Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor plastic Flower
My mother in law loves flower
This is our trial
My wife in denial
As she plants a flower
She has a brown thumb
This makes me glum
For she can’t even grow a plum
She has plastic flowers
And those took a powder
Poor plastic flower
A flower needs water
To give it power
She forget this every hour
That is why her flowers are powder
Her plastic flower had power
Until it's last hour
The vase did tower
As it was full of water
Poor plastic flower
poem by Keith Wells
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Heart Is A Vase
A heart is a vase
Love is a flower we put in the vase
Passion is the water for the flower
But romance, respect, trust, and commitment
Is the sunshine that makes the flower bloom
(2011)
poem by Michael Ernst
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The Vase
the vase where
your flower is put
is filled with
mosquitoes
do you still want to
put it there?
in this lousy metaphor
my body is the vase.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Anonymous Flowers
someone anonymous sends the flowers
all white
and we who receive them are all
in guesses
for whom?
and since we do not know for whom for sure
we leave the flowers
a bouquet of flowers on the table
and no one puts it inside a vase
they all wilt for no one cared
to put water on the leaves
it is like love that you give to everyone
and none in particular
when that love goes away
no one weeps.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A vase of flowers
I saw a vase of purple-pink roses
lying on your dark brown buffet
and simply had to have it.
“Who painted this, ” I immediately enquired
loving the picture more with each look
that I took of it
as it’s not your thing
to paint still life’s with flowers.
“I painted it. It’s like painting pillow slips, ”
you replied and astonished
I looked at it again
and this was on board
and not in water colours
but done with oil paint.
The folds of the cups were edged
in ridges along their lines
using the techniques
of your abstract paintings
and one smaller unopened bud
laid next to the bowl
almost running into your name.
Little pink flowers was in the background
where the transparent vase with green stems
was against the wall on a tiled floor.
[Reference: Vase with roses by Mandi Engelbrecht. (This painting belongs to me.) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A sombre romance
A sombre romance
~
Dying flowers in a vase
Mindless routines becoming motions
Without a thought of feeling
Carrying on for the sake of it all
A kiss cold to the lips
What this house has seen in our time
Were these walls to talk
How they would speak about
A sombre romance
The bottles of wine shared
Over a film and Chinese
The tiring pretence
That things are as they were
That nothings changed
New flowers daily, smaller bunches
Forced into a crowded vase
Nothings new anymore
Even this old pretence
Why we keep denying the inevitable
That even the walls know
This sombre romance
Has seen its day
poem by Matthew Holloway
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0068 The Connoisseur (2)
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
even the doorhandle, gently turned,
seems to speak a message
before the room entered, the first breath taken
of the room’s own air
and on the table, the grey-green vase seems
to be the host; the silent messenger: the furniture
somehow eternal in its order; every line and curve
within the room speaking of some
divine geometry; the shaded sunlight seems
to fall on tiptoe, touch in silent praise;
the air, to be refined; and the silence –
what does the silence say unspoken
as if it holds some god-smiled word,
some solemn laughter, about what
is there and is not there, has made
of this room, this ordinary room,
a shrine where one can worship without form
oneself?
the vase too holds itself both
open and reserved; its perfect curves
the subtle decisions of a history
of centuries, of generations
of human hands; of things made
for oneself, for others, for all else
where all else is known;
silent the vase; the room full of its sound.
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
you; moving forward with respectful quiet step
to touch this grey-green
Chinese vase
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Numbered Poem
2. the mantle is heavy in white.
3. the white cup is not fuming.
4. the lover does not come tonight.
5. an empty vase keeps a shallow
6. conversation with the black clock.
7. there is no flower to brighten
8. the night without a tryst.
9. it is the black clock that ticks
10. time.It is this lament. A cup
11. without tea. A vase without
12. a rose, a daffodil, a white lily.
13. the black clock ticks. There
14. is no hint that it will stop.
That big shell knows it all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Vase Built With Love
For Melvina Germain
Who suggested I write something about a simple vase.
A vase stood on the mantle piece
and two red roses within it stood
one for each heart for whom the vase belonged.
A century before on a potter’s wheel
the vase was carefully crafted by two loving hands
then fired in an oven to keep the love within.
It was then decorated with the same loving care.
The images on it told a story
of two lovers parted by a war.
It told how they had met down a leafy lane
and how their love had grown.
Then came the thunder of an approaching war.
It recorded their last kiss together
before the war tore them apart.
It also told of the years of agony
of waiting for his return,
then of the joys of reuniting,
and how after so long
their love began again to burn.
All this lovingly painted
so everyone could learn
that love never diminishes
even when separated by a war.
