In the hush where summer
has already surrendered,
autumn flowers unfurl with
a defiant, molten grace.
Chrysanthemum burn in
burnished amber and saffron,
petals layered like antique
parchment catching the late
light.
Dahlias deepen into
oxblood and plum, velvet
crowns that hold the dusk
inside them.
Asters tremble in lavender
mist and violet dusk, small
constellations against the
cooling air.
Marigolds flare in carnelian
and gilded gold, stubborn
suns refusing to dim.
And the last roses- oh, the
last roses- blush in
russet, claret, and
copper,
their edges kissed with the
melancholy of frost.
They do not mourn the
shortening days.
They incandescent.
They are the earth's final,
extravagant exhale-
a chromatic elegy written in
pigment and perfume.
Crisp wind combs through
them, and they answer
with color so rich it feels like
a benediction:
ochre, bronze, burgundy,
mahogany, and sunset coral.
Every stem a small rebellion
against fading.
Every bloom a reminder that
endings can be opulent.
Autumn doesn't take the
garden quietly.
It dresses it in jewels, and
sets it on fire with beauty,
before letting it go.
Through grey rainfall,
The rose cannot see the sun,
But time still calls
And alone it must grow on.
Yet shrouded in the shadow
Of grim well-worn roads,
Stars shine bright,
Their gold light,
On a lone budding rose.
The aeoniums, after much care, still do not grow,
His plight is of that, oh, how he cares for the flowers,
Though I believe he does not know.
His care for every and all,
Will result in his fall,
To the void, the pit, where only regret thrives,
Where the walls that prevent us from understanding each other shall grow tall.
If I was to regret a thing I had done,
It would be the crushing of those syringas,
So that I may live, unchained by the pressure of others,
So that I could breathe freely from my lungs,
I understand, it was necessary, so I mustn't feel remorse.
But his aeoniums, they still remain,
He preserves them, in the hopes that they will bloom once more,
Though in my mind, it is clear.
They have lived far too long to bloom a second time,
If he does not let go soon, he will miss his own life.
I'm a stem standing uprightly
Basking rigid strong
Leaves as arms
I flourish under the sun
I shower in rain
Growing I stand tall and strong
Reaching up
I am fluent.
My head sky shines
Bloom budings my head
Smiles fragrant blue
I am a flower succulent
Beautiful radiant fragrant
I grow I stand ever tall
8/9/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
A single second feels like a decade,
As painted visions of your visage fade.
Yet winter passes; golden petals bloom,
Releasing hearts from their protective gloom.
I yearn to feel your timeless, soft caress,
While gently hiding all this phantom sadness.
I place my faith in you, my happiness—
Mi Helecho, praying you return in wholeness.
My Helecho, I miss you so much,
Longing to whisper "I love you" in your ear,
I was in urgent need of your warmest embrace,
Father God, always bless my one and only Helecho.
A single stark sin
in the soil,
A white rose
rests in rain.
Cold face in the
day,
A shine on the
shallow shore.
Sixteen years since she entered my life
Fourteen years ago she became my wife
At any age love it can bloom
Opened my heart for her, love I made room
Fourteen years ago she became my wife
As well as much love we are also great friends
Opened my heart for her i made room
Any challenges we sit and just talk
As well as much love we are also great friends
At any age love it can bloom
Any challenges we sit and just talk
Sixteen years since she entered my life
I open my eyes, and she is gone.
I was the flower, and you, the queen bee.
Though I promised sweeter nectar, richer and deep,
You grew restless, leaving my petals to weep.
Suddenly a bird, you took to the breeze,
Soaring away, far above the trees.
I close my eyes, and she appears.
A grand eagle, slicing through the gale,
While I, a mere cloud, send a scent so frail,
Chasing your shadow, a never-ending trail.
Now, she is nowhere to be seen.
I drift into a dream once more.
Seeking new blossoms to claim and disown,
You are still a queen upon your throne.
