Flowering
Flowers are a part of speech too plain,
The language of it is the kingdom of plants.
Offering, exactly conferring, and inferring,
They compute to loosen their offspring.
The wind imitates the parts of the wind
With flowing power, brains are dead.
Often time is allowing a flower to be fed
By the water of the floor, the gestures are bleeding.
May water rise from its stem and flourish in its organs,
Its organs, its organs concentrate too believably.
Flowers work outside as do their people,
So much has contrived the flower to be.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breezes
Hard petals of a flower still marry the breeze,
The wind changes every time, all the time.
What breeze is the wind that it freezes our tears?
Cold winter may apologize for our woes,
But does the following season become upright?
The flowing seasons drift in space, in the sky and stars,
When moons and planets reign supreme.
There the seas of blood marry life to death,
Obvious weather is too rude, too fighting our habitat.
The hard flowers under a different sky wonder,
And hard plants are not the same, they are like the tea of Earth.
Breezes are softer than the wind, the wind is kindness,
The wind doubles its burden on creation, as air shall be water;
Water carry on, water is the double trouble of water and air,
It seems the water made plants grow, made growth proper,
With mindless directions in the Sun.
poem by Naveed Akram
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Power Flower
Pan is my name
I live outside the door
I have to keep the score of things around you
Fire and air,
Water I prepare
I am the piper at the gates of dawning
Its not magic its not madness
Just the elements I style
And I guarantee faithfully I will never go
Until all is said and done
In a twinkling Ill be gone
Well excuse me I have so much more to do
Fancy I fell,
A childlike tap Ill steal
Look twice my friend its not the wind at all
Youll never see,
What you refuse to be
The power in the seeing is believing.
Its not magic its not madness
Just the elements I style
And I guarantee faithfully I will never go
Until all is said and done
In a twinkling Ill be gone
Well excuse me I have so much more to do
Its not magic its not madness
Just the elements I style
And I guarantee faithfully I will never go
Until all is said and done
In a twinkling Ill be gone
Well excuse me I have so much more to do
(background)
Flower power, power flower, flower power, power of love
Power flower, flower power, power flower, flower of love
(repeat)
Hes a power flower yeah, oh
Protecting all the flowers, yeah, oh
Hes a flowers power, yeah
Through earth, wind, fire, showers, yeah, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Hes a power flower yeah, oh
Protecting all the flowers, yeah, oh
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Sensual Women
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual enjoyment.
The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something In The Water
Some people tell me i got great legs
Can't figure out why u make me beg
Does not compute (does not compute)
Don't not compute (don't not compute)
U think you're special, well so do i
Why do special women make me cry?
Does not compute (does not compute)
It don't not compute (don't not compute)
Must be something in the water they drink
It's been the same with every girl i've had
Must be something in the water they drink
'cuz why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
Some people think i'm kinda cute
But that don't compute when it comes 2 y-o-u
It don't compute (don't not compute)
Somethin' mama don't compute (don't not compute)
What's the hangup? what's the scam?
Guess u think i'm just another 1...1 of your fans
It don't compute (don't not compute)
Somethin' honey don't compute (don't not compute)
Must be something in the water they drink
It's been the same with every girl i've had
Must be something in the water u drink
'cuz why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
I've got 2 get 2 u, baby
Some people think i'm kinda smart
Why must a fella stop with u before he starts?
It don't compute, mama (does not compute)
Somethin' don't compute (don't not compute)
I'd buy u clothing, buy u fancy cars
But u gotta talk 2 me, baby, tell me who u really r
Must be something in the water they drink
It's been the same with every girl i've had
Must be something in the water u drink
Why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
(must be something in the water u drink)
(does not compute)
(don't not compute)
(don't not compute)
(must be something in the water u drink)
Bitch -- u think you're special? (must be something in the water u drink)
So do i
(second coming) (must be something in the water u drink)
Why in god's name
Do u wanna make me cry?
Why? why? (must be something in the water u drink)
I'd do anything 4 u, anything (must be something in the water u drink)
Why don't u talk 2 me? (must be something in the water u drink)
Tell me who u r (must be something in the water u drink)
Don't do this 2 me (must be something in the water u drink)
Please don't do this (must be something in the water u drink)
Why? why?
I do love u. i do.
Or else i wouldn't go through all the things i do
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs, he is truly magnificent; but those organs have not grown on him and they still give him much trouble at times.
quote by Sigmund Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flower Pedals
Flower Pedals,
Fluttering from their stem...
The wind blows,
The flower pedals goes flying...
The waterfall is crashing,
Down to the bottom...
The sunshines down,
Making a never ending rainbow...
