Simplicity is how to be
life without electricity
No mobile phone no tee Vee
sight of nature that's all to see
the sound of joy that's all to hear
live with love overcome all fear
emotions time to shed a tear
life exhilarating so much to cheer
Aromas of flowers all abound
Bees are humming on stamens found
Scent of rain arising from the ground
Olfactory senses react to all that's 'round
Find the key to retain youth
Simplicity it is forsooth
In the heart just feel the truth
Today simplicity it is seclouth
On a dew kissed morning,
while walking through the country path,
I chanced upon an unpretentious weed
peeping out of the crannied stone ledge with a flower
a lavender blossom with bright yellow stamens
around her navel announcing the mirth
that breathes itself in bloom.
Though lonely, she was a symbol of resilience
In many eyes an intruder, but she could put to shame,
her garden cousins, stationed high-
a testament to love, showing life’s art.
Away from mortal gaze, she survives,
to cheer hearts and waft a mild fragrance.
She nods her head in breeze
as if to invite the footloose ramblers
who might chance to pass that way
to feast on her beauty and taste her fragrance,
before she falls down dead in that wilderness
in another day’s time,
unnoticed, untouched, unsung!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midwinter’s blush—not born of frost,
but coaxed from shadows when days shrink
to slivers. A star-shaped constellation
pressed between panes, each scarlet leaf
a silent flare against winter’s gray.
Some call it flor de Nochebuena,
flower of the Holy Night~
as if crimson could hold reverence,
as if a plant remembers angels
or the weight of a child’s breath.
Yet here it stands: unbothered by theology,
a bold geometry of joy.
Watch how its gold-tipped stamens
ignite like votives~
not praying, simply being light.
I’ve crucified the hands of the final clock, in silence,
Time, suspended, hangs life in eternal pain,
Circling the universe, searching for your flower of color,
Lost among the stars, in planetary systems, like a calling.
I swear by what I feel, on earth I have found myself,
Beyond the belt, majestic, enduring, like an unfulfilled dream,
Through the dust of stamens, compact and virile, uninterrupted,
Our love grows, an immeasurable pistil, a silent thought.
Seeds chosen from impure stars have sprouted in us,
Budding in your dreams and mine, like a string of rains,
Morning wakes us from eternal vice, slaves to love,
Yawning, we drag ourselves to work, burdened by nature's memories.
On the way, you gift me, gratefully, a deceived smile,
Thinking of the confabulating night, an unlimited, tempted dream,
From every moment of memory, a few obscene whispers,
Nature reciting to lost gazes, lightning, eternal rains.
Storms outlined with the thrills of ancestral sins,
Finding delight only in me, an astral season,
Immeasurable delight, a dance of shadows and light,
In me, the place where sins and dreams intertwine in peace.
Stamens and pistils
delicately poised
Shamans and pistols
making too much noise
Soft buzz preferred,
a silencer’s desired
Pollinator’s sense
the triggers just fired
Nectar brings balance
agape open wide
Willing the seeker
to do laps inside
Comes with a snag
also stitch in the side
Fulcrum of a rose
the thorn realised
My soul’s not a flower
just gives and takes
Wants what it craves
accepts all, even fakes
Opens too early,
closes far too late
Can’t tell if I’m full,
yet knows when I’m sate
Possesses a thorn,
and stabs by design
Fulcrum of my soul’s
human not divine
Protects at all costs
only thing that’s mine
Not pain or loss,
just my life to define
A FLOWER THAT BLOOMS
God sees your life as a flower
That sprouts, grows, blooms, wilts, withers, and dies in one Day.
And it is not so much the way the Lord sees how you were Rooted to the world
But,
How you attempted to bloom toward the sky.
