The flowers, the flowers
Will bloom in three hours
I really don't want to wait.
The flowers will bloom,
If i may assume,
If they don't bloom too late.
Daisies twisted into fantasy crowns and jewelry.
Honeysuckles permeating the nose, golden-buttery.
Sweet Honesty, when I was fresh and summery.
My spirit was the frenetic wind, a new storm exciting.
Shades of purple-yellow-green-pink polish, engaging.
Loose, the elbows-knees-hips-ankles-neck, sashaying.
Belly flop onto a gorgeous garden spread, a teen’s bed.
A record-player, all my own, spinning vinyl, ‘fore I wed.
What’s for dinner, left up to my mom; memories embed.
When wishes, were strewn in every direction, the seeds
of dandelions…when a natural glow, not internal, beads
lit up my face. Life before me, without a glimpse of weeds.
Now, I see clearly, the fresh trek of my progeny, assessing
various paths, as if there’s a purport that they’re following.
The fragrance of a bridal train; wisteria of vibrant blessing.
Where lies the line,
between humility and pride,
when does ambition become greed.
How short is the distance,
from disapproval to wrath,
between admiration and envy.
How easy is it to turn,
infatuation to lust,
indulgence into gluttony.
Will we know when,
relaxation becomes sloth,
or when a flower becomes just a weed.
Joyful spirit, bright and bold,
Outstanding tales yet to unfold,
Sunlight's warmth, a story told.
Elegant grace, a gentle sway,
Poetry's dance in bright display,
Harmony's song to light the way.
Inner strength, a radiant gleam,
Nurturing dreams, a flowing stream,
Eternal hope, a vibrant theme.
©bfa031925
Acrostic in Tercets (Birthday of Josephine G. Morales)
The mind hangs in silence,
All is stilled, thoughts lingering
Lazily, as if in cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation, and now is
Only empty air passing over an idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind:-
A dormant volcano creates its explosive flow
Does not the idle mind quietly stream likewise?!
There’s no creation that’s void of time;
God himself used time to speak in creation!
Thus, is not time herself, the plunger of idleness?!
Butterflies are timed in cocooned metamorphosis; babes in wombs;
And likewise, black holes are wombed in the depths of time’s space;
Yes, in all creations, time’s time is an instant of its own self eternity:-
Thus, we poets of the cistern of divine wisdom and guidance,
Must ever be aware that the sacred poem is a creature of time;
Germinating in the womb of mind, and premature birth is also timed.
Yes, while time itself–for anything–does not wait,
We mere mortals must wait on the timing of time,
For it is in its own time that the poem is delivered!
Out of the womb of seedless water came her birth,
And no less than always has been her silent beauty;
Radiant essence, crowning the earth’s heavenly throne:-
She’s a special reflective bouquet of God’s creativity;
Mothering sun smoothing each of her rays into its chosen place
As her regal dome challenges the matter of her crowning magnanimity:-
Her celestial realm is a royal domain established by her creator;
Her celestial curvaceous tinted arch has forever excited the mind’s
Voracious appetite for things whose worth and beauty rivals gold’s own:-
Yes, from time immemorial, humanity has had the privileged
Of her celestial beauty and teeming glow; yet, humanity,
Has never been able to control God’s teasing rainbow:-
Oh, that I might
fly like a kite
in a sky with clouds a-swirling.
It would be such a great joy
for any young boy,
especially if he had thunderbolts he could be hurling.
Colors now shimmer in golden, backlit mist
where blue hydrangeas and red roses coexist
Purples and oranges adore a fresh morning.
Flighty trouble has, at last, gone away, riled
Since the mellow hour, my sunshine smiled
The green and pink birds are finally soaring!
Naturally, nature must love beauty so much
To shower flowers with silver, gold and such
Does pearly dew, gladden all of nature, too?
Fresh ocean air
Oh, take me there!
To the place below the hill
Three hundred years
I hold it dear
Ancestors can be felt still
For all I've roamed
My heart knows home
And it cannot get it's fill
How does it long!
For ancient song
And the view from mine own sill
A seat of peace
My mind's at ease
Oh, the terrors a place can kill
Soon I'll return
All else to burn
And allow my heart to spill
Back when we would walk in the spring-green wood
Holding hands, hearts joined only as lovers can
Thoughts circle round those days in the deep wildwood
Now aged, bent way past young adulthood
Young love comes in glimpses in this lifespan
Longing for Jesus' relief of my orphanhood
Grateful and content
That we get not all we want
To spend the present,
Feeling always glad--
By so doing even more
Happiness we add.
And when dawns the day,
O fallen fairy on ground,
That scent of decay
And beauty of thine
With that heavenly fragrance
Fuels my face all day.
In garden of life
Ye Jasmine are a poet
That says O where’s strife!
________________
Tercet |08.03.2025| flowers
Note: Night-blossoming jasmines never fail to charm me. Jasmine, they say, was a princess in paradise, in love of Sun, who thwarted her, and she threw her life and died and was born as Jasmine flower, hating Sun to love the cool silver of Moon. Ever since she spreads her fragrance only at night and falls off before dawn. One of simplest and plain looking flowers, all white, six petals, with a reddish dot in the middle, and what fascinating fragrance!
It’s not what’s outside
In life, ye tell me, Jasmine,
But only inside
That matters much more,
As many a thing in life,
What matters is core,
And ye also tell
That there’s joy in simplest things,
Plain simple’s thy spell,
Cestrum Nocturnum,
At night thy immense passion
Spreads forth, what blossom!
____________________
Haiku |07.03.2025| flowers,
Note: Night-blossoming jasmines never fail to charm me. Jasmine, they say, was a princess in paradise, in love of Sun, who thwarted her, and she threw her life and died and was born as Jasmine flower, hating Sun to love the cool silver of Moon. Ever since she spreads her fragrance only at night and falls off before dawn. One of simplest and plain looking flowers, all white, six petals, with a reddish dot in the middle, and what fascinating fragrance!
When all world’s asleep
Thou waketh, Jasmine, so doth
Scent of thine from deep,
Dies when the sunlight,
Ye spread in the dark of night
Thy hidden delight.
Thy heartbeats, so faint,
No doctor hath ever heard,
Which, for Moon are meant.
Thy scent O Jasmine
Captivates me till I wake
From its spell at dawn.
_________________
Haiku |06.03.2025| flowers
Note: Night-blossoming jasmines never fail to charm me. Jasmine, they say, was a princess in paradise, in love of Sun, who thwarted her, and she threw her life and died and was born as Jasmine flower, hating Sun to love the cool silver of Moon. Ever since she spreads her fragrance only at night and falls off before dawn. One of simplest and plain looking flowers, all white, six petals, with a reddish dot in the middle, and what fascinating fragrance!
Memories sweet, a joyful, bright affair,
Your show of laughter banishing all care,
Love surrounds you with gift beyond compare,
Elegant spirit shining ever near,
Now celebrate with happiness sincere,
Every good wish throughout this coming year.
©bfa031425
(Birthday of Mylene Asuncion)
Everyone hates harassment; but some take the risk.
Let's hear applause for heroic, valiant voices
who are not afraid to step up and speak the truth.
Specific Types of Tercet Poems
Definition | What is Tercet in Poetry?