In This Vast Garden of Variety
If it was not for left stench,
Of your presence...
The freshness of flower scents,
Would be more inviting...
In this vast garden of variety.
But you choose to come,
And leave a reek!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Flowers In Your Garden
you are telling me that the flowers in your garden
must not be of one and the same kind
or else there will be so much boredom
you are telling me the need of variety:
roses and jasmines
and suntans and daisies, colors and scents all in multiplicity
as you talk your eyelashes curve a little lower than i expected
and your mouth twitches a little bit just to show your dislike
and contempt of the word:
boredom
unnecessary uniformity, that human need of variety
equated with a taste for something new
and even unusual
i completely agree with you.
Let me take you inside my heart
where my garden lies:
flowers of different colors and scents
i have grown them all inside my heart,
feelings of love and
desire, in a variety or sorts
in a diversification of breeds
and if by now you ask me and demand
that i may tell the truth
inside my heart, in my garden of love, you are a very beautiful flower
so sweet scented and well loved and cared by me
but there are other beautiful flowers growing in there,
you are not
just the one and only, as you would like to think
that to be
and i will tell you again,
I agree with you, there is a need really
for a variety,
the one that removes the word
boredom
from the beautiful garden of our vocabulary.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Questioned the Reek
When behavior they 'then' expressed,
Was not addressed...
But to some questionable?
Those of responsibility could have stood up,
To the plate.
No one did this.
But many bit down to chew!
And...
Instead,
An appreciation for that was shown.
With a bowing to lower eyes and heads.
Mixed signals were sent.
And deceit and devilment...
Were given carte blanche signals,
Not to slow down with caution...
But to move like blinded bulls,
Charging through halls...
Where precious crystal and china were used.
And no one confused a 'no' with a 'go'!
In fact...
Honors were given.
And some medals bestowed.
Some folks were given carte blanche signals.
For more of this to be exposed.
And it showed.
And they did...go!
Taking 'everything' with them,
To an humongous cellpool!
A deepened hole...
Where rooms were added.
And pretensions glowed!
With a renovation to extend the existing stench.
Guests were invited and asked to adorn masks.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
And it did!
No one hid.
Deceit was done,
And everyone told...
Their bigger 'fibs'.
But...
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
And it did!
No one hid.
Deceit was done,
And everyone told...
Their bigger 'fibs'.
And...
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned.
No one questioned.
No one questioned the reek.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Right To Choose....
sorrow's eyes look backward
the useless
past, it has toyed us well
it is a mere ploy
to a play
close all of those eyes
better put them all aside
in darkness
how can we heal these wounds
when these eyes
keep on shedding tears
a sea of salt
it is too painful and we swim in
these pains
enough, i've had enough of these
futility
there is a garden
above it are clouds and birds
the flowers bloom
and too inviting us to a feast of scents
and colors
life, vibrance, vigor, zest,
bees
and butterflies and beside it
brooks and creeks
a choir of falls between the cliffs
this right to choose what to see
is here again...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Flower Garden
In the flower garden
The flowers are pink and white
The sky is blue
And it drags along the clouds of white
Friends of mine are waiting for me
Friends of mine are waiting to give me information
and advice
After receiving careful words from my friends
I continue on my way through the flower garden
In the flower garden
I spy my animal friends
A lizard and a bee
Both willing to help me
Either by running along the ground
Flying in the air
Or climbing a tree
Both are willing to help me get to safety
Both are willing to help me to survive
With all the obstacles, snakes, and evil seeds
around
After besting all the enemies
My animal friends and I reach the end of the
flower garden
They've done their job
And for that I'm grateful
I wish my animal friends well
Offering them a warm goodbye
As they make their way back to the flower garden
And leave me to continue on my adventure
poem by Justin Gildow
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Song V
THE sunshine of your presence lies
On the glad garden of my heart
And bids the leaves of silence part
To show the flowers to your dear eyes,
And flower on flower blooms there and dies
And still new buds awakened spring,
For sunshine makes the garden wise,
To know the time for blossoming.
Night is no time for blossoming,
Your garden then dreams otherwise,
Of vanished Summer, vanished Spring,
And how the dearest flower first dies.
Yet from your ministering eyes
Though night hath drawn me far apart
On the still garden of my heart
The moonlight of your memory lies.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Bliss
at the outdoor
garden hangs
a yellow flower
on the vine
the air swings it
and its scents spread all over
watching it
is bliss
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet 04
A garden so well watered before morn
Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze
Down beating with unmitigated rays,
Nor arid winds from scorching places borne,
Shall quite prevail to make it bare and shorn
Of its green beauty -- shall not quite prevail
That all its morning freshness shall exhale,
Till evening and the evening dews return --
A blessing such as this our hearts might reap,
The freshness of the garden they might share,
Through the long day a heavenly freshness keep,
If, knowing how the day and day's glare
Must beat upon them, we would largely steep
And water them betimes with dews of prayer.
poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
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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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Once There Was A Flower
i like this to be as simple
as this:
once there was a
flower
a very white flower
blooming
in my garden
and once there was a bee
a very busy bee
getting nectars
from the flowers in my
garden
except from that very white
flower
in my garden
the bee died
the flower died too
and they never really lived
happily everafter.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Delicate Flower
once you tear a flower up,
they can never come back.
leave the precious flower alone,
let it bloom into a beautiful art.
there are so many different flower,
red one, blue one, pink ones.
there are even multicolors,
look around your garden.
notice that you're not alone,
the whole world is around you.
dont pretend to be something you're not,
because you only have one chance.
a delicate flower needs love,
in order to live with the world.
most of all, you need someone,
so help a delicate flower.
you'll never regret it,
they need to be cared for.
just like you,
you're not alone.
poem by Heather Cropper
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Filtered May Be Your Love of Manure
Filtered may be your love of manure.
