Garden
We planted a gemmed garden
without regard for season
opiate orchid perfume lace
marble pomegranate peacock grace
and there was halogen hemlock
amaranth ambrosia lotus therein
with arsenic sprinkling ripe Rose of Sharon
we tended
fashioning opulent garlands
daisy chained
gracious luscious lavalieres
with such we so oblivious
as all-too the cavalier
but winds do sway
as flourish fades way
tension's tender tendrils
twist mist turning photosynthesis
but the bees butterfly romantic
sublimest gratuitous serpents
serendipitous
strange stewardship ours exquisite
such so immaculate symbiotic
and so I yearn burn
still beg of you
exhaust me such and so utterly
letting...
superficial as sublimely supernal
loose leaf letters
let loose eternal
we knew how it would end
and this must play itself out
organically
with modest plots afforded
it should be no surprise
a bounty of very own making
needed such sparsest of tending
as weathered hearts
betray threat of withering
our spacious gracious garden
now outgrown any seeding
the dandelions reach climbing
kiss me on the forehead
throat and heart
I vomit voluptuous fertilizer
as you leave blossom
fullest blooming
randy resh 2011
poem by Randy Resh
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Related quotes
In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Planted A Seed
I Planted A Seed
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Monday, April 26,2010 @ 1: 22 AM
I planted seeds and watched them grow
Each day I fertilized, pesticide, and watered the seeds
Weeds couldn’t strangle my seeds I made sure
They flourished in fertile soil gaining strength by the day
I tended my garden daily without fail
At night I made sure comforted they were
Kept them safe from the elements to flourish
Strong they grew so proud I was of my seedlings
Exquisite blossoms grew from the seeds I sow
Blessed was I my garden full of life and magnificence
Gracious flowers from seeds bloomed respectfully there
Rare colors of light bloom in my plot
Flourished flowers came and went in seasons due
Now fully mature they need tending no more
Their colors now turn a pale winter blue
Scornful now my flowers turn a shadowy brown
Fields I no longer tend dry from disuse
Efforts made gallantly on unappreciative ears they are falling
Ostracized be by flowers lacking in devotion
Buds turned left the farmer to burn in summers heat
One seedling still cares and is always there
Never far fledged the one daffodil looms
In shadows bloomed now to a spectacular delight
In sorrowed fields once a daffodil is now in full bloom
In loving care suffered they not from abandonment
Tender the care giving for the farmer was driven
Success was a must for crooked the journey was laid
Apples of my eyes for I planted seeds and watch them grow
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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At Parting II
AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?
How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!
For in my acres is no plot of ground
Whereon could any garden site be found,
I have but little skill
To water weed and till
And make the desert blossom like the rose;
Yet our old garden knows
If I have loved its ways and walks and kept
The garden watered, and the pleasance swept.
Yet--if you must--go now:
Go, with my blessing filling both your hands,
And, mid the desert sands
Which life drifts deep round every garden wall,
Make your new festival
Of bud and blossom--red rose and green leaf.
No blight born of my grief
Shall touch your garden, love; but my heart's prayer
Shall draw down blessings on you from the air,
And all we learned of leaf and plant and tree
Shall serve you when you walk no more with me
In garden ways; and when with her you tread
The pleasant ways with blossoms overhead
And when she asks, 'How did you come to know
The secrets of the ways these green things grow?'
Then you will answer--and I, please God, hear,
'I had another garden once, my dear'.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Window Shopping
you have ever adored the cut
colours pattern fabric
it is love at first sight
ages long anticipated
marvelously materialized
serendipitous simply fantastic oh
how imagination runs rampant
miraculous mannequin's
machination dressing
you enter
try it on
the fit provides precious little comfort
with wear far the less flattering
randy resh 2011
Veux Magazine 2012
poem by Randy Resh
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Fruit Of The Tree
And there is this moment
of thousand petaled moments
brilliantly veiled obsidian sights
ageless of ether
impermeable aethers
breaching space splayed
petals' rude sand grain swayed
let us bite the pomegranate's pollinate
savour lush fruit blushing ripe pregnant night
let it lend us to stealing
gleefully squealing
lavishly laughing
ultraviolet's limelight
let us bite the pomegranate's pollinate
savour lush fruit blushing ripe pregnant night
let us sift unforgiving
bending the barring
sow resplendence
breathe musk sweet dusk bright
But there is this moment
of precious petaled moments
delicious viscous
audacious auspicious
so let us bathe in abandon
sublimest defiance
and fashion our fortunes
with dawning delights
Randy Resh 2012
Veux Magazine,2012
poem by Randy Resh
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Romantic
Isn't it romantic
how the chrysalids land on the ice cubes
in our drink to wink
with sunlight and time
for the dawning double blind
Isn't it romantic
how wings unborn
are worn to be torn
from our aesthetic interpretation
Isn't it romantic
that we should be so kind as to blind
as to bind each other
belieing bespeak betraying
Isn't it romantic
that we should drink such potion to spite
foreknowledge of death
innate insecurity feigning
Isn't it romantic
how the oils shift smudge to smear coupling
seething suppling searing
precious delicate contours
How I miss your words
tender as tobacco
upon mine morning, mourning throat
how I miss your voice
stillborn butterflies in the ears of compassion
unsettling clouds dim-lit dawning
drawing painting...
