Morning sunrise showers
momentum of gold bliss
meandering brightly at
mountain and valley’s skirts
making winged critters
marvelously dance with
mother nature’s richness.
Moon sparks float above the
meadow of golden blooms,
mimicking marmalade
mists of healing, and the
magical muse of a
mellow field, adorned with
mosaic hues of hope.
modest in stature, yet
meaningful to many.
Mystically adorning
multiple cultures, its
motif varying from
mourning to offering,
misfortune to blessing.
On a cold winters day,
Looking out my window,
I only see the humble Marigold on display,
To lift the winter shadow,
That spoils my day,
As the sun gives off only a paltry glow.
So as one begins walking, is there nowhere left to go?
To carry-on is the Marigolds' only reason found to grow
Red and orange incredible the closer that they glow
Cornucopias of shapes they have; but never a perfect row
Rich variations beautifully subtle is the show
In our mournings; kindness, and solidarity, they're left in tow
However, ruthlessly; what they give left to burn in snow
I am but a weed
In God's flower garden
Humbled to exist
Even if not as red as roses
Not as tall as sun flowers
Not as warm as marigolds
Not as thrilling as lillies
But I am wonderfully and fearfully made
I invite imagination
And like a falling star
Children pick me to
Blow blue breaths wishes upon
And I fly into whimsical wind
To deliver the messages of hopes
I start my journey as gold and then
Turn white just before my flight
A prize in disguise
I am a dandelion.
I was always enraged at twelve
mother forced me to plant marigold seeds
their bright green sprouts made me smile
ruffled and perky with oranges and yellows
they uplifted me
they've captured sunshine
a vast sea of waving blooms
yellow orange gold
a noontime vision
with the bluebirds and robins
scarlet butterflies
tiffany blue skies
and the beauty of chaos
a green green summer
My mother taught me how to plant marigolds
I was eleven and in a bad mood, it was my punishment
For days nothing happened, making me angrier
Tiny green sprouts got me excited
I watched them grow into little double leaves on stems
More leaves arrived daily, it was a tiny green hedge now
I kept watering
One morning there was a miraculous switch to yellow
Yellow and gold, gold and yellow
Ribbons of ruffled marigolds
A trail of them and they were gorgeous.
I was hooked on planting now!
merry marigolds,
and I, meditate in sun.
to a big, lawnmower’s vibes
4/19/2022>
I marvel at marigolds
as I’ve never seen mountains
I watch in wonder the water
flowing from fountains
yearning to learn
what it is to be cared for
I've spent my life seeking to capture
the rapture of one moment of bliss
the search thus far proving fruitless
He wouldn’t waste a single minute
on a woman like me
who spends her hours
transfixed by flowers
his time too precious a commodity
Another nobody drowning in a sea
of fawning faces
leaving no traces in his memory
like a distant star
far too dim for him to notice
Sing a dirge with crowns of marigolds.
But not for me for I am much alive, my dear.
Listen to the lovely lively rain,
Pitter-patter on the thriving flower beds,
Let them grow in all hues and shapes.
I’ll pick the marigolds’ white petals.
See, I love you not, I love myself.
Next autumn I’ll fill my lovely cottage
With the most beautiful fragrant narcissus.
just a scribble
I had a rough year in seventh grade
There was a horrible teacher who picked on me
He was awful, and made my life hard.
My mother sent me out to till the soil.
She gave me a package of marigold seeds.
I had to water the soil every day.
I was amazed in a week when tiny green sprouts appeared.
They got larger every day; taking my mind off school.
When the buds appeared, I was enthralled and enchanted.
Ruffled yellow and gold blossoms soon followed.
That was over fifty years ago, and marigolds are still my favorite.
They took my mind off my troubles.
my mother forced me into a garden when I was twelve
I did it grudgingly, prepared the soil, spread seeds
She forced me to water this ugly dirt nightly.
got crazy excited when green shoots appeared
marvelous ruffled, pungent yellow and orange marigold magic!
I do this every year now
Harold loved marigolds, his favourite flower
One day he ate some and they tasted quite sour
So that was the end
Of his passion, my friends
After that, he only ate roses with carrots and cauliflower
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