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There’s a widows heart upon a grave

Each day she goes there and talks to stones
To a silent cross his name upon a tomb
Each day she brings the flowers
Fresh flowers for the memories two
Each days she puts them down
Each day the scent covers up his name
Each day she prays to die to die
Even though she knows it’ll be too soon

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Air

Like fresh blossoming flowers on a spring day.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the smell of rain right before it pours down.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the aroma of a hot apple pie cooling on the window seal.
Her scent is in air.
I try to cover my nose with my shirt
but her scent seeps right through it.
It is in the air.
I try fanning it away
but the more I fan the stronger her scent lofts in the air.
I decide not to fight it anymore and I inhale her scent.
It first suffocates me but then it sustains me.
To me her scent is love and it is
In the air.

poem by Lore Me34
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Brings Me Flowers

He brings me flowers
for no special reason.
He brings me flowers
for each new season.
Pointsettias in winter,
a bright rosy red
to comfort me from words left unsaid.
Violets in springtime
that he picks for me,
reminders of how we used to be.
Roses in summer
with scent so sweet,
a memory of when we first did meet.
Mums in autumn
as yellow as the sun
to shine for me
like we've just begun.
I treasure these flowers
of each new season
because I know
that his love is the reason.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers

(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Days Are Now Hotter Than They Were Before (Rondel Prime)

Days are now hotter than they were before
with many blooming flowers one can find
while the spring brings out what it has in store
in a time that is gentle, sweet and kind

while glory waits just outside the front door
and happiness is even in the slight wind.
Days are now hotter than they were before
with many blooming flowers one can find

and spring feels as it will last forevermore,
will it brings the most joyful times to mind,
when people in fun do each other adore
as if they can all unhappiness rescind.
Days are now hotter than they were before
with many blooming flowers one can find

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In This Garden

In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope

The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful

Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…

I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives

Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life

poem by Jack Shaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mystery play of a Pensioner

A retired person who collects his pension
At the end of the month.
Buy few flowers and candles
Go to the cemetery.
Keep the flowers on the tomb of his wife
And light few candles in the wind.
He prays with tears and opens his wallet.
Take out a photograph and kiss.
Then put it inside before he leaves.
I noticed he comes here in every month
And the month of April is already vanished.
But there is no more trace of him.
I am sure that he too goes and
Adjoin the mysterious myriad.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bring Me Flowers

Bring me flowers when I am living
Don't bring me them when I am dead
Let me enjoy them in the giving
My mother always had said.
Let me hold them in my hands
and smell there fragrant scent
Then I will reminisce of different lands
Before; I am heaven sent.
I will reflect back when I was young
Or I might think back not long ago
When I walked underneath the sun
Or when I felt the wind as it blowed.

Bring me flowers when I am here
Please don't wait until I am gone
So I might reflect to a different year
And my memories will last on.
I might reflect to a different time
With every breadth and scent I breath
And knowing the flowers are mine
Shows how much that you love me.
Let me enjoy the flowers again
Let me feel them on my fingers
Because I just don't know when,
And how long my memory will linger.

Bring me flowers with a smile
Please don't bring them with any sorrow
And I will hold them just like a child
As I held you, and held on till tomorrow.
I want to see them once again
As I place them on my table
And then they will be my friend
And I will greet them when I am able.
They will be a part of me
My mothers always had said
So bring them now to me please
And don't wait until I am dead.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stones

Stones
Stones would play inside her head
And where she slept,
They made her bed
And she would ache
For love and get but stones
La la la la la la la la la
Lordy, child
A good days comin
And Ill be there to let the sun in
And bein lost
Is worth the comin home
La la la la la la la la la on stones
You and me, a time for planting
You and me, a harvest granting
The every prayer ever prayed
For just two wild flowers that grow
La la la la la la la la la on stones
Mmmmmmmm.....

song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A flowerpot and the posies

The old tenant listens to the secret whisper in the decaying flat;
'The householder change the flowers when they depressed
And she brings another bunch of fresh flowers.
I am really fed up of this monotonous routine and I wait anxiously until the day when she introduce everlasting shrubs.' Pot cried.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At the Florist.

A Man enters a flower shop 
And chooses some flowers 
The Florist wraps the flowers 
The Man puts his hand in his pocket 
Searching for money 
Money to pay for the Flowers 
But at the same time 
Suddenly 
He puts his hand on his Heart and 
Falls 

At the same time as He falls 
The money falls to the floor 
And then the flowers fall 
At the same time as the man 
At the same time as the money 
And the Florist stands still 
With the falling money 
With the damaged flowers 
With the Dying Man 
Obviously all this is very sad 
And she must do something 
The Florist 
But She dosen't know what to do 
Dosen't know where to start 

There are so many things to do 
With this Man who's Dying 
These damaged Flowers 
And this Money 
This Money rolling 
Which dosen't stop rolling. 

