A Flattened Flower From the Bouquet
Some say to me I'm pitiful
craving the joy you intend for another
I'm the shadow roommate
the homely friend of the beautiful
girl she is;
the one you'll marry
and I will position myself
for the bouquet
when it is you I want.
You knock and enter;
I lower my eyes
unable to look at you
and you take a flower
from her bouquet
and give it to me
because that is the way you are
kind to everyone.
And I take it to my diary
and put it between my
written pages
where it will scent my thoughts
of what will never be.
The cruelest love of all
lies in that Love's Aspiration
lies dead in the road
unnoticed.
It's not your fault or hers
it's my own secret obsession
from which I'll never be free.
I sit in the window, looking out down below
and I hear your voice:
' I just want you to know
I think you are great'
and then you left
and I could hear her
crying softly
in a bedroom
full of tears
and I rise to look to see about her
trailing guilt
and hope against hope
and wonder
still reeling
from the fact
that you
had spoken to me;
no longer invisible
filled with your words which have splattered
onto me
intended from my roommate
electrified that you noticed me
a single flower from a bouquet
intended for her-
awakening then
from yet another daydream
of you
and me.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Bouquet Of Flower
A bouquet of flower
lying under the feet,
I saw one day, on the
the Romantic street.
A little girl was crying,
it was perhaps her.
it fell from her hand,
and smashed under the car!
I asked what she cried for-
told she bought, for mom's grave.
But, the bouquet was spoiled,
and she couldn't manage to save.
The red roses and fern,
made the heaven once
turned to suddenly to
a lump of red flesh by chance!
My eyes filled with
tear, as I perceived,
my own melted heart,
is lump being perished!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The bouquet [Buchetul]
The sun was shining high above
When I gave you in a bouquet
My precious and consuming love
And my heart's secret in that day.
The posy was my youth, my pearl,
And if today lies withered here,
You maybe didn't kiss it, girl,
O, lovely Mary, O, my dear.
For eons you cannot be mine,
You know it and I know it well,
But love is like a sweet red wine
And getting sober is a hell.
Yet, when in reverie you're caught,
If you can see that bouquet clear,
Give to the poet a nice thought,
O, lovely Mary, O, my dear.
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Unsold Bouquets
the remaining bouquets
the flowers are still fresh
but this late valentine night
they look particularly
bare of hope for a sale
three bouquets on a table
that have become too big for them
during the day, there were
so many of them
one over the other
a city of eager lovers
head over heels
in choosing of the best roses
to convey their feelings
to their fancied
flowers, blooms, blossoms
their grace, fragrance and
semblance of intimacy
won the day for the
hot blooded men who wilted
in the face of transmitting
their innermost thoughts
to their new loved ones
so many of his hearts went
into the girl's when she
acceped his bouquet
so many of his lovelorn nights
turned into nights of hope
now a girl in a condominium
still carries a dream to have
that sweet bouquet from
her secret love
a three-year dream
a bouquet a year
that's three bouquets
three bouquets that sit
on a big vacant heart
longing to be bought
longing to be given away
longing to fill up a lonely heart
giving her life the colours she longs for
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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John Ballard
In the lust of my strength
I cursed God, but he paid no attention to me:
I might as well have cursed the stars.
In my last sickness I was in agony, but I was resolute
And I cursed God for my suffering;
Still He paid no attention to me;
He left me alone, as He had always done.
I might as well have cursed the Presbyterian steeple.
Then, as I grew weaker, a terror came over me:
Perhaps I had alienated God by cursing him.
One day Lydia Humphrey brought me a bouquet
And it occurred to me to try to make friends with God,
So I tried to make friends with Him;
But I might as well have tried to make friends with the bouquet.
Now I was very close to the secret,
For I really could make friends with the bouquet
By holding close to me the love in me for the bouquet
And so I was creeping upon the secret, but --
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Sadness
When I weep in darkness,
When the flowers fade
That I gave to you in a bouquet,
When the dream of your eyes
Meeting mine in a summery place
Has failed to materialize,
When I no longer have the hope
Of holding your hand
By the book store
Or the coffee stand,
I must retreat into the sadness
That destiny intended for me.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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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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My First Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know?
