Amaryllis
A flower needs to be this size
to conceal the winter window,
and this color, the red
of a Fiat with the top down,
to impress us, dull as we've grown.
Months ago the gigantic onion of a bulb
half above the soil
stuck out its green tongue
and slowly, day by day,
the flower itself entered our world,
closed, like hands that captured a moth,
then open, as eyes open,
and the amaryllis, seeing us,
was somehow undiscouraged.
It stands before us now
as we eat our soup;
you pour a little of your drinking water
into its saucer, and a few crumbs
of fragrant earth fall
onto the tabletop.
poem by Connie Wanek
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Some Hands
some hands are always
ready to hold a flower
and hand it
to another
others however
have remained closed
like a rock
where no flower ever grows
how i wish
that this world shall be filled with flowers
like hands
that open like buds slowly blooming
caressed as they are
with the warm rays of the sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Open water!
Open water, open water!
All the weary winter's yearning
Bursts in restless passion burning.
Scarce is seen the blue of ocean,
And the hours seem months in motion.
Open water, open water!
Smiles the sun on ice defiant,
Eats it like a shameless giant:
Soon as mouth of sun forsakes it,
Swift the freezing night remakes it.
Open water, open water!
Storm shall be the overcomer
Sweeping on from others' summer
Billows free all foes to swallow,-
Crash and fall and sinking follow.
Open water, open water!
Mirrored mountains are appearing,
Boats with steam and sail are nearing,
Inward come the wide world's surges,
Outward joy of combat urges.
Open water, open water!
Fiery sun and cooling shower
Quicken earth to speak with power.
Soul responds, the wonder viewing:
Strength is here for life's renewing.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flower of Delight
Enter my flower
love becomes an open door
into my hearts way
Once again I come
drinking in your sweet nectar
flower of delight
Color my dreams blue
enter my lovely flower
in the morning dew.
I melt in nectar
of this beautiful flower
she overwhelmes me.
poem by Heather Burns
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Lone Yellow Flower Waves In The Open Fields
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green;
lone yellow flower has no one to blame
and it seeks none to praise
for it knows all life comes in
when the conditions are right;
lone yellow flower knows
death comes in like the wind;
lone yellow flower
is never alone
for it is a part of the expression
of the earth and time and the universe;
lone yellow flower sees what is before and around
lone yellow flower observes what is within and about
and so lone yellow flower lives with no delusions
no beliefs of heaven and hell
fears none and does not live or die
to please or amuse or appease;
and lone yellow flower
blossoms and shines
and shrivels and ceases
in harmony
with what actually is;
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green
poem by Raj Arumugam
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the Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Shirts Williams
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Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Jane Allan
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Clasp Of Hands
SOFT, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers
That bask in heavenly heat
When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers,
Soft, small, and sweet.
A babe's hands open as to greet
The tender touch of ours
And mock with motion faint and fleet
The minutes of the new strange hours
That earth, not heaven, must mete;
Buds fragrant still from heaven's own bowers,
Soft, small, and sweet.
A velvet vice with springs of steel
That fasten in a trice
And clench the fingers fast that feel
A velvet viceÑ
What man would risk the danger twice,
Nor quake from head to heel?
Whom would not one such test suffice?
Well may we tremble as we kneel
In sight of Paradise,
If both a babe's closed fists conceal
A velvet vice.
Two flower-soft fists of conquering clutch,
Two creased and dimpled wrists,
That match, if mottled overmuch,
Two flower-soft fists---
What heart of man dare hold the lists
Against such odds and such
Sweet vantage as no strength resists?
Our strength is all a broken crutch,
Our eyes are dim with mists,
Our hearts are prisoners as we touch
Two flower-soft fists.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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What Shall Be?
What shall be my clandestine hour?
Is to write a poem about a flower
The world is but an open flower
A parchment of white paper
What shall be my clandestine hour?
Is to write a poem about a flower
Or watch another flower bear fruit
Give her hand, bite my tongue mute.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Through a Flower's Eye
No one has seen the world
Through a flower’s eye.
Looking up at the world
Gazing into the sky.
Feeling so small
And wondering why
He ended up as a flower
So pointless and shy.
Though small and unsteady
The flower stands
With beauty and elegance
In the gardener’s hands.
His life ahead
Is all unplanned
But this flower will beautify
Any unknown land.
poem by Lydia Jean
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Open 2
Open your heart and let all your love pour out to the world.
