Trusting for me has always equaled pain and dysfunction. When things become out of my control, the feelings of non-erotica play tug o way with me as a whole. Needing internal stimulation to produce external growth. I have to repot my soul's bulb in positive nutrient filled soil. The environment needs to be just right, enough open space for the light to shine so my fruits of labor can ripen bright. Attaining the level of comfort within my parts, enough to remove the need to exercise manipulation as an art. Exhausting all wants to comfort every lonely heart. I’m ready to sprout and lengthen my roots with worth and healing and when undug, they can be found. I’ve come to realize I am tired of surviving; I want to live life now. I want to give without being taken advantage of. Learning to rely on my HPs guidance, practice trusting trustworthy people because yes those still can be found. I Acknowledge I am not in control and that is ok. How can a flower bloom if its vision is blurred by someone else’s gloomy day? I need to just stay in my pot and enjoy the sun rays, I am a precious being and I deserve good days.
Categories:
repot, happy, hope,
Form: Narrative
Preoccupation
The brain is a miraculous oddity
Roaming at will, out to play,
But returning to sober reality,
Preoccupation stilled for focusing
On the must-dos of the day.
Ah, but then there is that flower,
That beautiful bromeliad,
And the mind preoccupies to the child
Who thought it would make her glad.
Repot it to a larger container
And she’s diverted to that task,
And the chicken breasts remain uncooked,
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
Where is the potting soil?
Preoccupying itself with raw chicken,
While the house goes unkempt,
Wandering to wonder where is the parchment,
Humming a song about children and flowers.
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
Categories:
repot, how i feel, humanity,
Form: Light Verse
Witches in my gardens, blessing them.
Using their notoriously generous green thumbs to help repot the plants snatched out by gray wind yesterday.
Witches, welcome! So grateful you have arrived!
Thank you for showing me the old one’s ways to grow the best thyme and basil possible.
The magic you bestow upon my garden, humbles me, and my daughters, and my daughters’ daughters.
To no one do harm, your motto, your creed. I know you in no way resemble the tales of
Witches in faerie tales, rather, mother earth faeries who got a bad rap because you followed
Your dreams and went your own ways in a patriarchal society. Scaring women who were afraid of your
Unseemly ways.
I am honored you chose my garden, bestowing your experience and your wizen ways
Upon my plants. Thank you, Witch sisters! Welcome!
Categories:
repot, garden, tribute,
Form: Free verse
Coming out on the porch this morning after the sun had risen far above the horizon...I
noticed that my herbs looked wilted. Checked but not really dry just potbound or rootbound
in too small of a container..Life___how many of us are potbound or rootbound contained in a
container that we outgrew years ago___stuck, complacent not growing and soon will die from
starvation because we can't receive the nourishment from the source of our total being the
giver of life the One Who gives the Living Waters....In the next few days I will get larger
pots, fresh soil, and remove those plants..distrub their roots...Repot them giving their root
system room to grow..They will come out giving me fresh French Tarragon, and Lemon
Thyme all summer..I will enjoy watching them grow and produce....What about me? Will I
get out of the pot that is too small and grow?
Categories:
repot, faith, food, inspirational, introspection,
Form: Prose Poetry