But the reeking of it still identifies you,
With filth.
Changing the fragrance doesn't replace,
Your presence.
And no matter how slick the oil gets,
Whether applied to your hair greased or not...
To give the appearance of vast riches.
The scent of it is a reminder of your stench.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your Reaction To Me Is Not Christian
Determine whatever it is you wish,
Between the available options left...
Provided to you to negotiate.
You can either leave through the exit.
Unaided.
Or...
You can choose to be ushered through it.
'But...
From my point of view,
I see those options...
As having really none from which to choose.'
Again you offer nothing but excuses.
Patience once given to you is no longer there.
And a tolerance for your presence,
Has already exhausted benefits of doubt.
No more are there to spare.
'But...
Your reaction to me is not Christian.'
I know.
However...
You should not let that interfere,
With the making of your decision.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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143
How many times have I called you
While you were working just to say
Left messages on your answering machine
About three or four times a day
There aren't many more ways in words that I can say
So I'll just say numerically from my heart to you - 143
So many times I've brought roses
Just to see that smile on your face
I can't remember how many e-mails I sent you
Just to tell you about my day
There aren't many more ways in words that I can say
So I'll just say numerically from my soul to you - 143
Girl you know you are so special to me
And you deserve to be treated exclusively
I treat you like Valentines Day 365 a year
Make sure that everything you need will always be right here
I just refuse to be your typical ordinary run of the mill
Garden variety lover
I'll make sure everyday you live will be like Christmas Eve
I wanna make you feel fine
Just like a summer breeze
Cause I refuse to be predictable average run of the mill
Garden variety love
See sometimes words may get in the way
Of things that you really really meant to say
So I wanna out this time to make sure that how I really feel
Gets through to you
Cause listen
There aren't many more ways and words that I can say
So I choose to tell you how I feel in a numerical way'
Got so tired of trying to find the most complicated way
To say it to you so I simplified and broke it down
To 143 - and that means I love you
song performed by by Musiq Soulchild from Aijuswanaseing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She is Like A Flower.......
She is like a flower,
a flower that gives me a smile
a smile that enlightens my inner soul.
she is the one with whom i can share my sorrows and joys
Her company is like sweet fragrance of a flower,
a fragrance that freshens me.
she is the one whose love is undesirable for me.
Her each care about me is like a each petal of a flower
a care that i love the most.
she is the one who motivate me in every sphere of life.
her presence is like a color of flower,
a presence that brightens me.
she is the one who is everything for me
She is like a flower...........
poem by Suniya Garg
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Where the passion flower grows
Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
Close your eyes and enter dreams
as love's emotion sets the scene
and flitters through the garden
where the passion flower grows
Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour
as your feelings overflow
Let me draw you to the place
where ecstasy can be embraced
the beauty of the garden
where the passion flower grows
Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as your captured unaware
A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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Get Out of My Face!
Get out of my face!
You have convinced my own flesh and blood,
To erase a closeness.
To become replaced...
By the bangles that you dangle.
By the presence of a rusting gleam.
And the brightness of a 'bling'...
That now is assessed as worthless.
Get out of my face!
With your temptations,
That has disgraced an elevated pride.
Backstabbed by greed and degradation.
You can never heal wounds,
Left to scorch from bleeding the blood...
You sucked from hearts you trampled!
Living to realize you left me to sample your demonicness,
Does not remove the taste of your wickedness.
Or the filth you have left...
To leave some still in worship!
Get out of my face!
Nothing about you,
Is deserving of eye contact!
Or depicts anything I wish to forgive.
Even your breath reeks of a stench that poisons!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Privacy Of The Home
there is a party
but i am not going
i choose
staying inside the house
not watching tv
but just thinking and
lying low
listening to the silence
of the four walls, and then
i take the exit
outside i go
into the garden at night
under the trees
the scents of some
flowers pervading
and then i take a seat
on a big stone
and feel the hardness
of the earth
i am soft in the middle
of this garden
i like it
this private dwelling
just the trees and the
flowers
in the middle of the night
when everyone is
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A sullen Flower and a sultry Hornet
From a summit a handsome Hornet flies down to a garden and he hears a cryptic cry of a dainty wild Buttercup.
'I am sorry that I am not a virgin anymore' flower nagged.
'It doesn't make any difference to a Flirtatious who prefers a variety of flavor? ' replied the honest hornet.
The old Chauvinist gardener who repents?
'What is the use of searching a virgin flower in the summer while the mischievous hornets flutter? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Flower to Flower
I came across one flower
While walking in a garden
It saw me and gave a smile
I too smiled and walked
Each day in garden I smiled
One day I gazed at flower
At its plant and roots closely
I observed its dance in wind
And its dance made me sing
It made me smile all my time
Everyday I went to flower
Smiled with it and came back
My days went like seconds
Nights passed like years
Flower made me its lover
So I wrote songs on its dance
On its lovely beautiful smile
All about its charming beauty
And my state of dying slowly
In which I am smiling daily
One day I saw flower singing
In the garden while jogging
Song reveled its moving off
From my garden to a house
Of loved one from its past
I smiled on all my songs
While writing a new song
Its song of flower to flower
Which I gave to my flower
When departing from my lover
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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