A Flower To Auroville Mother-87
Woolly Camphor-Weed(Kolumpu-ver,
Pluchea ovalis, Pluchea tomentosa)
My craze is wild
Hunting all flora
Minding even weeds
You attracted me
Pluchea though tiny
Blossoming buddy even
Winging leaves oblong
Lanceshaped obovate
Velvety base upping
To catchy flower-corymb
Something that's inviting
Though a beauty so mild..
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weed
There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.
The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send
the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.
Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.
The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.
But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.
She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.
The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-64
azalea indica, Azalea indica 'Formosa'
Korean Azalea(Rhododendron yedoense)
Short Fruited Azalea(Rhododendron brachycarpum)
Good hearted you are
I mean artly too are
Seasoned seasonal shrubby
Short potted homely springy
Pale pink and white spotted
Oblong, obovate, ovately leafed
Enough Just fed Just moist
Shading freshly wide a lot
shrouding the foliage below
Large flora a prolific show
Good hearted you are
I mean artly too are
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Weed......honesty
a weed amongst weeds
honesty, to you i do plead
show yourself to me,
one more time,
in your pristine beauty
of bright translucent white
a adorable name,
for a weed so hidden
amongst natures
wooden bristle beauty.
poem by Ritty Patnaik
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A little Flower
A flower grew out of the ground
A tiny flower from the dirt
A tiny living soul from underground
A baby crawling from the dirt
A little innocence of wild color
A tiny spark of hope
A tiny pleasure free of charge
A flower that i called my own
A little baby ran towards it
A tiny flower crushed beneath the feet
A little human innocence
A little bliss destroyed by ignorance
A little flower dead on the ground
A little baby jumping up and down
And only me from my own window, witnessed the death of my own flower beneath the feet of blissful child without idea of his first crime...
poem by Dmitriy Kokarev
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The Genius of Painting
ADDRESSED TO D——M——
The Genius of Painting one summer eve stray'd,
In a moment of leisure, to Flora's bright bower,
Where, scatter'd around, by the hand of the maid,
In the richest profusion, bloom'd many a flower.
“Oh, see,” Flora cried, as the Genius drew nigh,
“What an Eden of beauty is blossoming here!
But yet”—and a tear-drop stood bright in her eye,—
“How soon will its loveliness all disappear!
“Oh Genius! bid them still live in your art,
And my gratitude well shall your kindness repay;
To some favour'd mortal your spirit impart,
And teach him to rescue my flowers from decay.”
Behold I have rear'd, in my favourite bower,
A shrine, and an altar, dear Painting, for you;
And there will I offer each loveliest flower,
As often as morning their sweets shall renew.”
“Many thanks, dearest Flora!” the Genius cried,
“Though many an altar and temple is mine,
That with richer and costlier gifts are supplied,
Yet none of them all shall be dearer than thine.
“I will gift with my spirit whoever you will,
Yet choose not, dear Flora, the renegade man;
For the ingrate from you will be wandering still,
O'er fields more extended and varied to scan.”
At this instant, a maiden drew near to the bower,
And Flora's own fondness beam'd soft from her eye,
As with rapture she hung o'er each beautiful flower,
Or heaved o'er the dying a tremulous sigh.
Flora turn'd on the Genius a smile of delight—
“There, Painting,” she cried, “is my favourite maid!
Infuse in her bosom your genius bright,
And soon shall your altar be richly array'd.”
“On that maid, then,” said he, “shall my spirit descend,
A bright, and unfading, and beautiful gem;
The young favourite of Flora my shrine shall attend,
And the priestess of painting shall still be D. M.”
