Best Germinates Poems
We start at the end, with the warmth of his breath on her skin
Baulked by proximity, he never knew how to begin
A golden-tainted obsession, bitterly laced with lead
Transformed rapture to quicksilver the instant Cupid fled
A moment held, made static, tender touch met with distress
For seeded in her veins, lies a stem of the wilderness
Pursuit stalled just in time, yet time itself recalibrates
Supplanted upon breaking, a laurel shoot germinates
Oh, what should have been the faintest touch cannot be undone
Rooted in the throes of escape, bound to bask in full sun
Sinews harden to fibre, each pulse springs a bonsai tree
Bark chokes her voice box; silent screams nest in the canopy
Locked in abjection, as her praying hands first plead then splay
As liberty, though not consciousness, is taken away
Overruled in evergreen, contortion as regal crown
Petrified white marble shall become her eternal gown
In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the god Apollo mocks Cupid for wielding a bow, claiming it unworthy of a child. In retaliation, Cupid shoots Apollo with a golden arrow to ignite love, and Daphne a chaste nymph with a leaden one to incite revulsion. Though innocent, Daphne becomes the target of Apollo’s relentless pursuit. Just as he is about to seize her, she prays for escape, and her body is transformed into a laurel tree. Bernini’s stunning sculpture captures the precise moment of this metamorphosis
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours- waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
Each season has its own highlights
Flower life starts at the roadside
Coltsfoot, which humans classify as weed
A lovely sign of spring
Shrubs, trees and flowers come to life
everything germinates and grows
wood anemone, crocus and snowdrops
- a spot in the garden
Plants maintain the balance of life
Choosing a favorite is hard
Summer is a glorious spectacle
- when the blossoms explode
Time for a long hibernation
Preparing for the coming frost
Winter plants ice roses on the window
- creates sense of wonder
The decay and rebirth cycle
means everything is connected
With strength back into every living cell
- It feels as pure magic
Like springtime, I am waiting to emerge
From winter's grip of frozen baronness
I long for sunshine once again to urge
The buds that lie within to their fullness
And He possesses all the strength I need
To bring forth blooms and nurture them to grow
His mercy primes and germinates the seed
Transfusing me with His life giving flow
He's washed me more completely than a flood
Then lifted me to peaks I could not climb
The awesome shedding of His precious blood
Has purchased my redemption for all time
In Him I find essential elements
That does supply my every living breath
For that, I owe Him highest reverence
Each moment of my life, and into death
(This is a re-post)
TOMORROW’S LOVE
Where's true love gone?
Here yesterday, gone today:
Sown love, please be true:
Love sown by a supreme heart
Always germinates its fruit:-
Life germinates in the springtime,
to blossom in summer's warm embrace.
And then autumn weaves its death shroud,
before winter snows entomb it.
To blossom in summer's warm embrace,
long days accelerate life's growth.
And plants prosper under the sun,
till shorter days diminish light.
And then autumn weaves its death shroud,
painted orange, crimson, and gold.
For life can no longer flourish
beyond Jack Frost's first deadly kiss.
Before winter snows entomb it,
life sows the seeds of tomorrow.
And morphs into the memory
of a moment that's come and passed.
(French Retourne)
11/24/2015
It is a tree of five hundred one and twenty different fruits
with nine others totally disenfranchised
in a garden of more than a colour of grapes
a black bunch out of every five same
is its numerical contribution in such defined location
A flowing stream, originating from the Nok aboriginals
has created different hundreds of tributaries
in its inland is a town where fertility is ambidextrous
and the most diversified of the colourful flying beauties
is found within its territory
A family possessing envious wealth but seemingly a myth
b’cos of the Mephistophelian deeds of its guardians
its house, built on land where toothpick germinates to a monstrous tree
and man power capable of producing half a continent of sky scrapers
yet six out of every ten of its members
are less comfortable than a pet in the west
Spring dapples the land in all shades of green,
as life germinates in a seed or bean.
And wildflowers add color to the scene;
flaunting exotic pigments, rarely seen.
Summer paints sunsets pink and tangerine,
while mosquitoes swarm a rusty door screen.
And the air smells of ozone, fresh and clean,
after thunderstorms and lightning convene.
