Regrow Poems | Examples

Strength Does Not Always Roar

Fragility is quite a strength
just as the crucial bumblebees’ breath
Perhaps not only titularly
gentleness is stronger than severity . . .

Channeling Emily Dickinson : To be a feather in a holocaust
– hope, sewn in the soul, sings the song needed most

A minor thought on regeneration : To regrow the leg the mantis lost
– a marvel on a molecular level - most miraculous

Of majestic beauty : To behold the fragile snowflake - winter’s impetus
– intricate masterpieces exist in the microscopic and minutest

Plant power is undisputed : To reap lemongrass’ healing gifts
– behold a beloved botanical treasure of abundant benefits

Quantity trumps quality when better suited : To cut out the mountains through erosive agency
– water as a weatherer works wondrously

Sources of energy : From the brilliant and prodigious mitochondrion - a natural wonder
to the multifaceted palm frond - suitable as tinder

It can certainly be said that, in the slight
one can perceive preternatural might
So, as the Scots say, “while we breathe we hope”
and our delicate operatives firmly stay a-float

fragile

Is it possible that a flower can regrow?
you have to leave the roots, they say
but how can I know?
Are the roots still there and
should I care?
Should I plant a new one?


by Chiara P.

Life's waves

A rose hasn't a heart without its core. 
A house is dark without windows.
A tree grows leaves again after they died.
A meadow has green grass, but it also becomes dry.
The spring blooms flowers and beauty that disappears, but always regrow.

The summer means children making sandcastles on the beach, joy and fun to capture.
The sea has its way to be, tough, soft and gentle or impossible to cope with.
The life's waves are the same as the sea waves, 
difficult to stay on the board all the time.

We surf for new achievements,
we forget about what we can 
lose meantime.

THE 4 SEASONS

Winter, spring, summer, fall
I love them all 
Winter is the season 
For love to fruition 

Spring brings the rain 
To nourish the grain 
Heaven brings the glow 
For waters to flow 

Summer brings the sun 
Time to have fun 
Children come to play 
Time to be gay 

Then, the gusty fall 
Is time for all 
For a new beginning 
To regrow after falling

Four by four poetry contest 
2nd place

Poetic Podcast Episode 8 Bop

We thought it would last forever,
not a kink in the endless chain of supplies;
Now more than the store shelves
are coming up continuously empty;
Still the menu is good to change,
maybe get out grandma’s old recipe;

No amount of money in the world 
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;

We thought it was just gonna go away,
the trucks would always deliver more eggs;
Then omelettes became a luxury item,
‘Snickers’ were all we could afford or find;
Starvation ended with ‘We are the World.’
Western civilization? That’s impossible;
North America is flooded with resources;
Regrow endless crops on soil rich land;

No amount of money in the world 
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;

Bottom of the barrel no trash to steal;
Private property gardens, no trespassing;
Outlaws armed with skills and dirty hands,
Off grid not for sale, can’t steal from them;
The wealthy can get whatever they need,
or so the one percent always thought;

No amount of money in the world 
can buy you food that doesn’t exist.

10,99 Special

I cut my flowers too short.
My billowing, green vase drowning their maternally short stems
and never-blooms.
Within a week’s time, (and I know this)
The leaves I neglected to p l u c k
Will be rotting and browning under the confines of a vase half-full —
too full.
Although, (I must defend myself)
I filled my swelling, green vase prior to my mistake,
So the water is truly– 
technically–
The perfect amount of fullness. 
Nonetheless, (as I cannot regrow stems)
I place my mistake in the middle of the kitchen island.
My bloating, green vase standing stoutly against its prepackaged blooms.
But, again, (and I know this)
Within a week’s time,
The rot and browning from a vase half-full —
too full
Will seep into my flowers maternally short stems and never-blooms,
Causing my flowers to wither and d
					            r
					              o
					                o
						           p
Long before they are meant to.

King Koala

a strange koala in a tree
staring very strangely right down at me
i stare straight back up the tree
as the cheeky koala spits on me
hey there you,do not do that
your a koala not a rat 
indeed this is strange,
come down here ,lets have a chat
his reply is no i done with that
i am the king ,the last of my kind
you cut down my trees are you people blind
you destroyed my home
now i am all alone 
the giant gum  trees so grand and tall
you have cut them all down
did you not hear them fall.
you sell them for wood chip to lands afar
now all i have is a road and a car.
my forest long gone
all that is left is me and this tree
just keep walking and leave me be free,
a strange koala yes indeed 
maybe now you will plant that seed
regrow my home and leave me alone
for once i am gone i will not return
i am the last of the  species as you watched my tree burn
please read this and help me return

Sea Star Drops An Arm

The sea star is terrified.
Chase is on.
He drops the beast an arm.
Knowing it will regrow.
Saving his life one more time
At the expense of one arm.