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It's That Time Of Year Again
It's that time of year again
When the leaves are on the ground
Swirling like little tornadoes
With out even making a sound
The friends come calling
From the distant past
We all seem to be aging
And it seems way too fast
The grass and weeds are dying
Soon they will all be brown
And before you even know it
Snow will be covering the ground
Farmers are harvesting the crops
And cleaning up their fields
Then soon enough they'll know
How much they have yeild
Hunters are hitting the bush
Hunting for that wild game
Some are looking for fresh meat
While others are hunting for fame
The wild turkey had better stay hid
Because Thanksgiving will soon be here
And as we think of our four-fathers
We'll toast them with a new cheer
written 11/13/2012 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-57
Campbell's Magnolia(Magnolia campbelli)
Dwarf Magnolia(Cempaka Telur, Magnolia coco)
Temple Magnolia(Magnolia doltsopa)
Banana Shrub(Magnolia figo)
Magnolia(Southern magnolia, Magnolia grandiflora)
Egg Magnolia(Magnolia liliifera)
Lily Magnolia(Magnolia lilliflora)
Saucer Magnolia(Magnolia x soulangiana)
Disparity is not His intention
For creation all beauty adorned
Painting different here and there
Passion for His colourful creation
So is Magnolia big and florescent
Champak white and yellow hale here
Cream and pink there purplish pale
Leaves large elliptic, oblong, obovate
Born are big in blossoms dignified
For His praises glorious colourful
Born are dwarf fragrant strong high
For His praises vast wide in demand
So not atall disparity His intention
Even Temple Magnolia can ascertain
On par all Himalayan with the southern
Magnolias pretty beauty for His creation
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Be wild and mild
Be wild; others become mild.
Be mild; others become wild.
Rarely works wild to wild
Or mild to mild combination.
06.12.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wild F*#$ing Manners
hunting a tiger
big sharp teeth
man-eater
these hunters
big egos, big guns
hunting for survival
need fur and meat to survive
hunting wild game
wild f*#$ing manners
saw lioness and her cubs
on f*#$ing youtube
wild animals is to game theory
as man is to war
primitive yet perfect in movements
stop hunting these majestic creatures
they echo the intelligence we lack
in a far away land called our sub-conscience
only to find our only way to organized life
we're just animals on a hunting ground
poem by Inner Projection
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Hunters Lullaby
Your fathers gone a-hunting
Hes deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child
Your fathers gone a-hunting
In the quicksand and the clay
And a woman cannot follow him
Although she knows the way
Your fathers gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit, spirit cannot pass
Your fathers gone a-hunting
For the beast well never cannot bind
And he leaves a baby sleeping
And his blessings all behind
Your fathers gone a-hunting
And hes lost his lucky charm
And hes lost the guardian heart
That keeps the hunter from the harm
Your fathers gone a-hunting
He asked me to say goodbye
And he warned me not to stop him
I wouldnt, I wouldnt even try
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Life History of The Little Flower
The delicate petals fanned the tiny flower,
Waking fragrantly after the nudging shower,
Shyly it peeped around the beautiful bower,
Not realising its immense power of attraction.
Its quaint face and vibrant eyes,
Made onlookers feel grateful and wise.
Emotions, spirits and thoughts nobly rise,
In appreciation of the aesthetics of nature.
It looked at the sun and the shadowy moon,
Not knowing it would miss them soon.
Life is so brief. It was getting to be noon.
But that did not dismay the flower at all.
A bee saw it from the corner of its eye,
Skilfully it zoomed down closer to pry,
Lighting on the flower with spirits high,
It soon zoomed away with its fill of nectar.
A butterfly as dainty as the flower,
Lighted on the masterpiece in the bower,
Soon it flitted away there being no bar,
To enjoy the pollen it carried with it.
The sun went down and a mild breeze blew,
A gust attracted by the flower covered with dew,
Wanted to be friends with such beauty true,
So it approached it with furious excitement.
Reaching the flower it stopped in awe,
Never having seen such excellence before
Impetuously let out a loud, exultant roar,
Encircling the flower to strengthen their bond.
The pearly flower did not know where to look,
The rush of wind its petals vigorously shook,
The blast was playing the game to the book.
Soon the fragile flower lay completely bare.
As the petals floated away in all directions,
The naughty gust being ashamed of its actions,
Quickly rushed off. That was its heartless reaction,
To the demise of the ornament of the bower.
