Pruned Poems

Ciara Cybelle

Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren 
Given to saturnine quintessence

And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection

Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances

She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm

Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell

I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man

But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said

The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow

On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error

And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell

To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead

Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths 
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle

Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined

TO THE VINING CHILDREN, VIBING

TO THE VINING CHILDREN…VIBING…
(Apropos Of A Scriptural Inspiration) 

Let us be as the Vines
Of The Gardener;
Let us who have been pruned
With love and awareness,
Have branches sharing fruits
Of Truth, Peace, and Love:-
Indeed, may our branches
Never ever be void
Of His divine wisdom’s guidance;
For we are poets of the tree of life:
Rooted, trunked, branched, leaved,
And fruited with the liberated word:-

As chosen vines of His love,
Let us continue vibing,
Fruiting awareness, inspiration,
Guidance, peace, and love,
Through the seeds germinating
In the creative fertile soil
Of our gardening poetic mind;
And its onederful oneness, 
In its onement of labors of love;
In our blessed poetic gardening
Of divine liberating inspiration.

Vineyard of Love

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    I find I thirst more day by day
        for the True Vine, oh, sweet bouquet
            with one drop on tongue, love immersed
                more day by day, I find I thirst


    the fruit is pressed through trials unsung
        love immersed, with one drop on tongue
            yet in the vine we find sweet rest
                through trials unsung the fruit is pressed


                we’re pruned and purged by design
            we find sweet rest, yet in the vine
        into the vine the branch is merged
    by design we’re pruned and purged


                one body, one heart, all entwine
            the branch is merged into the vine
        warmth of Spirit like wine impart
    all entwine, one body, one heart

Wilting flowers

Wilted flowers
Wilted flowers lie in empty fields
Days pass as flies scour,
Leaving the decomposing ideas to be eaten.
The sun flickers as each minute weans by
An empty shell of you left in bloody waters.
A quiet silence crowding the space your words claimed.
The once blooming pedals, scorned by your nectar.
Craving the burn you bring into my veins; no longer able to be muzzled
A type of silent desire for chaos and destruction.
A desire for deforestation.
What started as weeds being plucked,
Turned to mowing down rose bushes.
Muddy boots left on waxed floors,
Destruction on the original wood grain that was once admired by generations.
Floors handcrafted from trees outside of what I wanted to call home.
Someplace silence was peace and peace was expected rather than craved.
Pruned roses left puddles of milkweed
Each droplet going sour the second it fell,
The bitter taste of cyanide leaked out of your pores into its water supply.
Empty plots. Pesticides. Ripped roots.

Garden Tree

I didn’t plant that garden tree
But thinking, I just let it be
I knew I should have cut it out
But felt within to let it sprout

And so, as seasons came and went
I pruned this tree, its bole I bent
Around the gable of my shed
But left the limbs above my head 

The years passed by and I grew old
I hated heat and shunned the cold
My garden work became a chore
As summer days my patience wore

But resting underneath that tree
Allowed me time to watch and see
The beauty of my garden wrought
And all the neighbored friends it brought

A bunny comes to taste my beets
While shaded so, I rest my feet
A bumble-bee’s contralto thrum;
A promise of much more to come

Badgers, robins, the house finch red 
All come with hopes of being fed
And I, too tired to wield my hoe,
Am glad I let that elm tree grow.

Stench

Dark red, luscious apples felled from her own tree long ago
Under the beaming sun plummeted with a soft, aching blow

The sweat drips and plops, scruple over a furrowed brow
Upon the discovery of rot that blackened her plow

“Has the wind gone mad–or am I the one insane?
Dirt and grime, high dry–surely the only way to explain”

Denial among hatred, she could not face–but under the murk, bits
Beneath, the snakes–surly and shabby—placed high their bids

The heat danced faster as the days passed far less paced
Her blonde hair bleached and pruned, but left one space

The temple on her right seemed blank and bruised
As a failed blow far too long past was nearly used

The magazine fell as she begins filtering the rot past her mind
She screams, shouts, yelps and cries, sobs of an animal forgotten by time

“I never meant for this to go–go and blow up like this!
I never meant. . . I never meant for me to hurt our kids.”

Too far from gone she was, behind silken white bars and drenched in ammonia
“I know, my love, but I must leave and forget you—may heaven forbid us, Aurora”

Beneath the Trees

You’re in the garden, playing ball with Pippa
In half an hour you’ll have your evening meal
The green of grass is glowing slightly deeper
I’m playing solitaire and thinking if you feel
Same as I am, before I press the phone sign
After three rings I interrupt the call
You’re calling back, and so we are online
How was your day, I ask – “I played the ball
With  Pippa in the garden, then I laid
Just for ten minutes, but I slept two hours
BG was low, I drank some lucozade
I pruned some roses, watered all the flowers
I had my meal, then it was your familiar bell
I called you back, to tell you that I’m tired
It was a busy day, I’m feeling not too well
And I must change the pod tonight it will expire”
So I suggest to make our evening shorter
You smile so lovingly and gratefully agree
But as we talk, the time becomes a water
Still our boat glides there, beneath the trees.

