Best Floret Poems
Satin streaks of sun filter her golden ray
and with a glimpse of beauty float away
Tiny floret
precious floret
carry off my dreams
to bountiful fields of white
where innocence plays
on a sun shiny day
Breeze
glorious breeze
carry her free
show her angelic heights
amid visions of white
pointing towards
star cover nights
Tiny floret
the daisy has called
share your petals
with the world
let go my guiding hand
surround yourself in splendor
and with the new dawn shine
Like an ebony rose in a province
of ivory and golden flowers,
you poisoned each peaceful petal
with your senseless scent of death.
You were never just another floret.
Was I a fool to sow your seed in
hope your roots would grow strong,
portraying saffron scarlet hues with
an emerald stalk flourishing with
verdant leaves in serene sapphire skies.
When winds blew too boorishly,
I held your supple sepal with bamboo hands,
so your sunshine spirit would not perish
to toxic storms from organic forces.
I was willingly the earth to your foundations,
but your breaths became too bitter,
stinging in selfish stubborn sympathies,
as wild weeds strangled your stalk.
We could have nourished nectar with
hungry insects in need of nurture,
but your grudge left behind
broken bridges with a trail of
crumbling caterpillars seeking wings.
Cuts from your thorns remain,
ingrained as internal inflictions,
but still I plant bulbs to bloom.
To create an oasis of graceful charm,
where blossoms of compassion
softly soothe petals of pardon
in a garden of a wounded soul.
Forgiveness is a heavenly light.
A radiant beacon illuminating
through a canopy of trees,
eradicating shadows of hatred you
left behind like excessive weeds.
A melody of redemption whispers in
harmonious refrains breaking chains
of regret with burdensome pains.
To let go is like maturing buds
releasing the grip of timeless hate,
as my meadows are a symbol of a
divine mantra only welcoming peace.
Music is an undying
art of soul ~
an abstract eden, where,
euphonious unicorns
glide in strawberry sonatas,
amplifying rhapsody in
ballads of flight,
when fuchsia feathers
tease those
jingling breezes,
infusing breaths
in every lifeless aroma;
where I can soar
beyond the
brushstrokes
of symphonies that
planktons sing to me,
in the requiems of
forsaken pearls,
crooning with
silenced shimmers
beneath wavy blues.
Maybe,
I'm a songwriter
without words,
and my electric fingers
trace the tunes
of serene strings,
when guitars weave
a sonorous guilt
midst ruby runes
of regrets.
I wish to keep
swinging in a
cosmic cadence,
where celestial notes
choreograph
themselves in the
moonwalking
mellifluence of
lunar legacies.
I gossip with
neon nightingales,
laced with neutrinos
and compel them
to chant those
healing incantations
of love and glory,
like the forlorn
princess - Rapunzel,
desiring to feel
the glow of
familiar lanterns,
winged with
hazy syncs of
unsung yesteryears.
I wonder if,
I'm not meant
to compose
crystal canticles
in a Disney duet,
for, I believe,
I'm a soul searcher
in the flesh of
a soloist, concocting
an elixir of my
existence through
cinnamon anthems
of mystical
moonrises, as
they softly unfold,
a million
unheard tempos,
within tranquil
memoirs.
I'm the 'maiden of music'
resting as a floret on
every sepal,
yearning to become
a unique acapella
of nature,
where empathy
has an ethereal
dialect of
nurturing spirits
and tinkles
of magical waterfalls
whisper in
gentle lachrymose lulls
of our ambrosial Mother.
When the harmony
of my voice,
kisses those
ivory keys of
the heart-shaped
piano, they
echo a tipsy secret
in my sunset skin,
making me
believe ~
"I'm everywhere
in the essence,
yet nowhere
to be found...",
like the sweet
scents of
hummingbirds,
smiling behind
that first dusky star.
"In each husky hallelujah
of ribboned halts and replays,
life is a song ~
where every lyric,
phrases an ember of end,
and when passionate heartbeats
shall knit sombre medleys,
I will hum in the last 'chef-d'oeuvre'... "
In my poetic garden, where petals breathe with light - I feel evergreen.
Among ruby roses I see butterflies take flight - I feel evergreen.
Roaming under the influence of jasmine and honeysuckle perfume,
Edenic whispers weave tales of passions that excite - I feel evergreen.
In the fragility of flowers I yearn for my gold orchid amore,
who's eyes like stars, guide me in the darkness of midnight - I feel evergreen.
In her sepal support embrace, I find peace resting upon her blossoms,
like a bee in her flowered nectar tasting delight - I feel evergreen.
Her tender satin skin enchants my senses into drunken breathless sighs,
in each kaleidoscopic floret her soul shines bright - I feel evergreen.
Just like the sapphire moon I bow to her delicate dahlia distinction,
my soul shines when her loving caress is like moonlight - I feel evergreen.
I ask the breeze to carry her to the realms of my tranquil oasis,
so I can dance in the glory of her serene sight - to feel evergreen.
I know greedy gardeners are envious of my most beautiful bloom,
but they do not know how to evolve her seeds upright - to feel evergreen.
