Jaws of a shark, a ferocious bite,
Always protecting with all their might.
My teddy bear holds me through the night,
In my garden, orchids and daffodils fill with light.
Let the flowers grow again
From this aging skin—
To puffy cheeks and rosy lips,
From walking sticks to jumping ropes.
Let the flowers grow again,
To be pregnant with love,
To wear my heart on my sleeve
While I stare into his glittering eyes.
Let the flowers grow again,
To greet a warm body at dawn,
While the sun caresses my skin,
And a smile greets another.
I need the flowers to grow again,
To spend eternity in his arms,
To find my youth once more,
Forever young, like a song that soothes the ears.
Maybe the flowers will grow again,
When we meet in the afterlife.
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Date: 27/08/2025
Title: Let The Flowers Grow Again
THE FLOWERS WILL GROW AGAIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
quietly the daffodils wait,
a hushed congregation,
their voices silent beneath the earth.
I stand on the frozen ground, shimmering,
my breath caught in the throat of winter,
watching the skeletal trees claw at a gray sky.
I walk through the barren garden,
winter’s grey skies weeping a soft lament,
and wonder, “Does spring remember us?”
from my frost-covered window I wait,
my heart softening with hope
as the sun slowly, steadily returns.
then, I hear a slight tremor,
see a green spear piercing the earth's crust~
a defiant flag in the face of winter’s retreat.
I step outside, kneeling in the damp earth,
ears to the ground, listening intensely,
hoping I’ll hear them.
then, the trumpets silently call,
a sound unheard by most,
resonates in my winter-weary soul.
overnight the daffodils emerge,
spring’s sunlight and hope,
captured in fragile yellow cups.
they herald a simple yet profound truth,
one I almost forgot,
“the flowers, like hope, will grow again.”
lasting beauty is the suspired, odorous spring like the winged brook..
The Two-Cent Daffodil
My Nana Pat, with a careful hand and eye,
Would've loved this stamp, a piece of sky.
Two daffodils, sun-kissed and so bright,
Held in a square of soft, creamy light.
I can picture her now, with her albums open wide,
A small world of paper and ink by her side.
With tweezers so gentle, she'd settle each one,
A small victory savored beneath the afternoon sun.
This two-cent flower, a promise of spring,
Was the sort of small treasure she loved to bring
Into her collection, a record of place,
Each stamp a new story, a moment of grace.
And though she is gone, I can still see her smile,
In this tiny landscape, worth more than a while.
For this isn't just postage, but memory's art,
A daffodil blooming in a grandmother's heart.
The flowers, the flowers
Will bloom in three hours
I really don't want to wait.
The flowers will bloom,
If i may assume,
If they don't bloom too late.
Yellow daffodils upon a hill,
Standing strong in their will,
Letting their colors spill,
Filling the space with grace,
Brightening up the place,
Chasing the sun,
Having fun in the breeze,
A pleasing sight,
I stop to share my light,
They grow just right,
They don't fight or meddle,
Perfection in every pedal,
Deserving of a medal,
As I settle into the beauty before me,
Exploring how they came to be,
And how their life relates to me.
The daffodils on the hill,
Sending me chills,
As the thrill of life fills this space,
With its blooming grace,
A reflection of the sun's face.
Quiet are the hyacinths
Underneath the snows
Irises and violets
Even the red rose
Today are lying silent
Underneath the snows
Daffodils and lilacs
Even the red rose.
Snowdrop all over the top
Runs to a quick flop
Daffodil thrown up
In a hasty set up
Lily’s eyes bloom on
petals grace a gentle beacon
Orchid bided her time
It holds an euphonious rhyme
Blossoming flourishing
blooming flowering
Dying falling
Decaying fouling
All then the graden bare
No red roses perfumed the air.
yellow dandelions
heads ripen to white with age
first breeze, they lose hair
In 2013 Amélie Ségarra danced on a Grand Piano with knives
taped to the tips of her feet.
The room is empty apart from a single man in a music box
He wears a black an white suit buttoned up to the collars with bronze cufflinks,
To get up she uses an old Woven Rope in brown
You can see her nipples as she looks up, Adam's apple following her gaze
along with everything else.
She starts dancing.
From above the waist her arms jut out, grabbing widely at air and trust
But below it's easy
At times it looks harder to be the piano.
Remember how close she got to the edge.
Rapidly tapping the tips of toes, taped into shoes,
Screwed onto knives.
At times the screech was louder than the music.
Engaging her hips she’d lift up her thigh, bent at the knee
The arch of her foot seeming to just hang there.
Before it drops she makes the sound of a boxer.
Something only rooms with loud figures giving orders to lots of people
doing the same thing in repetition can bring out.
The music has stopped, so now all you hear is knee engaging ankle,
Holding up a foot wrapped in pink ruffled straps.
Smalling down an into
a seemingly endless
Grand Piano.
little things
today
lets use lots of words
to say little things
we can lay four-word sentences
beneath paragraphs
and put exclamation points
in places normally reserved for commas
we can say ‘tuesday’
several times
and call dandelions beautiful
we can wonder why ‘morose’
is not a color
and accentuate the wrong part
of three-syllable words
lets use lots of words
to say little things
today
tomorrow will be here soon enough
and words are reusable
‘tuesday’...
dandelions are beautiful
on tuesday
tolbert
Before you leave the world tonight,
I want to tell you a story, a story about a girl who wanted to end her life. She tried to leave the world one night, but stopped when she saw this beam of light. She wrestled with her mind and remembered the life she was leaving behind. It wasn’t all daffodils and sunny skies; it was more dull and gray. But for there to be gray, there had to be light. For there to be darkness, there has to be light.
She thought for a moment: what if that little life wasn’t so dark and gray? See, on Wednesday, it was all sunny skies, but then came the clouds, so dark and gray. But then came the wind, who blew the clouds away, and the sun, well, it came back brighter the next day.
Maybe life is like the sun. Sometimes the dull and gray covers our view, but if she turns back now, maybe the sun will be out, the sky will be light, and just maybe, if she turns back now, she will find the light.
SPRING IS HERE!!
Flowers in abundance,
Beautiful daffodils, tulips,
Bluebells And colourful crocus.
Lighter days and brighter days,
We all cheer,
Enjoy the golden sunshine,
Spring is now here!!
Daffodils on rolling hills
Tulips in full bloom
A rose emerges every hour
Aroma of peonies in my room
Dad burn it, I Hate Spring
It’s far too aromatic
Earth's rebirth blots out mine
~ Alas, I’m highly asthmatic
Specific Types of Daffodils Poems
Definition | What is Daffodils in Poetry?