Autumn harvest, leaves stubble fields to glean,
while scarecrows guard the land where crops had been.
And like a hallmark card: Fall looks serene;
colored leaves scattered across the ravine.
Winter winds buff snow to a polished sheen;
as whiteouts and blizzards become routine.
And the sun's so bright that you'll need sunscreen
sculpting a snowman or ice figurine.
The seed of war is planted, it is furrowed deep into the brow
beneath the cunning share of the patriotic plow.
It germinates a passion that sends out abberated roots,
nourished with propaganda, and weeded of the truth.
It’s fertilized with rhetoric and watered with lies that brag
of bumper crops of victory in the shadow of the flag.
The crop is cultivated out on battlefields to bloom
where it’s pollinated with shrapnel beneath a harvest moon.
The cycle’s now completed and as when growing season ends,
beliefs begin to wither, commitments begin to bend
and the fruit of life, so lush and ripe now begin to sag,
then drops down to caress the ground in the shadow of the flag.
Now comes a time of gleaning of the bounty of the yield;
that residue of victory that is lying in the field,
to the delight of maggots that ballet through the flesh
of a body riddled battlefield freshly blessed in death,
to the hum of ecstasy from the flies that zig and zag
above the bounty of the harvest in the shadow of the flag.
Race Riot
Race Riots don’t start in Baltimore quiet
Silence is not what they seek
Innocence stripped naked in childhood
Oppression festers in neighborhoods disease
Not genetically engineered in labs
Pharmaceuticals have a hand some say
To fire the imagination, inflame bigotry
Revolutions begin in fear, form with the youth on streets
Young men find abuse as a way of life
No future, no truth of any use
Oppression germinates, grows in the dark like tar
Spreads on the heart contagious as black butter
The plague is far from over
It prays on black and white furious waters poison
Sour behavior feeds with flies and maggots, garbage and decay
Race riots take place silent in the mind at first
End in a pool of blood or something worse
With Sol shining spectacularly bright,
I woke to the trickle of melting snow.
Hoping that Spring had arrived overnight,
dripping icicles set my heart aglow.
And while Winter may still be holding tight,
in a few weeks she'll be forced to let go.
And when the daffodils sprout from the ground,
She'll simply slip away, without a sound.
I hear the honking of geese heading home:
their cacophony, music to my ears.
And as melting lakes shine like liquid chrome,
icicles morph into Spring's tepid tears.
And a world packed in snowy styrofoam,
revives, as it has for billions of years.
Resurrecting colors that are varied,
Spring germinates seeds that Autumn buried.
I'm delighted to see patches of green
polka-dot the alabaster landscape.
Winter no longer dominates the scene;
the melting snowmen can't retain their shape.
And each breath of Spring air smells fresh and clean,
as it facilitates Winter's escape.
Sol's shining with an optimistic glow
that soon, wildflowers will begin to show.
Rare Flowers
A woman I know – always there.
A helping hand for all – works for Share.
A heart of gold – this soul doth care
for the needs of lives – nothing fair,
for them it seems – lost dreams, she is rare.
This rare flower – I see – gives voice
to what is missing – her name is Joyce,
Joyce, is ideal, is positive – is a great choice
for a world in dire - desperate need
of her to manage - homeless to feed
in this world - dominated by greed.
This rose germinates great seed,
even if one’s dreams – turned to weed –
never to see the light of day – ever again –
yet her and they, will forever remain.
B. J. “A” 2
April 22nd 2004
Those are wrong like the bees who take the painting as real flowers
And break their own stings, wrong are also the clouds that think to
Forever hide the burning sun; the winds are not wise either when that try
To shake the mountains of the world, the rays are not better
If I am allowed to say so ,when that try to dry up the oceans,
As all these know not what goes that comes round
What appears wrong in one phase, in another the same is right and strong
The phase is more important, even more important are time and place
Context is another one to be kept in mind
Same is the case when you go to decide
To choose between mother tongue and foreign tongues
Remember, my friend, there is nothing like short cuts
Nor is there anything that happens in a moment or cause to happen suddenly
Everything happens for a cause and that cause grows
Like a tree that germinates from a thrown up seed or put into soil carefully
The seed is not for anything that is quick; it has always a long time plan
Here there is no scope to take views that is extreme to either side left or right
I am not either here to tell you that the centrists are right
Sometimes centrists are also found to be foolish
Right are those who have a right sense of right proportion
So I have a habit to say
In life balance is the key
To open up the door of success after breaking the lock of obstacles
Here the key of blooming or the trick of flourishing is not lie in one tongue
But in several tongues, go like a swift breeze and capture at least three
To develop in you and in your nations
The knowledge of science and technology
Without which you are nothing,
Only to be found grinding under the grinder of poverty.