The flower pedals,
Goes lands onto the water below,
The waterfall...
The water slowly makes,
The flower pedals,
Go slowly down the stream...
poem by Mandy Anna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The sense organs experience the external light, sound, etc. with difficulty; the different sense organs only have a so-called specific receptivity for particular stimuli.
quote by Johannes P. Muller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something In The Water (Does Not Compute)
Some people tell me I got great legs
Cant figure out why u make me beg
Does not compute (does not compute)
Dont not compute (dont not compute)
U think youre special, well so do i
Why do special women make me cry?
Does not compute (does not compute)
It dont not compute (dont not compute)
Must be something in the water they drink
Its been the same with every girl Ive had
Must be something in the water they drink
cuz why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
Some people think Im kinda cute
But that dont compute when it comes 2 y-o-u
It dont compute (dont not compute)
Somethin mama dont compute (dont not compute)
Whats the hangup? whats the scam?
Guess u think Im just another 1...1 of your fans
It dont compute (dont not compute)
Somethin honey dont compute (dont not compute)
Must be something in the water they drink
Its been the same with every girl Ive had
Must be something in the water u drink
cuz why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
Ive got 2 get 2 u, baby
Some people think Im kinda smart
Why must a fella stop with u before he starts?
It dont compute, mama (does not compute)
Somethin dont compute (dont not compute)
Id buy u clothing, buy u fancy cars
But u gotta talk 2 me, baby, tell me who u really r
Must be something in the water they drink
Its been the same with every girl Ive had
Must be something in the water u drink
Why else would a woman wanna treat a man so bad?
(must be something in the water u drink)
(does not compute)
(dont not compute)
(dont not compute)
(must be something in the water u drink)
Bitch -- u think youre special? (must be something in the water u drink)
So do i
(second coming) (must be something in the water u drink)
Why in gods name
Do u wanna make me cry?
Why? why? (must be something in the water u drink)
Id do anything 4 u, anything (must be something in the water u drink)
Why dont u talk 2 me? (must be something in the water u drink)
Tell me who u r (must be something in the water u drink)
Dont do this 2 me (must be something in the water u drink)
Please dont do this (must be something in the water u drink)
Why? why?
I do love u. I do.
Or else I wouldnt go through all the things I do
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
A Flower Loves
Eye saw the flower bed as eye walked bye it looked so empty after storm has come, on close inspection there was three plants still thriving there in hopefullness and love, whiteflower looking all better, one purple flower plant blossoming, and a forelorn dandylion
without seeds but steadfast in his love in the center of the flower bed between the daughter and his love, after bad weather gone.
Love remains the flowers fade but love still stays even inside the dead flower bed. A flower loves.
poem by Charles Hice
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Looking for Hermit Hu
Cross water again cross water
See flower again see flower
Spring wind river on go
Not aware arrive your home
I pass over water, and pass over water again,
I look at the flowers, and look at the flowers again.
Travelling the river, there's a spring breeze,
Before I am aware, I reach your home.
A Receipe To Cook The Organ Meats!
Organ meats are laced and tasty,
let us make the dishes, not the pastry,
Cooking of brain, lungs, heart,
Liver, intestine and kidneys,
Soak them in wine for years,
Marinate them in fizzy beer,
Baking is too hot,
So we opt for smoke,
Smoke them throughout,
the Day and night,
Even in between,
Many the numbers,
Faster the organs get smoked,
When the eyes and nose water,
Use the mask and filters,
Weeds can be added,
For a quick fix and flavor,
When the sputum is thickened,
With the bending cough,
When the legs are swollen,
With tiring limps and thoughts,
We can go to the hospitals,
To make sure,
Whether we have cooked proper?
Once the certificate is issued,
That we are the chief chef of our body,
With perfectly imperfect organs,
We can stop marinating and smoking,
As the organs can mature on themselves,
and we can be displayed sooner or later,
to show our relatives and friends,
that we are the great cooks.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I am your Flower
a beautiful flower waved in the wind
bent with the breeze.
you came along, and, noticed it.
stooping down to kneel in the dirt,
you examined its petals
felt its delicate leaves.
you picked the flower,
broke its roots,
and placed its unchained stem into your clasped hand.
you carried the flower with you
showed it to friends, acquaintances,
made everyone take notice
of the beauty you found.
and strangely enough,
this flower did not wilt,
but remained strongly vibrant
in its glass of water
as you carefully attended to it.
yet as the year continued,
you worried and wondered
if maybe your choosing of this flower hurt it.
was it meant to be connected with the earth?
should you have stood and turned away
without choosing this flower
and picking it up for your own?
was your breaking of the stem a mistake?