Thinking of this brought a smile,
never a falling tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
inside pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close,
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know.
The thought of this brought a smile
and never brought a tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
between pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I Hope You're Happy
I hope you're happy.
I hope you don't give it a second thought.
I hope you're happy but that's not enough.
I hope your miserble in that grave you dug.
I hope it's me you're thinking of when you choke on your tears.
I hope you waste the years with someone untrue.
I hope the words you said come back to haunt you.
The mistake you made, I hope it drives you insane.
I hope it hurts you to say my name.
If you're lonely you've got no one to blame but yourself.
So I hope your happy with somebody else.
I hope you're doing alright.
I hope it's guilt that keeps you up at night
I hope it eats you away.
I hope you regret every single day spent without me.
I hope it kills you to hear the truth spoken loudly.
I hope you have fun pretending to care about her.
I hope you believe that you can't live without her.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you don't fall apart.
I hope you're happy.
I hope she breaks your worthless heart.
poem by Samantha Ashley
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A bouquet for you
In colours of yellow, orange, red and even almost blue
a carnation is a beautiful thing that you remember and remember,
it stays stuck
against the retina of what the eye sees
and half mysterious lies the almost clove goading smell,
half vague but the accent of it lingers and lingers constantly
where it’s on a lapel, single or in a bouquet in a vase
taking a woman’s breath away, cheering up a whole day
and a carnation is a magical flower
with which I want to reveal my love to you
who leave me dumbstruck,
wanting you to rise like a bud in my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Subterranean
My tears fall like rain
From the longlasting pain
When I look at your eyes
My heart just dies
Beauty divine
I hope you'll be mine
Open your arms
For all time
All dressed in white
Bringer of light
Spend time with me
All through the night
Beauty divine
Your tears taste like wine
Come to me
For all time
My spine shivers with the touch of your lips...
My pale skin turns red when we kiss...
Piercing your nails deep into my back...
As I slowly kiss your ivory neck...
I started to cry after hours of joyful sin...
My tears turned to roses as they embraced your skin...
I gathered them to a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers...
A bouquet of the most secret and ancient powers...
My amber heart started to glow as I died really slow...
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Essence Of You
In the
gallery
of my
mind,
I ponder
your
existence.
Such a
gentle
breeze,
on a warm
spring
day.
A fresh
breath
of air,
softly
kissing
my lips.
A lovely
flower,
one in
my bouquet
of life.
full of
promises.
Fulfilling
my every
dream.
with sweet
thoughts,
until I
melt into
your nectar.
poem by Heather Burns
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A woman should be like a single flower, not a whole bouquet.
Flower - Flower Love
flower - flower love
flower - flower love
I come with flower and love
into your life that's full of hope
flower - flower love
I bring you flower and love
as a truth of my heart that never drop
I am a butterfly for you
with blackish orange in colours on me
I will never fly away from you
and never stop watching over you
for
flower - flower love
you are my flower
and you are my love
poem by Juahta Sitepu
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A Rose Intoxication!
Queen of flowers rose is always a fascination!
Rose is symbol of passionate love cheers mood!
Rose lady gives great pride to be with anywhere!
Special respect to rose never changes anywhere;
Red rose, pink rose and even blue rose are there
Occupying a pride of place none can have ever!
Bouquet of rose flowers elates anyone to dizziness!
A special gift indeed rose flowers makes to all!
A single rose is enough to make one grand to look
Instead of a big cluster of flowers of jasmine or lily!
Scent of rose remains fresh in mind wherever one is;
Such a unique flower rose how can anyone ignore
Whether it is in the garden or lies on a wayward side!
Now after seeing rose and read on rose I am intoxicated..!
poem by Ramesh T A
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266
As of this time
I bring you no offering
Here I am
Bringing nothing
Just lies...
A bouquet of beautiful lies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A White Butterfly
a white butterfly flies
over a bouquet of white roses
intended for the
dead loved one
it lands on one of the petals
and then it disappears
i look for it and with my
breath i shy it away on a wish
that it may hover
on the red patch of my heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Untitled...