Wild flower
she's a girl, only a girl
a girl, who have a frigile heart
but possessed a strong spirit
a girl who have faith
she's only a girl who defies her wisdom
a girl who stand for principles
a girl who belives in justice
a girl who fight for her rights
the beauty inside of her
the purity of her heart
looking for her soul to find happiness
she's a girl who always wearing a smile
a happy and contented person
a girl who wish to have simple life
a girl who have a dream
a dream for peace and love
she's a girl, like a flower in the wilderness
a wild flower always stand after the storm
a wild flower bloom after the rain
even she's in vain
and let her beauty show to the world
she's a wild flower
the wild flower in my heart alone
-vanessa-
poem by Vanessa Cabrera
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-102
Masipachchai(Artemisia absinthium)
Fertile green festive and favourite
Much mattered the leaves of 'Pachai'
Variegated lot of Artemesia-delight
Temple lords'most sought-after'Pachai'
Short and salient fragrant and sweet
Medicated my garden scenting sanative
Mellowed gray helping the leafy treat
Buddy flora tiny pale such formative
Monitor o'Pachai enlaced with the rest
In enchanting bliss of the following
The above hundred and one in knotted zest
To make all a garland in divine touching
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Blossoms of Bottle-Brush Vavroovahana Patra
Blossoms of Bottle-Brush smile delightfully;
Passers-by enjoy the beauty gaily.
Poets wait a while for enjoyment;
Cosy tiny green leaves adorn the tree;
In tree’s lap tiny birds are free.
Sun beam kisses the leaves and blossoms;
For people’s enjoyment the blossoms bloom.
Mild vernal breeze kisses the tree;
In Nature’s lap she is free.
Smiles in the lap of Nature;
Contents poet’s desire.
A thing of Beauty in joy for ever;
Beauteous is lap of Nature.
Poet derives peace and pleasure;
Is an innocent creature.
Nature is a Brook of Delight;
There reigns the supreme Power, the Almighty.
God’s gift is ever beautiful;
Being inspired, people become dutiful.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Little Flower
Little flower, little flower, growing like a weed,
I want to pick you, but then I don't I think I'll just let you be.
Your colors so pretty starling at me, a yellow orange is what I see.
If I were you and you were me, I know you would just let me be.
So, little flower grow like a weed, for I won't pick you I'll just let you be.
poem by Joanne Walker
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On The Grassy Banks
On the grassy banks
Lambkins at their pranks;
Woolly sisters, woolly brothers
Jumping off their feet
While their woolly mothers
Watch by them and bleat.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Planted A Flower
I planted me a flower
Though my friends say a weed
In my garden from a forgotten seed.
So I planted it deep
And around it I hoed
So someday my flower would grow.
But my flower never came
From the sunshine or the rain
That GOD placed above its head.
And so my friends would just laugh
Every time that they would pass
My garden, my plant and I.
Gardeners were them all
As though they have been called
To bring beauty upon our sight.
And a gardener wasn't I
Just a poet in disguise
And for that reason I sat and cried.
More care to my plant I gave
And more affection to it I showed.
While praying one day my flower would grow.
And my friends would just laugh at me
When they saw me on my knees
And to my flower when they heard me speak.
To ignorance they did blame
Its a weed they would exclaim
Then they would walk away.
For a madman I must be
Trying to create a flower out of a weed
Then I would bow my head to weep.
And every night that I went to bed
I dreamt of a rainbow in my head
Which was my flower I planted with my own hands.
And every morning when I awoke
I ran to my garden, but I was torn
For my flower was still unborn.
And I could hear my friends laugh at me
Hidden behind an old oak tree
And I could see them shake their heads and walk away.
But then came one magic morning
When in my head my dreams were forming
While in my garden, my dream, had awoke.
I awoke, to gasps and jeers
I arose, to shouts and cheers
Then in my garden, I walked in bitterness and fear.
Then I saw a rainbow with a halo
I saw my friends with a child's glow
And then I heard the wind, as she softly spoke to me.
You had faith in a weed,
A weed, had faith in you.
And nature, had faith in you two.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Gold Leaves
Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.
In youth I sought the prince of men,
Captain in cosmic wars,
Our Titan, even the weeds would show
Defiant, to the stars.
But now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.
In youth I sought the golden flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Speedwell (Novelinee)
In small bushes brilliant blue wild it grows
and if picked the tiny flowers fall,
in spring it is among the hedgerows
with eyes constantly watching it is small
and in the early red morning new born,
something living tranquil and really free
like a inviting berry on the thorn
it has a kind of serene beauty
is very fragile and somewhat lovely.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Edelweiss
THERE grows a white, white flower
By the wild Alps of romance;
And who would reach its dainty leaves
Takes life and death in chance.
There is a dark, dark cavern
Where a woman goes alone,
Takes hope and peril in her hand
And fights Death on his throne.
To our heart’s breathless calling
She comes from the cavern wild,
Holding in her exhausted arms
A small, white, blossoming child.
poem by Frank Wilmot
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