18 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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Here Comes My Silent Prayer
waking up from a nightmare
i get out of my room and drink a glass of cold water
i sit on a chair beside a table with a vase of a single flower
i face the sea without the sun yet coming
and then i say my silent prayer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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bottom of the stairs
red red roses in a vase
I srace to the top
red red roses in a vase
seem to get there before me
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
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Cut Flowers
If you love me - please never bring me cut flowers
Because I know that they will die soon after a few hours
I would feel that whatever the flowers represent
Would be equal to the time we have left to spend
Straight stems, soft petals and a lush green leaf
The hours and minutes are numbered - you better believe
Picking a flower is like a sure sentence to death
Like taking a fish out of water watching his last breath
Cut down their life brutally shortened with a sharp knife
All hope diminished knowing that they will not survive
Sure the flowers may get nourishment from the water in the vase
But their life is over as they know it in just a few days
So do not buy any cut flowers for me pretty please
I rather watch them outside visited by many bees
It is so beautiful to see them sway softly outside
And so sad to see them slowly die and lose their pride
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hold Your Position (Stones)
Now here comes the great musical thing called "hold your position"
Rasta, them style ya a just levelment Uncle seen
Hold me position, Just a hold me position
I ya, hold me position, just a hold me position
Go on, hold me position, just a hold me position
Just like Jesus Christ in the valley of decision
Devil come along and tru to deceive man through him
Got him plan from the older one
Him had to hold him position, had to hold him position yeh
Hold him position, had to hold him position
Well rhythm like this makes me and me daughter
Go down at the dance, bubble on the corner
When the rhythm is sweet, we a go hold tighter
Rub-adub like this makes you go one
So you hold your position
Say you hold you position aya
Hold your position, say hold your position
Things and time was a getting slow let off the rhythm
Let the good time roll
Don't bother go a slow and stay a back row
I man come to make the rhythm
Just a rock and flow, because me hold me position
Just a hold me position
Special request to 39 Acker Tree, Frontline, everyman on Kime
UB40 say come and rhyme
Yes, Daddy Stone, me in the dance hall style
So we really come to make it versatile
Because one of a kind we come to blow your mind
So you should hold you position
Yes, hold your position, aya
Hold your position, hold your position
Hold Your Position (cont'd) Stones
Skank steady, Skank Steady
I tell you rock the rhythm
You should skank down steady
You know you say, it heavier than lead
Kinda tougher than tough
You know that Jah, Jah covers
Since he stands over us
So hold your position
Hold your position
Move to the east, and you could a move to the west
Lyrics like this Jab know never go jest
Say chunk ice water say right to your chest
Intercity, outer city everywhere the best you better
Hold you position, just hold your position
Hold you position, say hold your position
Well rhythm like this is really so hot
Let off the vilse because a legal shot
Because we hold our position
Yes, we hold our position aya
Hold our position yes, hold our position
Hold on tight never let go
Tee, ta, tee, say them all in a row
Donkey want water, you should hold him
Joe hold on tight and never let go
Hold your position, just hold your position
Hold your position a ya, just hold your position
Wah dat, hold your position
I say hold your position settle hold your position John
Hold you position Aunty, hold your position
Say hold your position go on
Hold your position, tell them rhythm so crucial
Rhythm so nice like sugar, like a spice
Cause when we a come a dance give you rough, nough, choice
A youth like me should a drive Rolls Royce
Sugar my tea baby, you're irie thought the two of us
Will go to bed cosy
Just a hold me position, hold me position
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Piece By Piece
Sitting on a corner street
Children playing at my feet
See the smiles on ice cream faces
Feel myself begin to sink
As the wind blows though my skin
Leaves me open to temptation
Cause nothing ever lasts forever
Were like flowers in this vase together
You and me its pulling me down
Tearing me down piece by piece
And you cant see that its like a disease
Killing me now its so hard to breathe
Sucking back a cigarret
Thinking about new regrets
Trying to be someone youd like to be
Passing faces on the road
Where the hell can we still go
Leaves us open to temptation
Cause nothing ever lasts forever
Were like flowers in this vase together
You and me its pulling me down
Tearing me down piece by piece
And you cant see that its like a disease
Killing me now its so hard to breathe
Its so hard to breathe
But its worth fighting for, its still worth fighting for
Its worth fighting for
Cause nothing ever lasts forever
Were like flowers in this vase together, you....
You and me its pulling me down
Tearing me down piece by piece
And you cant see that its like a disease
Its killing me now its so hard to breathe
You and me its pulling me down
Tearing me down piece by piece
And you cant see that its like a disease
Its killing me now its so hard to breathe
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tulip That Does Not Wilt
there is a vine, so green
i put on a vase
of glass, there is water
and pebbles
the vine grows some more
leaves
alive on the filtered light
from the window pane,
there is a red tulip that never
dies there
but also does not
grow,
that plastic one i bought
a year ago,
i do not remember having washed it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consuming jealousy
I am jealous of the air you breathe,
of the soap that cleanses your body,
I am jealous of the rain that pours on
your face, and the sun that warms your
winter days, I am jealous of the way
you love the flowers and the vase they
wear, I am jealous of the sheets your
bed wears, that can touch every part
of your body, I am jealous of the mirror
that sees your face every morning day
and night. I am jealous yes I am, even
when you let my winds fly free and they
traveled to many seas, I am still there
facing my awe, consuming my flesh,
and my body speaking a language I can't
even comprehend, like a dark rose, that
lies on an empty vase, what do you do?