Jacques Prévert- Translation

poem by David Holbrook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sestina: Here in Katmandu

We have climbed the mountain.
There's nothing more to do.
It is terrible to come down
To the valley
Where, amidst many flowers,
One thinks of snow,

As formerly, amidst snow,
Climbing the mountain,
One thought of flowers,
Tremulous, ruddy with dew,
In the valley.
One caught their scent coming down.

It is difficult to adjust, once down,
To the absense of snow.
Clear days, from the valley,
One looks up at the mountain.
What else is there to do?
Prayer wheels, flowers!

Let the flowers
Fade, the prayer wheels run down.
What have they to do
With us who have stood atop the snow
Atop the mountain,
Flags seen from the valley?

It might be possible to live in the valley,
To bury oneself among flowers,
If one could forget the mountain,
How, never once looking down,
Stiff, blinded with snow,
One knew what to do.

Meanwhile it is not easy here in Katmandu,
Especially when to the valley
That wind which means snow
Elsewhere, but here means flowers,
Comes down,
As soon it must, from the mountain.

poem by Donald Justice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somebody Prays

Somebody is happy
Somebody is fun
Somebody enjoys life
Then the devil puts them on the run.
Somebody has a problem
Somebody gets involved
Somebody reaches grace
Somebody prays a prayer
And the problem is dissolved.

Thanks to somebody who prays
That maybe doesn't even know me.
But prays a prayer daily
For all whom they do not see.
Thanks for your encouragement
Thank you
For some days life gets odd.
Thanks for caring about me
Thanks for knowing God.

poem by Cecelia Weir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Phantom, flowers and the sentinel

'In the pitchy darkness what are you searching sir? '.
The watch keeper asked from the puritan.
'I am searching some rare herbal flowers brother'.
'These days it's very hard to find an unblemished flower sir
because of this unending war, flowers won't come out.
There were some flowers at the back yard of the grave side,
but I am not quite sure; an uncalled man has been here last week
and plucked all the flowers.'
'It's me can't you recognize?
those flowers for the altar
and not for medication'.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hello Again

aren't you bringing any flowers
in your hands
from south africa?

in your absence
the flowers here wilted

it is your time now
to recompense

and i am asking
where are your flowers?

open your hands
from your palms
let all the flowers grow
let the scent explode

make another beginning
start writing the first line of your poem

how about a poem sort of
a love poem
the one worded so well with
affection

the one that repays
the cruelty of disappearances

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do I Ever Cross Your Mind

Oh, sometimes I go walking through fields where we walked
Long ago in the sweet used to be
And the flowers still grow, but they don't smell as sweet
As they did when you picked them for me
And when I think of you and the love we once knew
How I wish we could go back in time
Do you ever think back on old memories like that
Or do I ever cross your mind
Oh, how often I wish that again I could kiss
Your sweet lips like I did long ago
And how often I long for those two loving arms
That once held me so gentle and close
And when I think of you and the love we once knew
How I wish we could go back in time
Do you ever recall these old memories at all
Or do I ever cross your mind
When old memories appear my eyes wont stay clear
When I think of those happier times
Do you ever recall these old memories at all
Or do I ever cross your mind
Do you ever think back on old memories like that
Or do I ever cross your mind

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Artificial Flowers

Artificial flowers to me are out of place.
You put them in your home
in a decorative vase.
They have no scent.
They look unreal
and collect too much dust.

Artificial flowers I suppose
are better than none.
But I'd rather have a petaled stem
even if it was just one.
A rose, a lily or violet
breathe like you and I.
Artificial flowers don't
even know how to die.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My world is beautiful!

My world is beautiful,
My worlds are beautiful,
Always it will,
Life is full of Nature's bounties
My sweet mother caress and
cares me,
Me and my friends, We look beautiful with what she
gave us,
We make our world happy and
beautiful,
Not worrying,
what she didn't give! I and my friends play hide and
seek,
Colourful butterfly,
Hide behind Flowers,
How thrilling to find these flying
flowers, butterflies dancing to my Heart's silent song! Flowers filling perfume to air,
Adding colours to life,
Shining Sun make them bright,
Lonesome dove sings at dawn,
Goodmorning dear,
Wake up and look at the world, sailing clouds say,
' have a nice day'
Gentle breeze keeping us cool,
Plants swing to my silent song! Flowers smiling in my lap,
Filling my heart with joy,
Dove fly around me and sings in
ears,
Look at smiling innocent flowers,
They smile at you, Though you kill them,
Separating their mother,
Listen to silent cry of plants,
Silent mourning of butterflies,
Can't you mourn,
yes now I am mourning and my heart weeps at death of smiling
flowers! Taking oath in presence of my
friends,
'Never will I kill flowers '!
my days will be more happy and
nice,
With playful smile of flowers!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God the artist

There is greater art in the colour of the sky,
in the canvas with which the night covers herself,
in the sun that rises in time each morning
and daily I am astounded
when flowers and trees put on their cloaks,
even memories sweep me back all the time

to thundershowers that brilliantly burst loose,
to waterfalls that spray their streams,
than what you can find in a human masterpiece
and sometimes man is somewhat blinded
as if he can avoid the God of the universe
but continually His art stays gloriously fresh.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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