I will weep when you whither.
Soft, purple petals dried to ash in august sun,
Sweet nectar plucked away before I can smell your honey.
Before I can taste your grace,
Hold you to my face and pour my love into your cup like affirmations
Do I hold you close to my chest as you die?
Or turn away, I dither,
Are you worth it? A life so lost, a life just begin.
My sweet alyssum,
You grow through the cracks of a rocky shore.
His sweet relief,
Soft leaves coat sharp edges of what was once a chore,
My sweet alyssum,
The smell of ocean’s on the air.
His sweet relief,
Will he let you go, or will he tend and care?
Gentle hands scrape at earth
They spread soil, catch light
Yet despite their care each year you die.
My hands are not gentle,
They break roots, sever stems.
Would I only hurt more if I dared to try?
My sweet alyssum
So new in a garden, perennial and right.
Could you bloom again
If we somehow learned how to catch light?
The winter snow and freeze killed everything
I planted in the spring,
Rhododendrons, roses, Hawaii hibiscus
And the bougainvillea orange king.
Parsley, sage and thyme are gone,
Peony and pansies too,
The daisies died and I still sigh
For the loss of primrose blue.
No more azaleas or alyssum,
Passionflower or peppermint,
The coleus did not last nor sassafras,
And goodbye to rosemary’s scent.
And all the leaves on the lemon tree
Look more like a weeping willow,
Sagging sadly as if begging madly
To finally let her go.
But Spring is looming ‘round the bend
And new seeds await good earth,
To come alive in sun-filled skies
And signify life’s worth.
As all things come, and all must go
In a whisp of place and time,
Like flowers and plants in a cosmic dance,
The seasons of life are Sublime.
© Terrell Martin, 01/27/2025
Rosey, had a rose of course
And Dan had Dandelions.
Sonny sought out Sunflowers
And Pete perfumed Petunias.
Maisey dreams of Daisys,
Cyrus clings to Iris.
Pops loves Poppys everywhere and
Viola vies for Violets.
Amy loves the Amaryllis
While Dolly dallies Dahlias.
Don’t miss Miss Chrysanthemum or
Aly’s awsome Alyssum.
James with Jasmine ran and
Percy picks the Jersey Lily.
Casey cares for Camelia and
Phyllis leaps through Lilies.
Angie’s all “Angelica” while
Bob boasts of Blossums.
Fiona’s Flora flies and
Abe craves more Azalea.
Beatrice bathes in Begonias and
Cassie crafts with Calia.
Goodness, 300 flowers or more!?
Oh distain, I’m out of names!
No more room for blooms
I’ll stop meddling, and “petal” on.
The Solar Spring is breathtaking sending out itself everywhere
a sense of renewal is arising, growing, budding, and blooming.
The groundbreaking is taxing the granules of rich earthen sod
as new life seeks out the world above and the waiting wonder.
Aurorean presence breaks dawn light relishing the early share
as morning spreads the atmosphere rummaging goes on below.
Snowdrops pierce a melting frost and Sweet Alyssum edges on
the blossoms of mostly white and hints of green drooping down
Further onwards the tiny flowerets of Alyssum's scent air swell
and in the rears just above ground in striking colors are pansies.
The grand boulevard of a bustling town a ways from the hey-day
as an array of color-filled flowers like Daffodils being light in color.
There are bold blue-colored Bluebonnet stems standing in rows
and immediate to them are purple Sunflowers, --they're purplish.
Scattered about is a display of different hues of tall Spider Lillies
on the whole, I'm impressed with our tiny town's achievements.
I can say that with a measure of certainty that memories serve of
Bath, Maine circa 1970 + a dog after a chicken + a town after a dog.
stand so lethargic
alyssum and ash aster ---
as though half dead could not live
they raise up their heads
as though in resurrection ---
embellishing Jesus white
10 January 2023
Raven orchids drape the night,
fraying in the high petals
of swooning fronds.
I sit beneath a daffodil porch light,
a blood moon blushing tangerine
in a field of white alyssum
as I smell the nascent lilt
of a voodoo rose.
The giggling breeze
that flirted with my lashes
suddenly becomes a gust,
stinging my eyes.
Voodoo thorns rip my shirt
in a netherworld of absent flesh
as silhouettes of unbridled marigolds
woo their willing beds.
In my daffodil haze
I lift black narcissus
in an absent glass
to toast forbidden love,
the feral moon and I
beneath the breathless echo
of wild star light.
