen were comrades
once when Russia went to war and lost.
Now the sovereign is a prowling cat
that scratches false and plastic skin
and causes quiet screams in the dark.
This garden requires no care at all;
it flourishes all the same.
Were they smaller and infused with twine
puppets would they be and dancing happily.
The master of the garden enters often
to inspect and finds his quaint menagerie
quite full of self respect.
I've Kept a Quiet Vigil
On My Heart and Soul
They Are Mine Alone to Keep
I'll Not Allow One Thing to Grow
I Used to Have a Garden
That Seemed All over Grown
With Love and Happiness
and Compassion I Had Sown
It Flourished Quite Abundantly
Inside My Heart and Soul
But it Had No Clear Direction
And Couldn't Find a Place to Go
I Fed it Too Much Heartache
And it Slowly Choked and Died
All That's Left Is Dying Weeds
Watered by the Tears I've Cried
I Don't Ask for Pity
What I've Said Is Only Fact
Heartache Killed My Pretty Garden
I Can't Pay the Price to Get it Back
Jan. 23, 1993
The Garden of Sorrow
Each day as I walk in your garden
Where beautiful flowers grew
The grass wet and glistening
From the early morning dew
I remember how the robins sang
A harbinger of spring
As we walked hand in hand
Listening to them sing
The garden was your pride and joy
In which you poured your heart
You produced such beauty
Each bloom a work of art
Your beautiful roses are gone now
The trees are stark and bare
I sense the Garden is weeping
For you are no longer there
It is winter now…the sky is grey
I shiver in the snow
My tears mingle with the flakes
As they blanket your grave below
Forlorn, I kneel and say a prayer
As I silently send my love
Rest in peace my darling
In God’s garden in Heaven above
Copyright© 2004 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
I do not know?
Beneath the Brambles on rock walls end
there lays a stately old garden gate
Lost to the world of traveler's friend
no longer there to accomadate those late
There lays a stately old garden gate
rusted and unhinged where it did fall
No longer shiny nor standing sedate
but laying against a bottom of the wall
lost to the world of traveler's friend
useless once and for all, disintigrate
None to repair its rusted lost trend
and by others to lay there postulate
No longer there to accomodate those late
still hidden where it dropped and fell
Dead to the world of the poets fate
lonely, forlorn, left in morpheus's spell
Tentative rose thorns graze my skin as I push through the plant-walled garden
They neither break skin nor draw those secret white lines across it
Lillies of the valley wonder where their valley has gone when they realise they are on
Their delicate white petals stare at the clouds which gather like ants to an amberule of honey
I can feel the rain on the air, it clothes me in a heavy gown of foreboding and expectation
The birds who once called across the garden to their avian lovers silently flutter home
In the tall birches and oaks and evergreens, in the bright aboreal verendace, their world
I walk through a stream which has trickled and will trickle for ages,
patiently it cuts away the tarnished granite bed, deeper and deeper,
Tiny frogs leap away in instinctive terror, my feet suddenly transformed into evil monsters,
and as I step out of the stream bed, I wonder where all the butterflies have gone when I
see a moth
With spanning black wings as dark as night, edged with gold as bright as the sun,
its antennae are feathery and magnificently plume the insect's noble head, a crown above
Its six legs are carried tightly under its richly-furred black body, little dagger-glows
I reach out a hand as tentative as the rose thorns, and the moth plays with me,
taunting me with its nocturnal majesty, with its iridescent wings, with its reflective eyes,
To my eternal satisfaction the lordly moth alights upon my fingers,
and I wince as its claws grip my tightly, it folds in its wings, its royal robes of office,
The golden filligree glitters and the soft pixie dust all moths carry falls unnoticed onto
Body quivering, I see the unmistakable mark across its elegant wing-shape;
death's head, a human skull, remnant of a past life,
laughing at me in my folly,
the lordly insect takes flight, leaving my with the sliently roses, the apathetic lillies,
the meandering stream, to contemplate the incomprehensible
and I breathe in the dust of the moth,
forgetting butterflies had ever existed, for the death's head
rules the secret garden day and night
and now I understand these things,
which only the whispered languages of the garden could say.