should you have left it?
these questions filled your mind.
yet your flower remained vibrant and strong
in her glass of water.
confined, no, now free.
and freedom brings its own nourishment.
nourishment that cannot be found
attached to the ground.
you chose the flower above the rest,
and picked her to be yours.
will you keep me?
you have freed me.
my glass of water is refreshing.
your hand clasping my stem is enough
for me to stay and choose you
above the sun, more than the soil,
i cannot wilt if you take care of me as you have.
for a broken stem and a chosen flower
cannot be returned.
i must be kept or left to die.
poem by Lors Dilouley
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The Falling Flowers
In the beginning I saw your smile…the unwithering flower…
I was dancing onside of thousand blooming flowers…
The bud’s fragrance was overwhelming silently.
That moment, I felt it in the town of wind with calm breeze.
Every tear and smile has a beginning and ending.
This time, my unwithering flower is falling down onto my tainted road…
The song of storm and fire take away all of my unwithering flowers.
The fragrance, the flower’s colours…everything is melt vastly.
Inside the locked remorse, I find a falling flower.
Inside the cold guiltiness, I start dancing and plant the flower.
This falling flower, I plant it…on the empty soil named despair.
This falling flower, I water it…with my tears named blood.
poem by Mizushi Hikari
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A Flower's Fragrance Declare The World
In friendship's fragrant garden
The flower is the poetry of reproduction.
None can have a healthy love for flowers
unless he loves the wild ones.
Everything has been thought of before
but the difficulty is to think of it again.
In the hope of reaching the moon
men fail to see the flowers
And it's my faith, that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
flowers are our constant friends.
The gardens that make us happiest flourish
A flower's fragrance declares to all the world
poem by Ezna Stephna
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When I look at the world around me
Pink, red and purple geraniums
that flower in the garden,
cannot grow without sunlight
and water.
Still, every different flower
has an own colour, a different odour
and the texture of flower cups
and the time that buds last
are different.
When I look at the world around me,
I know how a part
of You’re great omnipotence looks
and I see flowers dazzling everywhere,
to pay homage to You
from who
every thing comes
and every plant and flower
leaves me dumbstruck with beauty.
In all things, Your love is unlimited
and the greatness of Your works
tells me that I‘m also part
of Your making
and that all things fit somewhere
in Your universe.
poem by Gert Strydom
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On Organ Donation
If you’re brain-dead by accidents:
Your eyes can continue to see
By being placed in one who needs,
And live for another life-time!
Your heart can continue to beat
In one who needs a living pump
To circulate the blood around!
Your kidneys both can excrete wastes
In persons two with uraemia,
And help them live for some more years!
Your liver transplanted in one
With alcoholic cirrhosis
Can help him live for some more weeks!
Your pancreas, lungs, intestines,
Bone, bone-marrow and entire skin
Can be help to keep fifty alive!
Donate your other organs too
To ones in dire need of them,
And make your corpse to help men live!
So, gift your body parts to ones
Who seem to be in verge of death
And help continue to breathe!
Donate your organs; help men live!
You can serve God and man though dead!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-5-2009
poem by John Celes
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Shui lung yin
Like a flower, but not a flower
No one cares when it falls
And lies discarded at the roadside
But though
Unmoved, I think about
The tangle of wounded tendrils
Lovely eyes full of sleep
About to open,yet
Still in dreams, following the wind ten thousand miles
In search of love
Startled, time and again, by the oriole's cry
Do not pity the flower that flies off
Grieve for the western garden
Its fallen red already beyond mending --
Now, after morning rain
What's left?
A pond full of broken duckweed
If the three parts of spring
Two turn to dust
One to flowing water
Look --
These are not catkins
But drop after drop of parted lover's tears
poem by Su Tung-po
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A Baby Running Barefoot
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my hands,
Cool like syringa buds,
Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Manipulation
Oh, my head! my head! my head!
Lack! for my poor unfortunate head!
Mister de Ville
Has been to feel,
And what do you think he said?
He felt it up, and he felt it down,
Behind the ears, and across the crown,
Sinciput, occiput, great and small,
Bumps and organs, he tickled 'em all;
And he shook his own, as he gravely said,
'Sir, you really have got a most singular head!
'Why here's a bump,
Only feel what a lump;
Why the organ of "Sound" is an absolute hump;
And only feel here,
Why, behind each ear,
There's a bump for a butcher or a bombardier;
Such organs of slaughter
Would spill blood like water;
Such "lopping and topping" of heads and of tails,
Why, you'll cut up a jackass with Alderman S--.'
[Caetera desunt.]
poem by Richard Harris Barham
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