Posted 11/25/22
The meadow has come alive in vibrant hues
Lavender is blooming, accented with yarrow
And small ground flowers are showing blues
The meadow has come alive in vibrant hues
Columbine and alyssum are taking their cues
From insistent chirping of a chipping sparrow
The meadow has come alive in vibrant hues
Lavender is blooming, accented with yarrow.
written March 6, 2022
My aorta beats in golden poppies,
pulsing down slopes to pool
in a bruise of purple sage.
Though my eyes gleam
with lemon marigolds
snow caps of porcelain lupine
melt on my lashes,
undulating in a quiet tempest
of periwinkle asters.
Beneath a bluebell sky
the sun colors my cheeks
with the blush of primroses
as monarchs lilt
like birds of paradise
among velvet morning glories
and a shy alyssum breeze
caresses my emerald cloak.
3/26/19
Marathon Qualifiers Contest
Mark Toney
Finally, as afternoon sun splayed
through the picture window
onto wood floor and last pieces of furniture,
I packed that summer on the lake
into a box, mitering indigo corners
between squares of bubble wrap,
ripples appliqued with lilac jacaranda blooms
blown on the water.
Kids would leave for college and grandparents died,
but that year bees hovered in marigolds and violet alyssum.
The moon's marshmallow singed umber, impaled on a hanger
over golden flames. Dawn's opalescence would flicker
in pale aquamarine, receding shadows uncovering
beads of cerulean icing and pink lemonade shimmering
on shamrock and juniper.
Tiers of skinned knees and runny noses now framed
by cardboard and plastic were stacked like red velvet cake
atop a knotty pine picnic table as terns called in the distance,
then sealed with oak and concrete of our final day as we cannon-balled
off dock's end like it was the last thing we'd ever do.
It's another frigid morning
that February brings in howling;
I shiver more than the stripped branches
when a fierce wind makes me think of avalanches
sliding down mountains and ravage villages,
and yet I await spring that promises renewed joys.
Being melancholic is longing
for the water gurgling and bubbling
among the shining rocks restoring life
all around and sparkling with dim sunshine;
will the fair-haired boy send his paper boat
down this foaming river? Will his darling wait
for it and pull it out of the water with a thrill...
making distance shorter for an anxious gill?
There in the cottage with small opaque windows
above the rock garden of Sweet Alyssum and Amaryllis,
the little sweetheart is overcome by profound loneliness;
long is winter when counting days and months,
and cuddling her kitty with cobalt eyes and soft, white fur
Karen sets her glace on the snow flowers that gleam...
if her tears made them grow, then she can dream
and follow that thought although absence seems to demur!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
She floats into a room and voices hush,
the silence at effulgence in her bloom,
as crimson rises to her cheeks in blush
to humble scarlet gardens and their plume.
The gown in velvet bides her every curve,
smooth bight of rivers on to ocean's sway
that in such pastel presence do observe
how her translucence rivals light of day.
Though gentle white alyssum may surround
while saffron bloom the jonquils in their wake,
her coif in glinting chestnut is thus crowned
as alder trees beside an autumn lake.
A memory in oil is all she leaves,
but luster as in life she still achieves.
Statues orate
snow white odes
Lilies loquate
lavender soliloquies
Alyssum applauds
with purple passion
in summer's soft breeze
Aquamarine asps
slither
on a swimming pool
beside bougainvillea
reaching
over ivory urns
to toss
fuchsia coins.
2nd Place
Mid June Premier Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
6/13/17
Through beads of hope I gaze
elegant strong and brave
with greens and diamond blues a mast
off her petals pearlescent dew drops lie
fragrantly guiding a watchful eye
Honeybee yellow stings of fate
absorbing every ray of baby's breath
harmoniously humming
in a wholesome milieu
shifting boundaries cast away drear
Arms cut and bleeding
Sweet alyssum honesty
Heavy hearts trembling
I walk up the promenade franked by the flowers
Seas of Marigolds with Alyssum waves
An ocean of daffodils and a bluebell wood too
Manicured lawns and beautiful trees
A cafe selling ice cream and afternoon teas
I walk through a hidden glade that leads to the zoo
rabbits and Guinea pigs and a parrot or two
Mums pushing prams and dads playing games
The lake as a bridge which is an honour to cross
named after soldiers who fought in a war
and now to the business at hand !
poaching the lake and feeding the swans .
comp enter 14/02/2016 , new to the site if the form wrong someone tell me please.
The park in question is Crewe given to the town by the railway company,in its hey day coach trips would be arranged from other towns that is many years ago , The bridge over the lake is called the Burma star bridge , and no fishing allowed so a game of cat and mouse with the park wardens . cheers
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