Long-Forgotten Dreams

Sitting on my front steps
  delighting in the scene
Discerning in the ordinary
  long-forgotten dreams

A toddler hides in mommy's skirts
  A dolly-girl presses dandelions to her nose
A brave lad stays up on a unicycle
  Can I, my imagination regrow?

The Circle of Life

The nearness of his ancestors spirits
caused a chill.  Looking out
over the plains he could hear
the horses hooves, the riders
panting, the buffalo running.
He could smell the sweat as
it ran down his Great-Grandfather's
face, down the broad painted
chest, pooling on the back of
a saddle-less horse.  He 
could taste the sweetness of
the bison meat, causing him
to drool, even though it
had not crossed his lips
in years, perhaps decades.
He could see the grasses
waving in the breeze now,
trampled by the massive
herd in bygone years, eager
to regrow after being eaten
then fertilized by the buffalo.
The circle of life.  he smiled
at his ancestors, said a
silent prayer and moved on.

Can You Imagine

“Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess
When did you feel your
most euphoric kiss?
Was I the source
of your greatest bliss?”
- Roman Payne 

Can you imagine being young again -
going back where your longings first began
when feelings – bright tulips – sprang inside you?
Springtime yearnings blossomed; they grew and grew.

Can you imagine being young and free
and getting past (at last) timidity?
While quivering with sweet desire’s delight,
first love you tasted deep into the night.

Can you imagine going to that place
which years of living manage to erase.
Could you return and once again make real
the vividness of what you used to feel?

Can you imagine love fresh and sublime?
I try to bring it back to life with rhyme.
But even when I write of it, I know . . .
bright tulips of my youth will not regrow.

Jan. 24, 2021

Santa Clawed

I heard a rumour that I never knew
Santa delivers to animals too
But, throughout the ages 
He’s feared beasts in cages
So he leaves till last, his trip to the zoo

Small children, they play the game right
Of Santa they never catch sight
In the Amazon halls
Santa lost both his balls
’Cause crocodiles don’t sleep at night 

The Tiger that bit off his nose
Pursues him wherever he goes
Too tight for his waist
The bars slow his haste 
He’s just lost an ear and two toes

He bound his foot with a bandana
He’d meant to give someone mañana
The big ape was risky
He looked pretty frisky 
And then Santa lost his banana 

A coyote from Winnipeg
Snarled but he tried not to beg
He offered him joy
With a nice squeaky toy
Which cost him an arm and a leg 

But Santa Claus doesn't know fear
This happens each time he comes here
In ten months or so
His bits will regrow
That’s why he comes just once a year

Uprooted

I wonder what she’d say
would she stare in wonder?
cry in disdain?
Fear for my fickle bones.

When her child is rested into her flesh
No more than fertilizer, 
giving for the last time.
Will the earth mourn me?

And does this creature
of ancient bones and colossal mystery
know how we think of her?
are we simply ants long her back

If she could think, could see
would she even notice me
would she understand my sorrows
and tell me that i am allowed to weep

My tears recycle into my skin
and one day in my grave
My tears will water the roots
That were left for you

Tell me tales of tumbleweeds and moss
The roots they lack and how they run
Not meant to stay, always free
That i was not these plants.

“There are some who can live wild
no consistency, constant movement
and thats the best way for them to survive
but you, my dear, are a fragile flower

you were cut from your roots
and you’ve been slowly drying out
and now you can return to the earth
just a little longer you might regrow your roots”

I haven't written in an incredibly long time so this is far from good, but I missed writing here and just writing in general, so enjoy whatever this is.

Grasping Nettles

My father showed me how to pull nettles without being stung. 
With a confident and downward grasp and without hesitation, 
To grip and flatten the stinging hairs by following their direction
but I have never reached to do it, or had any to pull in my city garden.
I watched him dig sods with a spade and turn them over row by row 
So that weeds would bury beneath each shiny clod and not regrow
But I have never had more of a garden than a small brick-paved courtyard.

Thanks

T There were days when I drowned my pain in a bottle

H Hailed void numbness oblivion as the only solution

A Absconded from life’s promise on a treacherous path

N Naked and bare to my bones coveted sweet demise

K Keeled over in darkness and snubbed good advice

S Safe in the knowledge that not even death would last


T Then pivotal blessings appeared in apparent disguise

H Her words became callous abusive hurtful and vile

A And my wife and drinking companion set out a trap

N No kindness and I drifted between anger and sorrow

K Kidnapped and slaughtered on tempting funeral pyres 

S Succumbed to a journey of grueling lonely reflections


T The signs had been obvious but my vision was blinded

H Hemlock would not give justice in my desperate cave

A Attacks on my vices shortcomings defeats and destruction

N Nurtured self respect and healing from bedlam and madness

K Killing my own demons left me with no choice but regrow

S Surrender to search for another version of my blighted Self



27th June 2020

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