The world needs love for it is falling apart.
Open up your eyes and see all the violence that is happening all around you.
The world needs peace for violence is killing innocent people.
Open up your mind and think about what you have in life and what some believe don't.
For the world needs people to help them prosper.
Finally open up your mouth and let your teeth be shown.
For you are alive and not dead.
The world needs happiness so it can slowly open its box.
A box of peace.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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A flower to kiss
Aflower to kiss,
the flower yet to be flowering
So cute but not yet cluttering
in the bowl, the flower is the sent
The yet beautiful but greatly cute
The flower, flowering a glory
Then, now the smell is the scent
Glory, glory is the name
The rose flower standing amiss
The rose flower that tantalises
In the midst of the green garden
Such a light in the natural eyes
The golden eyes sparkling
In the flower, so flowered
In the flower, yet to kiss
So eyes get the truth
In the flower of the days
Each day, tomorrow and yet to reborn
The world flower, flowered, flowering
And the flower, flowered yet to kiss
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Floridian
The cactus and the aloe bloom
Beneath the window of your room;
Your window where, at evenfall,
Beneath the twilight's first pale star,
You linger, tall and spiritual,
And hearken my guitar.
It is the hour
When every flower
Is wooed by moth or bee
Would, would you were the flower, dear,
And I the moth to draw you near,
To draw you near to me,
My dear,
To draw you near to me.
II.
The jasmine and bignonia spill
Their balm around your windowsill;
The sill where, when magnolia-white,
In foliage mists, the moon hangs far,
You lean with bright deep eyes of night
And hearken my guitar.
It is the hour
When from each flower
The wind woos fragrances
Would, would you were the flower, love,
And I the wind to breathe above,
To breathe above and kiss,
My love,
To breathe above and kiss.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Flower Pedals
Flower Pedals,
Fluttering from their stem...
The wind blows,
The flower pedals goes flying...
The waterfall is crashing,
Down to the bottom...
The sunshines down,
Making a never ending rainbow...
The flower pedals,
Goes lands onto the water below,
The waterfall...
The water slowly makes,
The flower pedals,
Go slowly down the stream...
poem by Mandy Anna
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Feeling The Sunflower
feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills
you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its red petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers
my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity
and its being so temporary...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Living Flower
feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills
you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its white petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers
my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity
and its being so temporary...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flower waste
In zoo...
Monkey smile
The rose flower...
Kiss the flower...
Play the flower...
Flower was cry to ask
' o...monkey what
are you doing...? '
Monkey say for flower
' i love you flower...
your soft...
your nice...
your smooth...
very impress for me...
so... i love you....'
Flower say fore monkey
' No.. no... nasty monkey
i did not love you...'
Monkey very angry
So...
Bite the finger
For flower through away...
And lough...
Flower is wastage
For sample...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Old Flower
She is a flower given
in rainy hours
in her is ocean-ness
moving soft winds before her;
floating lightly
shiny new soul blooming
untouched by sentiments darkly
all experience her delight
having never known mean love
only love requited.
Joy seldom comes to the stapled heart
her's has never been.
I am older than she
aged older than my years
mangled innocence
unrequited
the winter bulb
underground
she is summer's sun
warming waters.
I ask her if
her heart,
and my dark bulb
can yet be fertile?
What irony
meeting brings
in words wandering
'cross pages
when individuals
invest
their souls
and their best
summer flailings.
So rare the soul not potted yet
not yet a bulb a'growing
yet wise enough
to love the flower
covered by
winter ground
frozen.
Whisper me
just one word
your soul's summer smells
inhaled
bouquet refreshing
my dusty soil
my winter eyes ungreying
stirred still
by youthful seeds
yours
which arrive with summer's souling
on summer winds
whose innocence
coax old flowers
mine
into fitful starts
re-blooming
in instant's remembering
but destined in the next
to extinguish
happily.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Fruit of Soil! ! !
Luck is the same
for Man and flower
I think they have
The same birth star.
Flower and man
Man and flower
Start their lives
From lap of soil
Pass through the stages
Of their lives,
Get their nourishment
From the kind soil;
So soil is the mother
Of man and flower
Their start and end
Both are same
Their only difference is
in their names.
But when Time comes
They get withered.
And again lie back
In the soft and kind
Lap of soil…
.
poem by Shahzia Batool
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