Bliss
at the outdoor
garden hangs
a yellow flower
on the vine
the air swings it
and its scents spread all over
watching it
is bliss
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Come Back As A Flower
The starngest thought came to me on this morning
As I awake to greet the coming dawn
The sun was hardly peaking through the garden
It felt that with everything I was one
Then I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
The dew had finished making love to many
A rainbow smelling sweet was in the air
I envied all the silence I saw growing
So unmoved by things outside themselves
Then how I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
Oh as a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
(background)
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
Sweetness of love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lone Yellow Flower Waves In The Open Fields
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green;
lone yellow flower has no one to blame
and it seeks none to praise
for it knows all life comes in
when the conditions are right;
lone yellow flower knows
death comes in like the wind;
lone yellow flower
is never alone
for it is a part of the expression
of the earth and time and the universe;
lone yellow flower sees what is before and around
lone yellow flower observes what is within and about
and so lone yellow flower lives with no delusions
no beliefs of heaven and hell
fears none and does not live or die
to please or amuse or appease;
and lone yellow flower
blossoms and shines
and shrivels and ceases
in harmony
with what actually is;
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Birth Of The Yellow Butterfly
on the gumamela leaf
the small cocoon hangs
there for days and
you wait for the
usual surprise in this
garden
it wriggles out and
pulls itself from
a tight house
it holds itself at the
tip of the leaf and
gets a fan from
the wind and then
stretches itself
and spreads its
wings and finally
flies away
how beautiful
to see
the birth of another
yellow butterfly
regally erect and
flutters from flower
to flower like she
were a princess
in her green castle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Zealand
good news from Rose
a flower blooms in her garden
i am not sure what it is
she is in a hurry
she jumps with joy and she hangs up
a miracle, a miracle she calls me
i do not know i refuse to know
we have been unlucky here
and faithless
but we do not mind anymore
Rose is happy and that is enough
whatever it is
she deserves it
a flower blooms in her garden
and she concludes
it is God-given.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Flower Grows In My Garden
A flower blossomed in my garden
Shines its light all through the day
Array of colours reflect the sunlight
That radiates from its heart of gold
Emiting loving vibrations
It multiplied in the years ahead
Over the country it did spread
Sowing its seed along the way
Joy and tenderness it brought forth
Each and every day
The fragrance of the flower
Is pleasing to the gods
The aroma fills the air
People come to see
The beautiIful flower that grows there
The flower is my daughter
I thank God from up above
For sending me such treasure
In my garden of love
written by
Verna Goulding Ralph
poem by Verna Ralph
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In Back of the Real
railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem and
corolla of yellowish dirty
spikes like Jesus' inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying under
the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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My Mother's Garden
My mother owns a beautiful
garden of flowers
Where I linger watching them
bloom for hours,
My radio on, Katherine
Jenkins singing, 'The Flower
Duet'
I could explain this like a
picture but I am no poet,
Alas let me try; butterflies
showing off their colourful
wings,
The garden also has an oak
tree with hanging swings-
Roses, daisies, jasmines,
violets, hazels, the divine
camillias-
Flowers so beautiful, their
reflections more lovelier,
As the Sun appears to bud from some petal,
I breathe my first, my heart
falls off its mantle
And in the core it once lay yours takes its place-
The light of the smile that
radiates from my face...
Many wish to see angels, sirens at sea,
But I have seen you, thats all I need to see.
Isunge Mwangase © March 17,2011
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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Pink Flowers.
Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?
This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?
Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?
(Dedicated for my pink flower date)
poem by Aron Lelei
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Garden
Your garden in summer, i watch colours blaze
Lighting my soul, bleeding their violet haze
Morning so still perfumed air cools my mind
Lingering thrill as all beauty i find.
In your garden birdsong hangs in the trees
Escaping the dawn to cling to the breeze
And i feel soft and content with you
Out here where our Eden grew.
I remember your garden and you in starlight
We stood alone, save our dreams, after midnight
And both knew so rare this bliss
Would linger like our loving kiss
Our woes before and after we'd pardon
Oh that heaven, standing in your garden.
poem by Kevin East
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The Flowers In Your Garden
you are telling me that the flowers in your garden
must not be of one and the same kind
or else there will be so much boredom
you are telling me the need of variety:
roses and jasmines
and suntans and daisies, colors and scents all in multiplicity
as you talk your eyelashes curve a little lower than i expected
and your mouth twitches a little bit just to show your dislike
and contempt of the word:
boredom
unnecessary uniformity, that human need of variety
equated with a taste for something new
and even unusual
i completely agree with you.
Let me take you inside my heart
where my garden lies:
flowers of different colors and scents
i have grown them all inside my heart,
feelings of love and
desire, in a variety or sorts
in a diversification of breeds
and if by now you ask me and demand
that i may tell the truth
inside my heart, in my garden of love, you are a very beautiful flower
so sweet scented and well loved and cared by me
but there are other beautiful flowers growing in there,
you are not
just the one and only, as you would like to think
that to be
and i will tell you again,
I agree with you, there is a need really
for a variety,
the one that removes the word
boredom
from the beautiful garden of our vocabulary.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In This Vast Garden of Variety
If it was not for left stench,
Of your presence...
