OF ROSEBUSHES AND US: A BEAUTIFUL AWARENESS
Like the rosebushes,
our lives have petals and thorns:
God growing us on:-
As spring rosebushes sway in their prime,
Some see roses, and some others see thorns.
Can't a bell sound be heard as "peal" and "chime"?
To some, "a bird sings"; to others, "it mourns."
Conscious and unconscious movements of life
seem to form all my fancies and fashions.
Do I see a stream as smooth-flowing strife?
Is existence a firework of passions?
Could comedy and tragedy be well-knit?
Would my outlook see the tale's other side?
Would my inner splits and outer bonds fit?
Could a green leaf be seen as if it were dried?
From thought’s rich soil, a thousand vistas bloom—
Does this same light outlive time's ancient tomb?
People and horses
The Newmarket was the oldest market in town
farmers came here selling potatoes and other greenery
Their women-folk sold thick, long underwear
winter can be cold when the North-west blows.
Horse manure was quickly scooped up the town’s housewives
good for the rosebushes.
Horse piss gave off a fragrance of time gone by.
Time changed, first slowly farmers had trucks
sold orange, tomatoes and exotic fruits never heard of before
and one day the horses to had gone.
Everybody was busy not time for a wee dram and a chat.
It was the horses that made the market pretty
oddly enough the iron ring on the railing is still here
Waiting for the warm breath of the workhorses.
A lullaby
For the suicidal butterfly
Tracing figure eights on my window panes.
Broken wings,
Torn by thunderstorms
And rosebushes,
Are still beating fruitlessly:
In hope,
Or foolishness,
The two are interchangeable.
A lullaby
For the suicidal butterfly
Arcing lazily overhead
For a last-breath sunset.
~~~~~ THEN ~~~~~
How does a house change, though still brick
still imposing ~~~
Same roots below grass, same garage and
cracked garden hosing ~~~
Same dinner bell, same function of rooms
same wooden floors and now
old, tattered brooms ~~~
~~~~~ NOW ~~~~~
Though new roof, rosebushes around
refurbished piano provides
beauteous sounds ~~~
Which proves respect for future ones
to ease burden of needed sums ~~~
Living room carpet replaced, kitchen refaced
changes made day by day
much progress thus far ~~~
HURRAY !!
~~~~~~ BUT ~~~~~~
How does the ambience of a house change
nothing to do with
things rearranged ~~~
How does an empty house now feel so full
with no physical presences
just old souls ~~~
An empty dwelling, once thought pretentious
now feels peaceful
not contentious ~~~
Air no longer tense so take a deep breath
and inhale ~~~ LOVE and FAMILY ~~~
~~~~~ TILL OUR DEATH ~~~~~
~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~
The bursting blossom of a pear tree twist and swirl with a lavishing beauty,
Promising plenty of fruit along each smooth branch and bough delivering all,
Rosebushes red buds burst into leaves with fresh dew dripping on grass,
A shy foxglove shakes in soft breeze hides her sweet face behind new leaves.
The taccamahac a name to deal with, blazes yellow across the heaths and downs
They grin as you walk down old lanes forgotten fields and old secret places,
The chestnut's pale sticky leaves glisten in deep woods with every sun beam,
And the mighty oak tree whispers to the sun, "Let us have one day's warmth."
The hedges are impatient blackthorn blossom gone now showing hints of green,
It's not winter nor summer it's natures no-mans-land mint essence in the air,
The cuckoo sits on a bare branch besides young buds once he sings it's spring
Then greenness will steal across country, streams boil, and mead's will dry.
The bursting blossom of a pear tree twist and swirl with a lavishing beauty,
Promising plenty of fruit along each smooth branch and bough delivering all,
Rosebushes red buds burst into leaves with fresh dew dripping on grass,
A shy foxglove shakes in soft breeze hides her sweet face behind new leaves.
The taccamahac a name to deal with, blazes yellow across the heaths and downs
They grin as you walk down old lanes forgotten fields and old secret places,
The chestnut's pale sticky leaves glisten in deep woods with every sun beam,
And the mighty oak tree whispers to the sun, "Let us have one day's warmth."
The hedges are impatient blackthorn blossom gone now showing hints of green,
It's not winter nor summer it's natures no-mans-land mint essence in the air,
The cuckoo sits on a bare branch besides young buds once he sings it's spring
Then greenness will steal across country, streams boil, and mead's will dry.
The bursting blossom of a pear tree twist and swirl with a lavishing beauty,
Promising plenty of fruit along each smooth branch and bough delivering all,
Rosebushes buds red buds burst into leaves with fresh dew dripping on grass,
A shy foxglove shakes in soft breeze hides her sweet face behind new leaves.
The taccamahac a name to deal with blazes yellow across the heaths and downs
They grin as you walk down old lanes forgotten fields and old secret places,
The chestnut's pale sticky leaves glisten in deep woods with every sun beam,
And the mighty oak tree whispers to the sun, "Let us have one day's warmth."
The hedges are impatient blackthorn blossom gone now showing hints of green,
It's not winter nor summer it's natures no-mans-land mint essence in the air,
The cuckoo sits on a bare branch besides young buds once he sings it's spring
Then greenness will steal across country, streams boil, and mead's will dry.
Unread and scattered letters of a chilly and lonely Fall,
as if a sudden whirlwind had come in and gone mad,
ravaging everything...but leaving my roses in a pink vase intact:
a waned memory of a lover with eyes incredibly beautiful!
The usual and friendly bluebird felt my boredom,
and started to make up cheerful notes to uplift me;
I smiled, as a tearful child missing his lovable mom,
and thanked him for his spontaneous sympathy!
Snow will come to cover the lush meadow,
where two sensuous lovers celebrated their love;
and each sequence would bring serendipity...
to make us taste an aromatic place of serenity!
Desire will arouse me: when spring will be vibrant again,
and my violin's strings need to come alive with a new melody,
to surprise the larks that await in the fluttering pine tree...
observing the rosebushes already dressed in shimmering green!
My roses in a pink vase still daze in the cold light,
and I keep them alive with this warm breath on a December' night...
not letting my hope escape from me and be lost in eternity;
will certainty dawdle in a gelid aurora emerging from the luminescent sea?
i
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.