Whether your stem was broken too soon by an icy storm, Wilted too early by a harsh sun
Or
Grew to be a beautiful flower with bright petals
Because each flower was born in different times, weather, and Seasons
And We
Are the product of our days
But each flower is still a flower With stamens and pistils
Trying to survive And
Love Together
Whether born in a cold canyon, a beautiful garden, sprouting from Concrete, or a lovely meadow
Standing alone or with many
As long as your stem stands tall and your petals Reach toward the Lord
You will always be the flower that blooms
fresh and aromatic were her newest flowers
miniature daisy stamens within daisies
in ombre' too, fascinatingly innocent
no wonder you are the favorite flower of girl scouts
and Juliette Low
An unpretentious wild flower
Peeped out of the crannied stone ledge
A peach coloured blossom
With bright yellow stamens around her navel
She had an exquisite charm
With a seductive smile
So pretty that she could put to shame
Her garden cousins stationed high
She nodded her head in the breeze
As if to invite the footloose ramblers
Who might chance to pass that way
To feast on her beauty
And taste her fragrance
Ere she falls down dead
Sans parting knell
Sans ceremony
In that wilderness
In another day's time,
Unnoticed,
Untouched
Unsung!
Sep.3. 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Let's go, let's go, it's so sunny;
we need to rush, make some honey.
Come on, come on, we've wasted hours
out there are just loads of flowers
stamens offering nectar sweet
my eager wings just beat-beat-beat.
There's such a buzz; can't we just go,
why oh why is our hive so slow?
Calm down, my little stripey friend.
First, we must to the queen attend.
Then she will send her scouts away
to find the biggest best bouquet.
When they come back, they do a dance,
no, not the kind that means romance.
They do a buzzing dance to show
the perfect point we all must go.
Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Date wrote: 28th May 2022
Tulips
undress themselves
in the warmth of spring sun,
creating new seed for next year
again.
Tulips
again
Tulip flowers have one pistil (female) arising in their centers, with 6 stamens (male) arising from around the pistil's base. This means that tulips are self-pollinating and do not need other flowers to pollinate in order to make seed.
Chalice of Darkness
Buried deep inside the blinded eye of midnight
My fugitive heart,
Homeless in winter’s frozen wrath,
Seeks an abyss with rotund borders –
A rounded vault of endorphic sacredness
Overflowing with elixirs of metamorphosis
Born from dark dry crystals of crisis –
Angles of anxiety –
Dark womb no sepulcher for magic of wonder.
Rotunda made with sacred walls of purple heart
Where stamens and pistils entwine,
Ferment to maturity in a lightless vessel,
To press against the wholeness of their birthing cup
In a goblet of a chrysalis catacomb
Ecstasy bidding my weeds of mourning
Flame within the grail of martyrs
To pollinate, despite shades of gloom,
Blooms rising above this cupola of blessings.
1-24-21
Contest: Chalice of Darkness
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Purple heart is a hardwood that when cut reveals a nature purple color.
A chalice is a cup. It is also the interior shape of a flower.
Like rivers of blood so flooding,
These poppies stay ever budding…
Stalks look like tired soldiers, nodding,
Stems stall like soldiers scaffolding!
Petals, like pleasing gun layers, peep,
Stamens like soldier-spiders creep;
Like smart guns, they seldom unfold,
Like army secrets soldiers hold!
Sign of still, calm, quiet future!
As enthralling armed men stature!
When, in wars, soldier-martyrs, die,
Lying on them, like mourners, cry!
29 October 2021
As if waiting for August, bullet buds
were ready to explode in front of shrubs.
Now they are blushing bursting in your face,
rich shades of pink, radiant in this space.
Beneath the apple tree their perfume drifts.
Hover flies are drawn, as the scent emits,
to powdered stamens trembling in the breeze,
and petals as a star attract the bees.
All this comes from a gift that we had placed
in the only vacant space and in haste
some years ago to let them grow all chaste
at our garden's heart which they have graced.
With you I feel compelled this sight to share.
Imagine if you can the fragrance there.
flaming red petals
a yellow sunshine spreader
bee attacks stamens
with bottom-feeder passion
his honey-business awake
splashing. sunshine.
etched glasses with paint in mind -
water goo.
rose reds and blueberry blues.
as if handling a ginormous flatscreen,
the canvas placed.
splash...splash...splash
like a conductor with an orchestral skill.
the maestro puts on his visor and busies himself,
squeezes the trigger, the water bottle
set to diffuse. his plants flourish in their bath.
he sees them grow before his playful eyes,
stamens wear black mascara.
they soak up the sunshine
like bathing beauties.
twenty hues in ketchup-sized bottles,
arranged like dutch tulips on the dais,
hold still as the gardener plucks
a plastic stem with his hand.
appearing as a mad horticulturist —
this artist’s in demand.
3/23/2020
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