when the live you had, is gone and the
one you were living for, what is
there left? where do you go, what
doctor can cure the injured heart, doctor
love is just a tale, there's no cure for
the injured heart, nor there is for an
empty vase.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds
I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think acting is about forgetting yourself in order to give the best of yourself. It's passing through you more than you're creating it. You're not the flower, but the vase which holds the flower.
quote by Juliette Binoche
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Foma Bobrov And His Spouse
GRANNY Bobrov (Playing patience) Now that's the card. Oh, it's all coming out topsy-turvy! A king. And where am I supposed to put that? Just when you want one, there's never a five around. Oh, I could do with a five! Now it'll be the five. Oh, sod it, another king!
She flings the cards on to the table with such force that a porcelain vase falls off the table and smashes.
GRANNY Oh! Oh! My Gawd! These bloody cards! (She crawls under the table and picks up the pieces). This'll never glue back together again. And it was a good vase, too. You can't get them like that any more. This bit's right over there! (Stretches for the piece. BOBROV enters the room).
BOBROV Granny! Is that you clambering about under the table?
GRANNY Yes, okay, okay. What do you want?
BOBROV I just came to ask you: you wouldn't happen to have a chest of tea?
GRANNY Come on then, give me a hand up from under the table.
BOBROV What have you done, dropped something? Oh, you've broken the vase!
GRANNY (Mimicking him) You've broken the vase!
(BOBROV helps GRANNY up. But as soon as he lets go of her, GRANNY sits back down on the floor).
BOBROV Oh, you're down again!
GRANNY Down, so now what?
BOBROV Let me help you up (Pulls GRANNY up).
GRANNY The cards were going badly. I tried this and that... But don't pull me by the arms, get hold of me under the armpits. All I got, you know, was king after king. I need a five and all the kings keep turning up.
BOBROV lets go of GRANNY and GRANNY again sprawls on the floor.
GRANNY Akh!
BOBROV Oh, Lord! You're down again.
GRANNY What are you on about: down, down! What are you after, anyway?
BOBROV I came to ask if you've a chest of tea.
GRANNY I know that. You've already told me. I don't like listening to the same tale twenty times. The thing is: akh, I'm down again! and a chest of tea. Well, what are you looking at! Get me up, I'm telling you.
BOBROV (Pulling GRANNY up) I'll just, excuse me, put you in the armchair.
GRANNY You'd do better to prattle on a bit less and pull me up in a proper fashion. I meant to tell you, and it almost slipped my mind: you know, that door in my bedroom isn't shutting properly again. No doubt you messed the whole thing up.
BOBROV No, I put a staple on with fillister-head screws.
GRANNY Do you think I know anything about staples and fillister heads? I don't care about all that. I just want the door to shut.
BOBROV It doesn't shut properly because the fillister heads won't stay in the woodwork.
GRANNY That'll do, that'll do. That's your business. I just need to... Akh! (She again sprawls on the floor).
BOBROV Oh, Lord!
GRANNY Have you decided to fling me to the floor deliberately? Decided to have a bit of fun? Oh you useless devil! You're just a useless devil and you might as well clear off!
BOBROV No, Granny, 'onest injun, I just meant to put you in the armchair.
GRANNY Did you hear what I said? I told you to clear out! So why aren't you going? Well, why aren't you going? Do you hear? Clear off out of it! Well? Bugger off! (exits BOBROV)
GRANNY Off! Go on! Away! Bugger off! Talk about a reprobate! (Gets up from the floor and sits in the armchair). And his wife is simply an indecent madam. The madam walks about absolutely starkers and doesn't bat an eyelid, even in front of me, an old woman. She covers her indecent patch with the palm of her hand, and that's the way she walks around. And then she touches bread with that hand at lunchtime. It's simply revolting to watch. She thinks that if she's young and pretty, then she can do anything she likes. And as for herself, the trollop, she never washes herself properly just where she should do. I, she says, like a whiff of woman to come from a woman! And as for me, as soon as I see her coming, I'm straight into the bathroom with the eau de Cologne to my nose. Perhaps it may be nice for men, but as for me, you can spare me that. The shameless hussy! She goes around naked without the slightest embarrassment. And when she sits down she doesn't even keep her legs together properly, so that everything's on show. And -- there, she's well just always wet. She's leaking like that all the time. If you tell her she should go and wash herself, she will say you shouldn't wash there too often and she'll take a handkerchief and just wipe herself. And you're lucky if it's a handkerchief, because just with her hand she smears it all over the place. I never give her my hand, as there's perpetually an indecent smell from her hands. And her breasts are indecent. It's true, they are very fine and bouncy, but they are so big that, in my opinion, they're simply indecent. That's the wife that Foma found for himself! How she ever got round him is beyond me.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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