'When those other flowers wither and die,
To another garden, you will surely fly.'
So I shall bloom no more.
A flower already withered at the core.
Let spring, summer, autumn, and winter roll by—
My petals will never again greet the sky.
Yet remember this, before your journey is done:
Your final stop, under the dying sun,
Will be the jaws of the butterwort flower—
Trapped in the carnivore's silent power.
the bee says hello
as blushed flower bows her head
and receives bee's kiss
Flushed
blisters
overwhelm
sunburnt roses.
Drops holding true love
explode with rich perfume.
Heads turned by affluent notes
feed tough petals bare and cracking.
Whispers of moisture are nourishment,
a beaten down soul is now free to bloom.
rainbow in the sky
a medley of hues it bears
colours bloom with a swift swirl~
ahead of the downpour
ants, seeking shelter, invade homes.
Your neon rose glows
with a soft voltage of electric ache
in the midnight forest
of love's keepsake kiss,
I pinch and pull your velvet moist petals
with a gothic lust to let loose
an aroma of sweet crystal frost,
I cusp You from underneath the bloom
and you tighten with a quick breath
then yeild with a sumptuous sigh,
on my eager mouth you tickle
smooth and warm,
the curves of your lips capture my soul,
you press me into your ultra violet core eternal,
within you there is a heat, a raw fuel,
I am yours, on the edges of tender alarm
and alive beyond death's riddle -
J.A.B.
In this blossom spring, you ask the question,
like a gardener checking a withered vine
"Are you okay?" and for a moment,
the gate is unlocked, the choice is mine.
But how do I speak across this distance,
to a shore you've walled, a star gone cold?
I'm trapped within your line of sight,
yet feel like a ghost the silence holds.
I do not need your silver reach,
or pockets deep to pull me through.
My burdens aren't weights for you to carry,
just shadows a shoulder could subdue.
I need the warmth within the chest,
the anchor of arms, the quiet stay.
But you stand forbidden, far and safe,
from storms I never learned to say.
I am an old man out of your league,
orbiting a light that won't descend,
watching you love a ghost I can't see,
wondering if our "us" has met its end.
We sit within this shared degree
of singleness and separate stone—
a "we" that has no room for me,
two shadows, together and alone.
The walls aren't brick, but space and hush,
a haunting math where one plus one stays one.
Outside, the riot of green is loud,
but here, the winter has already begun.
Petals are jewelled like embroidered frills;
Globes of mirages enwrap the limbs.
The face is flushed with kisses of chills;
With glass ice pearls, the quivering heart brims.
The wintry gust shakes her convulsing self;
Into melting icicle drops they weep.
As though the footfalls of an unseen elf,
Mysteries from sepals and petals peep.
Within the weak physique's softening chime,
The spirit is alive, though choked by frost.
Will winter last beyond its destined time?
Rebellion stirs beneath, though charm seems lost.
Will buried rainbows pierce this frozen shrine,
Or does the frost shroud all that used to shine?
(I decided not to enter this in a contest as I like the title to be Frozen Bloom --still conceiving this...)
she was sitting by the old porch
holding a yearbook
when he returned to his old abode
he saw her with thumb sandwiched by the pages
where a tiny blossom was pressed
the lavender hue slowly turning into grey
as if it was there sometime ago
he could hear a sonata fading from afar
as he was about to run to her,
she turned her face away
and vanished in the gossamer silhouette of the fading twilight
winter came, his heart was a cold as snowflakes landing on his cheeks
that Monday morning
and he found this blossom
this frozen blossom hanging on cherry branch
as if it was the last to cling
she was not there in the old porch
gone were the hanging vines
that waltzed with the west wind
gone were the sweet songs from a cassette recorder
but the rocking chair was still there~
he sighed and whispered to the frozen blossom
that he'll keep on waiting till he hear her footsteps
coming close to him once again
even when he knew not when.
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