“That dream only needs a speech to bring about the change the world has been waiting for,
never be speechless no matter what; you have something to say...”
Felix Joseph.o
SPEECHLESS!
A feeling contends to conquer me
Perhaps, I wanting to defeat it
Indeed, my irritability of the obvious
My contest to make it plain, baffles me
My best try,
Fry me to cry
Helpless my mouth
It cries echoes is speechless
When truth mutates to odium
Falsehood applauded as in a stadium
Avalanche of wrongs
Beaten into a compendium
Corruption celebrated in ovation
Justice, yet foreign in a nation
In reckless abandon,
The games rule is impunity
Flaunting absurd rights as immunity
Shame like a name
Honored as fame
Speaking the more
They have colonized the peak
Your audio, print and visual ranting
Concludes you an ant
A pens ink, as tears
Their brick hearts, quickly ignores
What then unlocks their hearts mystery?
Power emitting from the army’s canon?
Perhaps, the pens might
May cause a rethink
Yes a reflection amidst the stink
Confronts all loudly
Speechless is the act of the feel
Yet, still I dare to make a speech
A speech for my compatriots
A speech desiring a change
Yes! A speech to propel the speechless
Am speechless, yet not lacking in speech
Speechless is all it makes me feel
A speech can break the chains
Being speechless is not a gain
It germinates pain, like rain
Speak and rule the peak
Roar to unseat the freak
Shout and alarm the weak
Sing a tune, their hearts will break
Cry, your tears may cajole compassion
Yes! A speech ushers the change
The villains abhor a change
Truly, a speech moulds them speechless
A speech a world desire
Lacking in speak, all backfire
yet a speech will save the day?
Why speechless?
Just a speech of change will unveil the dream
yes! A dream for real change.
Author: Felix Joseph Osaeghemede
[email protected] ;+2348037825027.
Written:1-05pm-1-25pm: 10th-06-2008.
Great sensitivity only used
to find the next available space
hiding from or dodging the pressure,
embarking on a fearful race
Just to avoid the necessary,
clenching its fist to the face
But gradually, it’ll catch up the pace
And begin puncturing
like the perforation of a lace.
every obstacle avoided
germinates a mole
Starting like scratches,
the deficit will be a large hole
So much running is inevitably
creating an ulcerous sole
No growth or maturity,
only tossed by insecurity
from pole to pole
And allowing consequences
seat on the throne
to play a devastating role
In the brief gestation of a moment
some dark force curled in you infected me;
I didn't notice and could not prevent
the surge of misdirected energy.
Nomadic offspring populated nerves;
I felt their static move beneath my skin
disrupting confidence in my reserve
to be resistant in the face of sin.
Perverted riddles scribbled through my veins
condensing muscle into knotted flesh
confusing lines between my wrath and shame;
electrifying me with raw distress.
I hate the victim I’ve become so much,
the way I break all circuits to and from
the woman-child that shrinks away from touch
not to be pressed beneath another’s thumb.
But now this restlessness; it germinates
into a blooming sub-species of fire
with tongue-like tendrils indeterminate;
its petals arced like wombs around my ire.
My scorn is deeper than your shadow's fall
my tears more shallow than the hate I nurse
I'll never march with vengeance, but I'll crawl
up in your shadow, be your telltale curse.
I'll be the fuse that flares from time to time
to fill you full with helplessness and fear
and I'll confess your sins, your sordid crimes
to damn your life with many empty years.
Live on! I'll be there in your wickedness,
a battery of rage you cannot see,
a coiled current poised to cause distress...
the way your deathlessness has been to me.