FRIEND AND ENEMY

       


          A friend is a flower
      that needs to be cared for,
          an enemy is a thorn
      that needs to be pruned,
      a friend is a plant   
  that needs to be cultivated,
          an enemy is a weed,
     that needs to be pulled out...

Garden

pruned and trimmed
blooming flowers
butterflies

Purely psychosomatic

Where liveth preen for empathy 
Drew ragged, 
Poor sawbones perscribed
"where in pain warrants lithe deformities"
Swimming,
Loathed from the east
Collared, 
Hung dry,
Pruned by the sweat of a racing night

When in dawn's bleached seamstress 
Sought a grim vow
Erelong in catapult
Where'n torrents clothed spare
Credences in cold eyes of maggots
A cruel indifference,
In polar tear.

New Year’s Old Wishes

So many live life as a masquerade 
With guarded heart and masking face
It’s not until we lose or gain in faith
That we are pruned to grow by grace

As the year ends we regret deaths
Thinking of those passed on as left
In the old year we had the same frets
Of love, fear of war, poverty and debt

President Jimmy Carter passed today
He built homes for families his way
With community service he was great
Habitat for humanity homes built safe

New year old wishes for peace on earth
Homes for the unhoused hope is birthed
For humanity to grow kinder with gentle word
For people to be united feel loved and heard

BENEATH THE BLOOM

At sixteen, I heard the tale of Qays the Madman.
I laughed as it was told, wondering,
How can one be so vulnerable of heart,
To let someone hold it carelessly,
Like a child clutching fragile glass?

"Grow up and see," they said,
"How life can turn meaningless
As wearing high heels for a hike."
So I grew, and the laughter faded,
A humbled fool that life had shaped.

For love became not just desire, but duty,
An orchard once wild now tended with care,
Pruned by the hands of endless giving,
Each act a vow, each harvest a prayer.

Love no longer burned—it illuminated,
Her name etched in my every breath,
Not as yearning, but as a promise kept.

And so, I loved her—not for myself,
But as one tends to the rising sun,
And bends to the earth to plant a seed,
Knowing the bloom may belong to another season.
And sometimes, that is enough.

Unadorned

Although the rose is unadorned by dew, rain or sun… she shines still brighter when all her work is done. ~ quote by poet

If often seems that I’m like the gentle rose,
When my limbs are pruned, my spirit thrives and grows.
Like the rose, my deep roots are the foundation,
For when my roots doubt, there is bleak stagnation.

Like the rose, my thorns seem rather like a curse,
But when looking closer, you see bugs who’re worse.
Battling bugs and disease, stems and leaves grumble,
I see the naked rose which makes me humble.

See the forest for the trees, rose as it sways,
Its rambling branches create a silent maze.
I feel just like that rose as it blooms with grace,
Then finds herself fading with age who’ll erase.

If I could tell past sprouts how to make time last,
I’d reveal the wonder of One I’ll holdfast.
When time has ended and I lay my head down,
There isn’t a doubt that His light will be my gown.

Like the rose who fades, despite our heavy grief,
We know she’ll rise again and it’s my belief…
That when she rises, she’ll be more amazing,
Much more beautiful as her soul is praising.

The old apple tree

It was pruned in Autumn  
now we can see new growth, 
New buds replacing old ones
Its too early for it to flower yet.

For the time being it will grow
and form new spurs to bear apples.
Leaves will appear in brilliant green
hiding from sight the robins nest.

There will be baby robins once more
with their blue breasts at first.
Gobbling up grubs hungrily
also fat balls and seeds.

Now the apple blossom spring's into life
delicate sprays of high perfume.
Vibrant colours decorate branches
once more life has come back.

The old tree will bear abundant fruits
in September fat large apples 
will be ready to harvest and
the old brambly tree has fulfilled expectations

DANDELION

DANDYLION

I am a humble dandelion
(You see, I know my place)
I’m not up there with the roses,
I occupy a lower space.
To some I’m an unwanted weed,
At best an unwanted flower.
I’m not pruned with secateurs,
I’m hacked to death with a mower.
It’s your fault I get everywhere,
When all is said and done.
If you don’t want me in your lawn,
Don’t scatter my seed head for fun!

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