Best Protea Poems
It seemed like nature had concocted a singular miracle
As I sat on the wooden bench looking in towards the woodland.
A red maple tree stood tall surrounded by eucalyptus trees
While down below grew the yellow protea and acacia scrubland.
Sun filtered in between the green and red coloured full growing trees
Sending bright rays of light upon the lotus decorated lake,
Dragonflies flitted over flowers, as cicadas sang their song,
As a light south breeze ruffled the surface, what melodies they make.
Thus I sat amazed at the scenery so magical and bright,
Admiring all beauty God's creation that no man can design.
Meantime my daughter sat quietly next to me, mobile in hand,
Tapping messages away, heedless of the view as I did pine.
I
Jim was the archetypal Mensch
We loved writing, Greenbelt MD, Jesus
II
At the edge of my tears
I could sit, daydream, make monuments with words
The Hindu soul within my Soul
Had adored weaving flowers for Jaggan
Whose mom died while he was the driver
Our ancestors will gladly bequeath garlands
Tropical and exotic strelitzia and protea
But you and I are forever in another lineage
The eternal family through a lamb, Jesus
The king protea opens like corona of a star
Only thing inside that’s missing is eye that sees far
But even now it looks bizarre
As mysterious as black hole in center of quasar
Or supernova as it explodes that is what inside of it seems to inspire
Only in case of that flower outside of supernova there is also ring of fire
Its beauty is something to admire
The external rings are like the very soul set on fire
Only one thing this flame can stop not water or sand
Something that broken heart can mend and fire withstand
Something that is hard to comprehend
Like having transcendent force of true final judgment in my hand
Situated on the Southern tip of Africa
Where two oceans meet, lies my country of birth
A rainbow nation is what we are called
With eleven official languages
and many diverse cultures
it is not difficult to grasp why...
Skeptics said we would never make it,
against all odds we did,
Apartheid part of our history
a history we will never forget,
A history, we certainly should never disregard.
The budding King Protea,
The Blue Crane takes to flight
and the Springbok that leap over meadows
just a few of South Africa’s jewels...
I am not growing old or tall
I am maturing, not only by shape
but by wisdom.
It has been placed in the furnace of my heart,
burned with the radiance of the sun and been
molded in the storms by God's will until
I have become organic Protea.
She is a beauty that stands out for her uniqueness and diversity.
Who is very bold and brave and embraces any changes, nature creates.
Her people put her on a pedestal and crown her as their queen.
Not only for her striking bewitching but mostly for her courage.
She is a phoenix who rises from the ashes.
Her outstanding resilience protects her children,
With her dormant buds, she emerges after she burns down.
Always open to continuous challenges and transformation.
She is admired by the world,
For her endurances and radiances.
And won a lot of titles at international competitions.
But is indigenous to her country and is chosen as a national emblem.
With a perfect root system, she can survive, in any soil.
And still blossom in splendor, the eight wonders.
Of her country and her species, as she rises every morning,
At the foot of Table mountain.
My Best Bouquets
Exotic crocuses and ferns, Appalachian Trail …
Baby’s breath that takes one’s breath away -
Orchids and epiphytes near inland waters of KwaZulu-Natal
A few from Fynbos, near Table Mountain
Even a national flower, the Protea, illegal
To take (when we camped only once, New Year’s weekend, when I was innocent and practising Yoga)
From my mountain, near my grandest river, the Tugela ...
At the Drakensberg. Even my street had that Name
They are not on my table, here in Virginia
No, not even in Maryland, a Great State …
Nor in Athens (Ohio) where all roads lead to
(or leave forever)
Nor even in some backyard, of friend or former foe
I never picked these. Not one!
The Universe thanked me for Consenting Consciousness
For sharing more of Presence, less of clutter and Form
When all forms go, only Consciousness - the One - remains.
The palms, the peas, the protea too
Showing up the lilies and iris ever blue.
The gourds and the daisies growing so fine.
Nothing outshines fungi which walks a clear cut line.
Tens of thousands of plant species
Growing more readily with help of feces.
From bulbs or seeds, makes no diff,
Cover the ground in a giant jiff.
The Wildman
Left the mountains
In search of love and wonder,
Not in any particular order.
Now, he patrols the borders of a gas station, hooked on fuel.
Shadows act like Mother,
stretching out protection from judgemental eyes.
The attendants berate and moan his missteps with fatherly abandon.
Our champion is not alone though.
His brethren, the rats
have his back.
The Wildman
Left the mountains
In search of love and wonder,
Not in any particular order.
Now, he patrols the borders of a gas station, hooked on fuel.
Shadows act like Mother,
stretching out protection from judgemental eyes.
The attendants berate and moan his missteps with fatherly abandon.
Our champion is not alone though.
His brethen, the rats
have his back.
Like clockwork,
he slinks out of the darkness,
piece of his tattered rags in hand.
Backs turned, soaks up the spoilage.
Evades capture with cheetah spirit.
Embryo warmth ensues post huff.
For but an instance,
Stillness marinates his neurons.
All to quick,
A marionettist's touch with weasel cunning, pulls him to his feet.
He paints the constellations in the morning light...
He used up his last piece of cloth,
a few hour ago.
He stares down a truck,
with the ammo of ball bearing irises
snarling at invisible sprits with evil intentions,
all the while,
his bulbous protea is covered with lice-ridden tangled thicket,
and rabbit droppings blanket the tarmac.
Good morning Vietnam.
haiku : protea
~N A T I O N AL flower~
hoary pinky Proteus
** sticKy **
f
i
N
g
e
R
As I Read through the books
I can find the words that decode
I become a poet
Not by circuit but by pursuit
As I am fostering the new generation
I always wanted to be famous
I reclaim that the theories
Put forward are worries
I don't know whether I am scholar
I don't know how how to use my knowledge
As I dream of the Hollywood boulevard
I can see the stars who
Repainted in the cartoon
The bey blade rotates through the axis
As the earth which protea Round the earth
My frustration is my inspiration
My gestures are my sorrows
As I walk through the mountain of ideas
I don't know where to put my ideas
As I can repeat the words in my mind
I always begin with the rattle
Let it not the rattle of a reptile
As I leap infto the generation
As my sketch is made by poverty
As I reclaim the the knowledge
I can always see Shakespeare in the atmosphere
The spheres contains the green house effect
The economic system that persist
Define the Conglomeration of the philosophy
Let the judiciary be independent
Where it could find the innocent
The lost lives from a disaster
Defined the empathy of the soul
But one day everyone must go
The nature rebounds it's impact
As a basketball rebounds from the ring
The Genesis defines creation
As I fear we are the end chapter of Bible
The law of conservation of energy
Conserve the society
Not the individual
Let it be the Formation of a new world
As Stephen Hawking's predicted from his limitations
Life is not a limitation
Never ever look upon what they say
I delve into the brains
Where I can assume the psychology
I wish that all emotions would be associated
Through the soul which connects the blood and veins.