An old neem tree
sentinel stands
in my frontyard
fresh healing air
green sunlit shade
bitter year-round
Pinnate gloss leaves
inflorescences
hundreds of flowers
fragrant crisp white
appear at once
sure it is April
In a shadowy sphere
a girl flaunt her beautiful faces
to the pallid look of the sun
- rolling blackout.
A sweet reminder of her refulgency
waxing from waning.
Girls are roses
Purple roses
with scents of cherubic
that effuses blissfulness;
heaving and glamorizing
haunting and hunting in sublime beauty.
Fine inflorescences
that lay in the garden-
budding into a woman
to grace her man.
All flirting out in packs
& springing into chic's-
sexy mortals indeed!
Roseate glow
to her blushful beau
that staggers to her cave.
An empyrean dish
carved out from Eden;
strumming the sacred calling of motherhood.
These there love are territorial!
A youthful maiden
that visualize a woman
into something they can enchant,
aiming for a transition
with little or greater expectations from her family.
Girls are roses
Untamed roses with enough concoctions
perfectly crafted to colorize the universe,
but still they're envious
& are weigh down by too many indifferences
from opposite sex.
A jealous mortals indeed.
all buds are falling
from the inflorescences
fatal desire
Andean Pampas Grass grows in California.
Its Linnaean binomial is Cortaderia jubata.
This noxious weed disperses far and wide.
With tall stalks and inflorescences, it has nothing to hide.
As an ornamental plant native to South America,
it was introduced inadvertently into California.
I can see tall stalks as much as seven meters in height.
They bend in the breeze as we approach into night.
There are nimbus clouds in the crepuscular sky.
Silhouettes of the tussocks can be seen with my eye.
Bending, but never breaking, I shall see them in the day.
Along this California road, they will continue to stay.
So soon the seasons
in cycle.
The chill of winter’s
tangible breath to scorch
the freezing air,
the paperboy’s virgin
footprints etched within
each dawn breaking frost.
The solidarity of summer
from the middle moor
the length of the daylight
to ease the pain of waiting
for heady days in fresh cut
meadows.
The gold of autumn
as one scuffs oceans of
decay caught in the
eve of their lives.
The surprise of spring
One-day nature’s nakedness
the next the creation,
a virgin inflorescences
to confront the perfect
day!
© Harry J Horsman 2000
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