One normal winter afternoon, Yehoshua went with the other kids to play,
They played in the garden's playground like they do everyday,
Nothing odd seemed to get in their way,
Until they heard a deafening shriek of dismay,
The shriek was coming from a house buried under tall beautiful trees,
Yehoshua and his friends ran to the house swiftly and with ease,
When they got there they looked through the window and got on their knees,
To be able to watch without getting caught and for as long as they please,
Behind the glass was a dead man placed on a table of wood,
That scene frightened Yehoshua, he couldn't believe what he was starting to see,
Yehoshua got life's cycle all misunderstood,
He decided to never grow up, he wanted to be a child eternally,
So he pushed his friends away, with his eyes full of tears,
And ran back to the playground while his heart was pounding with fear,
Life to him was too dear,
Than to end after a few years,
He ran and played everywhere,
And moved the swings so fast and without a care,
He even scraped his knee and was unaware,
He picked the pieces of his shattered childhood that were spread here and there,
Years later Yehoshua became a man,
With a lot of work and responsibilities in his hands,
And everyday he promised himself that he'd go back to see,
His garden of Eden, where he was once happy,
But poor Yehoshua never seemed to be,
Able to get to his serenity,
And when he retired he finally got the chance,
To give his garden of Eden one last glance,
And as he slowly moved the swings,
He enjoyed life, and its simplest things,
Moments felt like hours while he played alone,
Until Yehoshua heard that same shriek that has once blown,
At him pain so deep it cut him to the bone,
He didn't know what to do, for his spirit was so forlorn,
Suddenly came a chilly breeze,
That quaked the ground, demolished the trees,
And roared the tides of all the 7 seas,
Yehoshua cried and begged on his knees,
In a second, Yehoshua found himself placed on table of wood made of fine trees,
He could feel and he could see, yet every time he tried, he failed to speak,
And as he looked to his right he could see,
Little kids that started to squeeze,
Their shocked faces to the glass, for they found that childhood isn't until eternity,
And that Yehoshua was dead, and dead was he…
Judgment and Grace
” 21 The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. 22 And the LORD God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” 23 So the LORD God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.” Gen 3:21-23 NIV
The Garden of Eden was a prime example
Of God’s judgment and grace.
God clothed Adam and Eve and cared for them,
But no longer dwelt with them face to face.
Sin finds its destruction
In the presence of our Creator.
To preserve them by His grace
This sentence of death presented later.
Although Adam and Eve fell;
God gave them grace and hope;
Judgment stands in the background
Of this grace and hope kaleidoscope.
From the beginning of fallen human history
Sin, judgment and God’s grace emerges.
Some say there is no judgment,
But let’s recall ‘the flood’s’ scourges.
We may no longer be under the law,
But it’s still there to show what’s right.
Grace is freely given by heaven
When sin’s repentance finds its sight.
Without God’s judgment, forever evil would reign
We’d have no hope of a better world;
Sin, sorrow and death to remain.
Judgment and grace cannot be parted;
They unite in one accord.
Judgment in the heavenly sanctuary
Is presently accumulating records.
When Christ returns the second time,
Judgment will have ceased.
That’s why He brings His rewards
To the righteous living and deceased.
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2012
They're fairies in the yard tonight,
I saw their silver twinkling lights,
they're spreading magic fairy dust,
to heal the wounds that broke our trust.
The garden gnomes have come to life,
to mend our souls so wracked with strife,
their curly shoes are capped with bells,
they sing a song of mending spells.
The magic of this place is strong,
I wonder why things went so wrong,
I need to cry or I will pop,
but fear the tears will never stop.
The calmness of the lake belies
the sorrow deep behind our eyes,
I pray but wonder if God sees
man's inhuman evil deeds.
They're fairies in the yard tonight,
I wish they could make all things right,
the garden gnomes let their spells fly,
and I am left to wonder why.
All the peace and beauty's gone,
and life is just a mourning song,
So now I just avert my eyes,
and evil comes as no surprise.
As i wonder through the garden of Eden through the forbidden cherry
blossom forest. Blood begins to drip from their pedals. blood that resembles the
tears of so many people who have committed suicide because they were alone
because they had no to care for
When they tried to seek refuge in the home all they saw was more pain
as their loved one hit them or whipped them for no reason sometimes when
teens are themselves all they endure is true
Every droplet of blood that drips from the cherry blossom tree represents
a teen who been abuse or who is going through a tough time. because when the
reach the forbidden garden they will find someone who will care for them in the
forbidden forest of darkness.