But how the butterflies
defy and fly
how the butterflies
in the face of formal
whims and wanton whys cry
Isn't it romantic that
we could be so superficial, civil
in lovingly lavish clasp 'lusive grasp
Isn't it romantic
that we were so resolute
in absolute
pressing persuasion
and parched for passion
that we might seek such vision of void
head-long and strong that we might belong
The chrysalids are daimon diamonds
The chrysalids are daimon diamonds
Isn't it romantic?
copyright Randy Resh 2006
Skyline Magazine,2006
Gadzooks (online) ,2009
Futureale Magazine,2010
Scythe Literary Journal,2011
Veux Magazine,2012
poem by Randy Resh
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Rose & Lotus
what does the rose tell
the lotus when they meet?
lovely, i wish to be able
to spring up over the water
to catch nature's majestic
moment with a serene ballet pose
on a green green lush platform
what does the lotus tell
the rose when they meet?
lovely, every of your inch
exudes class, gracious
gratitude folded one over
the other i would bring you
to every of my friends to
show my warmest regards
to their care and concern
what is your greatest joy?
Rose asks in return
lotus says it is in the
heavens that bless her
with an immaculate shroud
so that she could stand tall
at every occasion especially
in the temple where she
is offered to the gods and goddesses
What about yours?
Rose says it is when a pair
of lovers keep her warm
between their bosom as they
hold on to each other to say 'I love You'
she says she could have
written each of those luscious
lustrious words on her every fold
Your regrets? Rose says it is
in the single thorn she has to
live with - being used like a
tool to show love and
never really loved
Yours? The Lotus laughs
and sighs - 'You know
it is in the nights when all
you have are frogs to
serenade you their love songs.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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Katrin
Beauty blooms when you are in love,
And i will water your spacious garden when in need;
For love taught my tears in sader notes to flow.
Katrin, you are very high on a romantic frame;
And i will water your spacious garden when needed,
For your name is all over me.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All But
they were all but
replicas inadequate
second rate jigsaw
compilations
fractured facet
amalgamations
finest mine
exquisite
you
the double split
three dimensional
original
you
apparit ion's aspirations
syllabaries' ideations
mine immaculate idealization
they were all but
R. Resh 2012
poem by Randy Resh
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Menno Krant's Cat
Mister Menno is playing
With a polydactyl cat
They both the rarest of breeds
Are do such without trying
Possessing unique dexterity
Demarking originality
God broke their elegant mold
There are no copies
She is at his easel impromptu
Chasing oily slippery cherry
Furtive follow for their forage
Flowing frantic feather frenzy
As his paint brushes
She brushes
Lunges violent
Leaping luscious
There is grace
Bewildering beauty
Prolific peculiar proclivities
Affinity between
Their very own and mutual
Pristine primeval sensibilities
They are purring perfect
Magnificent exquisite
Dancer-Painter symbiosity
They sweep stride brush bold beholding
Yet they are oblivious mutations enraptured
Supernatural organic process
Muted in their understandings less stated
Incomparable magnificent mutual organics
Original exclusive castings
copyright Randy Resh 2008
poem by Randy Resh
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O! What a nose!
People talk about a running nose
I'm talking about a long facial cargo
She’s got a nose longer than my longest toes
With a mission of being nosy as time goes
Please don’t get close
When she discloses
Her loud snoring doze
Don’t be like the heroes
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
What a precious nose pose!
Painted as red as a romantic rose
Standing long like my garden pipe hose
And as she sniffs, sneezes and exposes
I cannot help thinking of Pinocchio’s nose
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
Red and long when it snows
And this nose is nosy
She can smell a rat, cat or a bat
When you are getting cozy
In your one bedroom flat
O! What a nose!