Untitled!
A girl of beauty, always a smile on her and the ones she touched
Full of love and grace and the will to learn,
Nothing could stand in her way!
Or so she thought…
This girl of beauty was neglected
By the one who was suppose to love her unconditionally
He abandoned her and she never knew why
Her tears flowed down stinging her disfigured body and soul
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
Looking in the mirror that’s not her
It was the father she longed for, reached for
But that is all he was a reflection…
In her mind she thought there are ways
Ways to fill this void and once again smile
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see?
Her body became her weakness as it was molested and tainted
They would fill her for that moment
until they too where gone
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
She always found a replacement
And she would give all she’s got
But he always wanted more
She felt she had to prove or he too shall be gone
So that’s what she did let him hit it raw
Chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis…what beautiful flowers he gave her
This girl of beauty she has an STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
White powdered nose, bright coloured pills
These became her escape
These became her friends
Out at the club with her new friends
She’d once again aim to please
Who ever it was never said no
Just promised her flowers like all others before
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know it
But shit can’t anybody see
She was blessed with child but rejected her gift
Her nose stayed powdered and she popped those coloured pills
This girl of beauty has a std
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t you see
Never knew where she slept or why her body bled
But no one reached out to find truly what’s wrong
She never knew and she never cared
When he came he promised to stay this might be him
…the father she’d lost
So she gave him her body but he shredded it to pieces
And left her lying naked
But on her chest he laid his flower
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
Her jewel flowed red as she staggered in pain
As a part of her was ripped from her womb
Where is the other half?
With him? or him, maybe him
Shit she’ll never know
This girl of beauty has a STD
But she don’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
In her hand she held her bouquet
Carried it with pride
But it bared all her shame
By day her bouquet grew big
They gave her all kinds of flowerers
Which to her look enchanting
But these flowerers smell of shame, disgust and disappointment
But how can she tell wit her nose powdered white
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
Now she doesn’t care for love
Herself
Him, him, and defiantly him
She’s found a dark place to put all this pain
A place she knows no one will dare enter
Her body so ripped
Her heart no beat
Nothing is left but all of his pain
Unbearable
She cries…cries
From deep down and asks for some peace
This girl with her STD
A
Soul Tattered and Dead
And she now knows but it is way too late
This girl of beauty now has
AIDS
Alone In Dead Souls
And in her mind there she is free…
But shit you still don’t see
Or you, you and defiantly you.
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
October 11,2007
poem by Lerato Shuping
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Why Must We Pick The Flowers?
Why is it
when we see a beautiful flower
our first instinct
is to pick it?
We just want to yank it up
and take it with us
with no regard for the flower.
No guilt in the fact
that it will die within a day or so now.
Wouldn't it be nice
if when we see a flower
we just look and admire
the shape of it's curves
the scent of it's body
the sheer ability to survive
in a world like this?
Yet, rarely do we see one
without thinking of plucking it right up
and keeping it for our very own
with little or no thoughts of
how much joy and beauty
this flower could bring to others.
Is this the selfishness of humans
or do we just think that little
of flowers?
Jack's Land
Stop the night, the night
My thoughts get louder after dark
Oh the lies
The crazies tell me this much
Aha!
It's a simple enough task boys
To find a living miracle
But the living ain't easy
I need a shot of medicine
Start the day, the day
My head denies I'm breathing
It likes to say
Am I here or leaving me?
There's a want I ask all the time
Possession of my right mind
You're not deaf but I still have to shout
Watch out there's a lot of thieves about
All along the way
I stand beside myself
And look at all my world
No need to tell me
I see dead men playing
I hear cries from many
I hear tears and then some
I hear hop I'm hoping
I'm caught with all the shutters down
Who's looking through my window?
I had to close the saddest eyes
You've got to be a winner
You've got to be cool
I see me inside you
I hear fear and then some
I see children playing
I see hope I'm hoping
Far away
I hear a memory calling me
I'd like to stay
But my obsession wants to play
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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