Before the tests of time become my nemesis like the serpent with Eve,
flourish strong my beloved like the sun at daylight - to feel evergreen.
In the hope of an eternal vineyard where our sacred love never wilts,
I'll protect you like thorns against predators at night - to feel evergreen.
Forever remain within the boundaries where our hearts beat together,
a perennial symphony where twin flames ignite - to feel evergreen.
In a province exploited
by prejudiced seasons,
a minority ebony rose
is taunted by prominent
i v o r y l i l i e s.
Biased blossoms ridiculing
tones of its charcoal petals,
yet blooming in the same
quilt of soil as each other.
Soothing raindrops
never discriminate though,
as scents of petrichor
fuse with floret elegance,
nor does the sun only shine
for the privileged,
as all flora sunbathes in
the passions of its rays,
refreshed by the same
migrating gentle breeze.
Scarlet beetles
munch upon lily leaves,
whilst aphids suck
upon rose sepals.
Creepy crawlies
unconcerned with
a p p e a r a n c e,
massacre and spread
like an epidemic.
Until the arrival of
feathered immigrants,
who feast upon an
assortment of morsels.
In any garden,
birds care not for
whom they sing.
They defecate on all flowers,
aware all will wilt eventually.
Winter frost oppresses
regardless of culture,
so birds flee.
But, when roses crumble,
they re-emerge
fresher and brighter,
as their red thorns remain
protecting their right
to flourish freely under
fresh blue skies..
F O R E V E R
Warm breezes flow on another cloudless night
past her second story lattice balcony window
a silhouette dances in the painted moonlight
and against that dim lit lamppost I lean
dreaming of dancing beside her
but blind visions hold me back
for this crying heart can't consume
anymore leaving in a pain stained life
Courage overcomes loneliness
and a weakened stone tumbles
towards a bountiful sea
star shine leads lovers home
erasing cries inside
but as those tempest touches get close
and as those blind caresses near
a drenching rain washes away the heat
and destiny never meets
What is love if it can't survive the rain
if it can't push past the ever present pain
a rainbow surviving to glow again
even in the perfect storm we can see
a fragile floret floating in the wind
seeking a solitary sanctuary to seed
a precious white floret
smelling the gardenia
sweetens my botanical
they have freedom
pines far from here in green land
the desert cries thrist
flower
dreamy, yellow
growing, showing, blooming
thousands, weedy, golden, blossoms
floret
It was the season of spring
And the time for the bees to sing
Hey, I'm a small flower bud
Grown in a pot of water flood
And tasty nutritious mud.
Eagerly waiting to bloom
And spread my wonderful perfume.
Id always hear my sister leaves saying,
" There is a lady
Who looks like a fairy
Comes here daily
To pick the flowers which are lovely"
I always feared of separation
And wondered about my next location
Soon came the night of my blossom celebration
Where I was crowned as Miss. Floret for the current generation
With the first ray of sun touching my petals,
And the dew drops glistening like shining metals
The fairy lady came towards me,
Plucked me,
Put me in a basket of new friends.
There I met Tulasi- Who had a look of transcendence
Sooner we were put on something which looked like my far cousin- lotus
When I looked up a bit I saw it wasn't a lotus
It was a person with eyes, nose, feet, everything like lotus
But something more beautiful
This beauty made me blush
And I secretly told Tulasi about my crush
She introduced me to Krishna, the one with lotus feet
And recited few stories which were soo sweet
By then I was stolen out of the lotus feet
And replaced in a black pleat
I tried to run
But then I was captured in a black bun
I wanted to hear more about Krishna and relish
But I was caught in a mesh of hair like a fish
With sadness when I was about to wither,
I heard the chanting and stories of Krishna with a river
With the hearing of these beautiful words
I turned brown like wheat
And wished to be born again as a jasmine to meet the lotus feet ...
Her seed turned into a bud the day she was miraculously conceived,
she peeked on a cool February day during the mid-afternoon-
Pink R O S Y cheeks with such brown eyes; it was so hard to believe,
her beauty shined with day beams as her effloresce began to bloom.
days into weeks…
weeks into years…
still with R O S Y cheeks…
as I shed sweet mother tears…
During July she blossomed more than any other time I could think of,
she grew taller but still so itty-bitty in complete comparison to me-
Many thorns grew as she transformed into a young lady I dearly loved,
she found independence as she struggled in the breeze to be free.
days into weeks…
weeks into years…
still with R O S Y cheeks…
as I shed sweet mother tears…
Time had passed as she met a young man who flourished her with desire,
rain had encountered, yet it nourished their relationship and made plans-
Just about the time her father and I decided to take a break and retire,
she walked down the aisle with a dozen pink colored roses in her hands.
She held such beauty as she closed her eyes with the sun fading into twilight,
in the morn’s fresh dew she awoke with such bloom as her thriving peeked-
The floret of her essence remains a sore eye for my lovely wondrous sight,
for she’ll always be my pure embellishment with those pink R O S Y cheeks.