In and out juice flows
And when she smells the air
They all cannot help but stare
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Still This
Still this
quiet sense of resignation
...remains...
raw gnaw
unnerving
I wrestle with sensibility
provokes propels
it plagues me
copyright Randy Resh 2011
Scythe Magazine 2011
poem by Randy Resh
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The Kiss
Should i kiss you
as marble antiquity
Or sharply
- this less peck
tempting trochee aesthetic
That I
We
should might make
distinctions
between kinetic
Idiosyncratic
aberration's
tick-tock rude clock timing
Alienations'
indecision
incision
As yet our kiss
far more than lesser this
Our Kiss
Lends Lips
Our Kiss
Lends Lips for Lisp
Like poets' lunging
lavish ravish
unctuous rambunctious rhyming
Our Kiss
Quills' Quivering Quips
copyright Randy Resh 2008
poem by Randy Resh
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Had I The Power That Have The Will
HAD I the power that have the will,
The enfeebled will - a modern curse -
This book of mine should blossom still
A perfect garden-ground of verse.
White placid marble gods should keep
Good watch in every shadowy lawn;
And from clean, easy-breathing sleep
The birds should waken me at dawn.
- A fairy garden; - none the less
Throughout these gracious paths of mine
All day there should be free access
For stricken hearts and lives that pine;
And by the folded lawns all day -
No idle gods for such a land -
All active Love should take its way
With active Labour hand in hand.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Best Friends
She is softly spoken
this clouded thunderstruck even
tenses aside she glides
providing comfort
guidance eye
ears encompassing wide she
as no other
immaculate clarity
intimate weather advisory
providing
one hand over mine
fickle hear racing
other about shudder
stuttering
shoulder smooth
silk feather irons
my jitter trembling
what i never but needed
yearn to hear
clearest shear fear i
open sore secrets
simply adore her
for KM
resh 2012
poem by Randy Resh
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Song III: It Grew Up Without Heeding
Love is enough: it grew up without heeding
In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure,
And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure
Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding,
As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.
And what do ye say then?--That Spring long departed
Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers;
--That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers;
We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted
Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.
Nay, Spring was o'er-happy and knew not the reason,
And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended
In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended;
But this is the harvest and the garnering season,
And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.
It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding,
Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure,
Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure;
There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding,
But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure.
poem by William Morris
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The Rose is not fair
THE rose is not fair without the beloved's face,
Nor merry the Spring without the sweet laughter of wine;
The path through the fields, and winds from a flower strewn place,
Without her bright check, which glows like a tulip fine,
Nor winds softly blowing, fields deep in corn, are fair.
And lips like to sugar, grace like a flower that sways,
Are nought without kisses many and dalliance sweet;
If thousands of voices sang not the rose's praise,
The joy of the cypress her opening bud to greet,
Nor dancing of boughs nor blossoming rose were fair.
Though limned by most skilful fingers, no pictures please
Unless the beloved's image is drawn therein;
The garden and flowers, and hair flowing loose on the breeze,
Unless to my Lady's side I may strive and win,
Nor garden, nor flowers, nor loose flying curls are fair.
Hast seen at a marriage-feast, when the mirth runs high,
The revellers scatter gold with a careless hand?
The gold of thy heart, oh Hafiz, despised doth lie,
Not worthy thy love to be cast by a drunken band
At the feet of her who is fairer than all that's fair.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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Loosing Everything
I sit in the depths of night as i loose myself
As I loose everything
I know there is nothing left for me to live up to
Mothing to know
I know many things yet have no one to tell them to
No one to help me through
I was once my best friend the only one I needed
Once I had everything
I know I should have cherrished the memmories I once carried
All I did was smirk at them as they past by
I knew they would soon leave my heart leav me
Leave my grasp
The dreams that once flamed with hope in my heart
My dreams are shattered
I know I have lost my best friend
I have lost myself
I have lost my will to live in this aweful world
I have lost everything
I sit in the depths of the night as I loose myself
As I loose everything
'The best friend you can have is yourself, if you loose yourself you loose everything.' ~Bethany Maxwell (aka: me)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Ode To The Unfinished Poem
Some say that it’s no use,
crying over spilt ink
The piece is done
-now leave it in the moment
Take the time to feel the flowers;
absorb inhale aroma
a 'literreal ambrosia
But:
by the blue-blooded balls of Byron and
Billy Butler Ba-Buckin-eh Yeats
I so swear:
From the lips of every aching letter
there lies in limbo craving cradle
sobbing sum of crying character
something far the much more greater:
“I know that it’s good but,
we can do so far the better”
copyright Randy Resh 2002-08-...
poem by Randy Resh
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