Short Uncultivated Poems

Uncultivated;
sensuous and delicate.
White clovers delight
In the beauty of spring....

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Worse than food shortages
     is the voidness of dreams
uncultivated field
harvest of unhappiness...

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The rose, having
no longer
place to go…
for even, outside the gardens,
the wild well knows
that beauty, uncultivated,
never grows….
One does not use
soil tilled
by a scalpel;
and bodies of
unborn
to fertilize…
such eyes
cannot blossom
(though the shape
of bulbs)
nor ever produce
for the nose
one fragrance
divinely
pleasing…....

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The rose, having
no-longer
place to go…
for even, outside the gardens,
the wild well knows
that beauty, uncultivated,
never grows….
One does not use
soil tilled
by a scalpel;
and bodies of
unborn
to fertilize…
such eyes
cannot blossom
(though the shape
of bulbs)
nor ever produce
for the nose
one fragrance
divinely
pleasing…....

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The dahlias were once,
they bloomed once,
now they are churning earth,
in a faraway time
making a living by dying.

Dead, the flowers are dead,
yet the dirt is alive with their progeny.
Uncultivated buttercups
are seeding green pastures,
weeds are building trestle bridges.
Fertile bones are mating in a humming mud

Nothing is too faraway,
to be dead for long.
Soon the heart blooms also....

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Today, of all days
Let's not make a deal
Out of sleep deprivation
There's a bag
Upon the back
That stands ready for invitation
...to spill

Expectations collect
Wanting love to appear
On scattered lines
Were you desiring
A truth bomb
From an uncultivated mind
...to heal

A moment, a pure moment
Where one sees
And desires the perception
Is the acceptance
One must experience
Out of a far fetched inspection
...to reel

Presence

Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-24-2022...

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