Lilacs
Delicious blossoms
Delicate fragrance
Lingering in childhood memories
My sweet white and violet lilacs
Speak again to me within the breeze
Of the palpable ardour of my first love
Of all the invisible innocence in the youth of my ease.
Mums
These are flowers of the dead
Waiting in the shops for the Day of All Souls
Flooding the graveyards
Covering the dark earth of the tombs
These are the white and yellow Mums
Clothes for the dead flowering on the ground above
All Souls’ blossoming in love.
Roses
When will you bloom
My sweet white rose
When will you bloom my dear
I know you are there
I see your buds fair
I sense your perfume to be released unto the now warm June air
I feel your snowy whiteness
Even unto this time of sorrowful waiting
I hear your petals fall
Touching the back of my soul
Falling inside where angels never call
Filling up my emptiness
You are my day’s first embrace as you rise from winter’s sleep
I’m the lady with a big bum
A man offered quite a sum
Of money to play
With my bum he’d pay
Until I reached out to his mum
More pans to wash …
More pans to wash!!!
They come umpteen times a day.
My hands are chapped,
My back is crook’d
I wish they’d go away.
But when they’re dry and shiny, sitting neatly on their shelves
My thoughts can turn to what comes next -
Some tasty treat, no longer vexed
I now ‘create; and undertake
Pie, bun, roast a glorious cake?
Foods to soothe the ravening beasts
My pans cook up some wondrous feasts.
my mother accused me of intentions I didn’t know were there
and punished me accordingly though I was unaware
I think she only understands what females say and do
boys would never think that way but she ain’t gotta clue
Boys don’t do the nasty things that little girls will do
boys confront up front and blunt and do not think it through
when men clash they fight the fight it’s physical abuse
but women will manipulate and spread a lie or two
Boys don’t play the mind games that my mother thought I did
so how can you respect her when she’s clearly quite stupid
when my father got involved he showed me he understands
and that relatability could only come out of a man
if you have never been a boy then you haven’t got a clue,
you might be a mum but being male was never you,
so never think your sons intentions match your point of view
you might accuse him of things boys would never do
And every time you do that he’ll think less of you
Mellowing muted miraculous memories,
mildly mannered, meticulously minted
manly mirrored, mostly mastered
messages, massaging misleading
Manson Mongoloid measures, minus
milktoast Mozart minuet membership
monotone manuscripts, manipulating
many manakin malignant mind melds.
Might mindful micro mineral mankindedness
marvel my molecular madness mediating
medicinal meditative metronome
mattresses manipulating magnum
malevolent maelstrom monstrosities?
Mother mayI?
life
new forms
flower seeds
pressed inside earth
peppered with color
they blossom in full view
fragrant tender petals
bending in the wind
white butterflies
dance upon
the mums
life
August 17, 2021
The luxurious feel of freshly troweled earth
Sifting through my hands as I ready the plot,
I shall plant roots for chrysanthemums’ birth
Ere fierce sun rising spoils their golden spot.
Sifting through my hands as I ready the plot
Peaceful garden resting beside the narrow firth
Ere fierce sun rising spoils their golden spot,
More than gold the precious blossoms worth.
Peaceful garden resting beside the narrow firth,
Where warm summer gentle breezes kiss the sea
More than gold the precious blossoms worth,
I knead the fertile soil carefully on bended knee.
Where warm summer gentle breezes kiss the sea,
I shall plant roots for chrysanthemums’ birth
I knead the fertile soil carefully on bended knee
The luxurious feel of freshly troweled earth.
Written May 18, 2021
For "Pantoum Rhyme" poetry contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Picture #5
I grow colorful, pretty poppies in springtime,
And in fall, my lovely chrysanthemums shine!
In my cheerful garden, I have only these two,
And some even emerge in exotic shades of blue.
Two very beautiful flowers, of such myriad colors,
Are pleasant obsession, with no need for others!
My mums are old-fashioned dark red, to fluffy pink,
And my poppies range from white, to black as ink.
Welcome to Home School today,
A typical mum might say,
We'll start with Maths, okay?
First, I have an empty glass,
There is 0 wine here for a blast,
Then I'll pour in half,
Before I top it up,
Now I have 1 whole wine to sup,
Home School does need wine o'clock,
For Mums, not kids, quite a shock,
Stop laughing at Mum, okay,
She flunked Maths too, along the way,
Some Mums are not teachers, okay,
Now who farted? She'll say,
End of Home School for the day!
Yesterday I planted the purple mums
Which had sat forlorn on the porch for days.
A monarch butterfly is scouring porch searching for mums today.
Monarch is fifteen yards away from the goal plant.
Will he settle for a light on the marigolds or the roses?
I watch him take off, in an optimistic way.
He flits up and down from bush to flower,
Settling on the purple mums.
This determined butterfly amuses me.
From the mother of all mothers
tongue tied
to a tree
naked
5/3/2019
Navel Gazing
Liberum Divisa Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory Barden
i see those blossoms
top with brilliant colors bulbs
aromatic scents
aromatic scents
colored red, yellows heads
oh, I love them mums
11/07/18
Although you can not see them, they never hide
Mums in heaven are right by your side.
They hear your laugher
They wipe away your tears
They will hold your hands
For many many years
Do not cry that they are not with you
Smile because they are near
Whisper to them you love them
Because they will always hear.
Is it any wonder that we want to scream and shout
but we hold it in so nicely, too scared to let it out,
running ragged round the clock, and slightly round the bend,
there's washing, ironing and dishes, whenever will it end.
Pulling on a rubber glove, straightening up a chair,
taking out the rubbish, clearing a plughole full of hair,
hoovering the carpet, another sticky bit of glue,
new drawings on my paintwork,
mind you its a very nice shade of blue!
Cleaning muddy footprints off the kitchen floor,
scrubbing chocolate fingerprints covering the door,
dusting all the pictures of the family i adore,
see its not that great a wonder,
because its never been a chore.
Anxiously waiting trying not to clock watch
Baleful noise breaks the silence,
Calmness disappears,
Distraught, sons first school day
Excitement as flying body flings himself at her, at home time
Penned October 1 2017
Contest : Sara Kendrick ....let's do some alphabet
Based on own friends ordeal
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