*Dedicated to my beautiful daughter, Ella ROSE.*
My nickname for her is Ella "Rosy Cheeks"
And in words, she blooms - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Date Written: August 23, 2016
You danced in beauty as you peeked from your dainty bud,
your radiance lingered far beyond the day beams end,
full of such strength lasting long after life’s natural flood,
my crimson lily, to your sweet effloresce I shall always tend.
Flourishing and nourishing you bring beauty into my life,
I await all year as you thrive in my garden in early July,
for you were in my hands as I became Nicholas’s wife,
I saw the excitement you held flirting with a white butterfly.
For you are my floret that brings magic to my summer days,
and at night I see you glow under twilight's bright constellations,
in the gentle breeze I stare as your stem graciously sways,
during the cheerful daylight you shine with illumination.
Bulbs into roots, and roots germinating into blossomed elegance,
I lay you softly on her grave because she’ll always live in me,
you have remarkable meaning to my heart with strong relevance,
for I shall always hold adoration for you, my delicate crimson lily.
Each one of us has His or Her own Flower of Attraction - Poetry Contest
Date Written: August 5, 2016
On a pink floret
a bug decends and moves in.
Rich life without strife.
The Godliness of Adoption is...
Or is it not?
…A beautiful spring sprung floret of rose. A rose brought home from humanity's colorful garden of trust? Yet, it was not all that long ago when each cut stem, entrusted to its own gardener's worthy and caring hands?
Hands, now too soon stripped and emptied. Hands that were easily led astray by the coersions of now self-appointed zealots. They, with hands marked with ever stained bloody thorn pricked fingers, which now present each torn stem of rose on heaven-like sent pedestals; until met is a king's ransom; these thirty pieces of silver, being the ask of many an angelic bible-toting broker.
Adoption is...
Or is it not?
...An act next to Godliness when these disguised angels are loosed to search in the mist of this motherland? They, the finders of our pink and blue hued overflow spillage of souls.
This is the nature of guised humanity. Delicately does it assist society in the dredge of waiting collection ponds, pools of tears that gleamingly mirror you and I; and from where our memory should fill with sounds. The siren-like cries of which, now link with our distantly lost... ...or coldly disengage us of our not of want…
Adoption is...
Or is it not?
...The beautiful water lilys of pond? Those that so serenely float above an ever skimming conscience that is this God-fearing couple; a polarized complacency so sweetly lost amidst its own mesmerizing shimmer. They, fooled without inkling of shame. An innocence of eyes that fail to see transparency by such weakly given puruse. A view that cannot pierce the murkily veiled mire that hides just below its own watery reflection...
...And where underneath trails this tangled web that will soon unravel in route to tie with each long waited conscience…
Adoption is it or is it not our "Humanities with Consequence"?
New Jersey Identified Adoption shown as an open door will always yield to truth left on the threshold.
If you were a vase with flowers,
you would be that pretty vase.
But not as pretty as the contained flowers.
I were to say the name it would be a rose.
If you were a musical instrument,
you would definitely be a guitar.
Your codes would sound extravagant.
Branded you are the self-gratifying guitar.
Nothing whose beauty is unnatural
would paint you picture perfect.
If you were an insect you be a weevil,
you would spray us with your floret.
Now, it is said that roses are red,
Honey is sweet,
That is all truth,
what of your picture perfectness?
That’s all you could have been.
What you really are is what matters.
An alive color of grass being green,
a stream with ever flowing waters.
Where the green grass finds its color
we know not.
Where waters get the valor
crossed our minds not.
What we see now is withering grass.
The exhaustion of flowing waters.
And some of the paint falling gross,
you haven’t pretended well picture perfect.
SWAGGER
Collaboration poem of
Space Cadet (Wesley C) and Darren White
He can absorb and hide his gaze,
Pretend to be genuine and flower his date,
Her tattoos hide him from the freaks,
So he can evade any clue he craves
that one gift
she can't gift him.
I sway left to right with the mid-day crowd swagger.
My street avoids collision, strafe
that hurry us to the sides.
Where women with rosé wrists,
and floret tattooed shoulders
that decorate their temples
whisper naked ritual.
Where his glare behind the bling
purple petals parade, and clover stemmed sleeves
ascend to hide his arms
Swift distant glance to me
our eyes lock in
recognition with crazy hunger
for fresh fruit to my yearning lips
Thumb grazes my cheek
wanton wink.
Jump run down a familiar back alley
past the soft glow of lanterns
boyish evening lights
My golden curls
pulled in greedy fists
Our fists of seed
embrace sin with a different name.
only here can he feel no exodus,
dominate my every cell with one gaze.
I succumb without command.
Muffled mushy mouths
chest to back; arms encompass
Murky grasp is past silence
Near violence disguised as lust.
Scandalous swagger turns
to sway me left to right
fingers clutch stonecold wall
my teeth graze roses on his neck.
In pools of golden shimmer
distorted screams ripple
and cry goodbye, escape with
Humiliated speed.
Leaves me entangled hair
astonished breathless
feverish sweat.
***
December 13, 2016