The freshness of flower scents,
Would be more inviting...
In this vast garden of variety.
But you choose to come,
And leave a reek!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Morning Bright
Morning bright, night chill gone,
the scented wind stroking
high, pliant branches,
and I wait for you
in our summer garden;
lush in leaf and yellow rose
and silky grass
in vernal sunshine,
and it's you I wait for in the ivy shade
watching our lazy cat
stretch her dappled fur
on the bright, sun soaked
concrete step.
Like the tender vine
in the warming soil
I am content
to wait
for you.
poem by Steven Federle
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Once There Was A Flower
i like this to be as simple
as this:
once there was a
flower
a very white flower
blooming
in my garden
and once there was a bee
a very busy bee
getting nectars
from the flowers in my
garden
except from that very white
flower
in my garden
the bee died
the flower died too
and they never really lived
happily everafter.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bliss
Bliss
Is sitting
Relaxed in the sun
Reading a good book
Poking at family
In the jest of fun
Bliss
Is watching
A girly movie
With tissue
And pop corn
Ready to laugh and cry
At movies we love to watch
Bliss
Is sitting on a beach
Listening to the tide
As it ripples roll back and forth
In the morning and evening tide
Bliss is
Watching a waterfall
Cascade in droplets of light
That reflects off a rainbow
In its dewy wake
Bliss
Is watching your child
Breathing in their sleep
Then singing a lullaby
Late into the night
Then tucking them to sleep
Your precious little soul
Ahh Bliss what a wonderful life
poem by Kaila George
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You nailed me
You nailed me
To the garden fence with a kiss,
Translucent-blood then wet my lids
Like sunlight after a heavy-shower.
Apple-fresh the goblet-cup opened
Its olive pores of greenwood.
I held you, too tightly at first limb for limb.
Then o'er the oil and water mixed, before parting?
"Virginity is a yellow bruise that grapples
Like a naked swimmer" inherently drowning…
Expounding: for some forbidden fruit.
It's now then you gaze at me as though
Your Eden had already over grown…
Chopping backward at some underpass
Your eyes droop like summer scorched nettles…
That reveals me as an unremitting, wilderness.
Even now the air!
Still pollenates that long-off aspersed-seed.
Even now—when your garden fence
No-longer beckons me into that over-leap
The nature of the slug,
Is still here abundant to smother and cling.
Yes, it was right then I too did not live up to you…
For you was a flower of the golden meadow
And I, I was a flower of the woodland-vine.
You were a primrose and I a jungle climbing fig
In memories bound up of your distant sunlight
poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Black Rose Flowers
In front of my house I have a little land
Not a wide land, just half meter and six meter widest
I had build it for put or take the flower pot
There is three flower pots
This bought my wife from flower tree salesmen
In the morning, when my wife cleaned away the land from garbage, grass
I told her I want to build the flower garden in my village
My wife angry
You have to arrange this house before build the garden far away from here
I told her, just dreaming
I haven’t money anymore
It just a plan, if I have a lot of money
My wife keep silent
She continue to clean away the land
Clean away the land from grass and garbage
And give her read, yellow, white
blossom
In front of my house
But I never saw
the violet and black colors
If I have the rose black color
of course my wife will be glad
But I never saw
the violet
and black color
and spread their aromatic
Could I smell
Among their thorny
Prasetya Utama, Ciluar, Bogor 07/04/06 13: 10: 01
poem by Prasetya Utama
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You”re Still You
The same hair curling on your head
At 49, you look younger,
There are no wrinkles on your forehead
The cheeks still smooth and tight
Your eyes still glow
Like fireflies reflected in the mirror
The moon against the sky
The way you talk defies the years of your absence
The way you look at me
Your way your gaze flies like a butterfly
Hovering back to me like tender hands
Of a woman
Caressing my face
Like golden yellow wing
Fluttering on the petals of a flower
Indeed, you are still you
Loving me
In gentle restraint and
I am deeply saddened
By my own kind of same
Usual indifference
Of the clouds drifting
Without even the thought
Of stopping by the
Peaks of trees
As you open yourself to the sun like
A tight bud opening its petals
Finally exposing its true gentle colors
A flower blooming
To the kindness of sunshine
And the freshness of the air
That this world can offer
I spread my wings like a yellow butterfly
Fluttering away to another garden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Privacy Of The Home
there is a party
but i am not going
i choose
staying inside the house
not watching tv
but just thinking and
lying low
listening to the silence
of the four walls, and then
i take the exit
outside i go
into the garden at night
under the trees
the scents of some
flowers pervading
and then i take a seat
on a big stone
and feel the hardness
of the earth
i am soft in the middle
of this garden
i like it
this private dwelling
just the trees and the
flowers
in the middle of the night
when everyone is
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where the passion flower grows
Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
Close your eyes and enter dreams
as love's emotion sets the scene
and flitters through the garden
where the passion flower grows
Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour
as your feelings overflow
Let me draw you to the place
where ecstasy can be embraced
the beauty of the garden
where the passion flower grows
Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as your captured unaware
A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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