Would that they would
Declare a flowered truce
Cease the scorching of the earth
Allow a lone flower to declare peace
Allow a bee to savor its nectar
A distant sun to rejoice
Passing refugees to smile
As they glimpse the hope
…Of hope
“The earth laughs in flowers.”
- Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Spring has just taken a leap
Blushing sun is on hot trail
Teases trees with playful smile.
Surprises avenue tree
Flares up flamboyant clusters
Impatient - so like new bride.
Gulmohar is her sweet name
Peacock like, scarlet petals
Her Beauty lights up sun's rays.
While the other nearby trees
Stand in bare green downplaying
Their potent beauty now veiled
Zealous, like merry bridesmaids
Wait in line for flowering time.
SUN-FLOWERING PEOPLE
Black and beautiful…
Liberty’s ebon flowers…
Rooted in freedom…
Like His sunflowers,
Let us stand in bright glory;
Sunshine gleaming us:-
Ebon sunflowers;
Our bright eyes stayed on the prize–
Liberty’s statues:-
Moonflowers dance with desert stars
Where wisdom meets the wild heart
In gardens, time forgot to name
Between the spaces silence holds
Truth blooms like midnight roses
Each secret wrapped in shadow's grace
Dark skies cradle golden dreams
Where the impossible takes root
And colours learn to sing by heart
Thorns write love letters to silk
While strength embraces gentle ways
In nature's contradiction dance
Seasons melt like morning frost
As forever finds its home
In one eternal flowering
Reality bends like river light
Through spaces hearts create
When wonder breaks its chains
In gardens where dreams take flight
Our souls learn how to bloom
Beyond what eyes can name
spring
splendor
wait and see
between each breath
nature’s flower vase
filled with budding beauties
morning dew drops glistening
unquiet trees reach for the sun
confessions of happy thoughts and joy
a blissful season that is never lost
Our bond is like a flower.
That blooms in absence of the rain
Words pour from the night shatter
with smile and joy caressing its veins
Its dry roots grow strong and deep
It's like a song that transcends
__heard from a far time sleep
for the fruits of love it suspends
Two lovely souls entwined
bonded with glue of forever
__laughter and joy is a sign
kindness and humility together
Makes the friendship stronger
beautiful you are; an angel
You're like a shiny mirror
That reflects fantastic angle
Tidal connection,
wild flowers woo a Clownfish;
Anemone bond,
give in give up a little;
Flourish and flow together.
Seeds of ambrosia,
birds fight over leftovers;
Mammals with munchies
pass around shareable plates;
It’s never polite to gorge.
Dancing Bryony
playing both sides of the coin,
grant don’t play my wish;
Trusted you with a secret,
don’t drown my faith in poison.
Peak of abundance,
blushed pizazz peppers the air;
Cherry Blossom blooms,
so whimsically festive;
Big shot missed their own party.
Calia purple,
always makes an impression;
Moths flock to its flame;
Hot swells of a royal shade,
such enticing perfection.
Honeyed Ambretta,
the taste of a Summer fling;
Perennial blast,
enjoyed but over too soon;
Sweet seasonal time share.
gems in abundance
the cherry tree's sacred breath -
spring strewing flowers
An old kitchen dresser
stood against a wall
in the shed. Its drawers were full
of things that kept a small boy
occupied for hours.
Retired kitchen gadgets,
tools, balls of string
and a treasure trove
of discarded odds and ends
hoarded just in case
something there might
“come in handy one day”.
There was a drawer off limits
for little hands,
my grandmother's place for keeping
dahlia tubers safe and dry
for their winter sleep.
Brown paper bags held
the sacred cache.
Come spring they were taken
from their dark, musty crypt
for their yearly rebirth.
Planted in a square of garden
overlooked by the dining room
window, the tubers would
begin to stir in the warming sun.
By Christmas day, the first bright
blooms would blaze
extravagant color that could
be seen from the table
as we tucked into lunch
crowned in our paper hats.
To a child, it seemed like magic,
just pure magic.
Note.
Christmas in Australia
is, of course, in summer.
sparrow wings flutter
their breathless music
in a hidden niche
between prayer and lust
i am so grateful
for the damp
passions of your hands
for these long flights
of a pleasuring
surrendering
as one wild flowering
we arrive together
upon the same pulse
you cry-out
on a surf of bliss
i
as a one high crest
releasing oceans
and now beloved
your body
is full of my tears
june brings brighter times
the rhododendron blossoms -
exotic in pot
~
07.06.2023
Anne-Lise Andresen
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Roy Campbell 'FLOWERING RIFLE'
¥"
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(__(
"Flowering Spring, of new life and rebirth; today is a day we honor when Jesus rose from the dead." Quote by poet
Season of Joy and Hope near
Easter; Jesus's resurrection,
a time to exalt Him so dear.
We celebrate Easter Sunday
We dress in our very best
go to church we appear.
A basket of brightly painted eggs
brought by the Easter Bunny
hidden around the grass dregs
and garden for children to find.
Children in their greatest delight.
~
He bore, our sufferings take mind.
Now that we are here,
I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ
that arose again on the third day.
3/19/2023
1 Corinthians 15:4
“And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures:”
Now That We Are Here Poetry Contest
Now that we are here N/A 3/28/2023
Sequences
Are mind
Constructs..
Connections..
Stories of
Evolution
Emergences
Growth..
Empty words
Flowering
All at once...
Yes, the full bloom is pretty
all that culmination just short of perfection,
that opening,
a hasp and harbor for light and warmth
a wide-eyed blossoming
raised up in a blind glory
of transient dominion.
Yet the withering is more lovely to me,
less beautiful,
more graceful than appearance.
The grace arrives just beyond the apogee
as when a high wave reaches its crest
then grace rides ahead of that decline
ahead of any loss or sorrow
it looks not to what was
nor does it seek a tomorrow.
That soft hollowing into the brittle arms
of bodiless ghosts
is a prayer for the ages
but not cut flowers in a vase, no
they die in a fetid wallow
and it is our love of beauty,
our grasping at that splendor
that curses their death.
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