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
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.
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
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.
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
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