G2
the lonely wife in the house
for years has been abandoned by the brown colored
husband,
and she in turn pleases herself with some
daily chores: replacing the vase with flowers
everyday
fine tuned with every occasion
of renewal and
revival
sometimes she wears a dress with flowers
of blue designs
she weaves stories for herself
and indulges in the fantasy
of her sorrows
away from grief and
numbed by the pains
this time as the rain pours heavily
and she cannot go into her garden
to pick a flower
she takes a picture of herself
half nude, her breasts
protruding to the light of the sun
whose fingers
caress her nipple and she closes her
eyes
not wanting death
but remembering the face of another
man
even an illusion of a nose
and a set of thick lips
shall make her
survive
whatever, is, the name of
lament.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lament....
the lonely wife in the house
for years has been abandoned by the brown colored
husband,
and she in turn pleases herself with some
daily chores: replacing the vase with flowers
everyday
fine tuned with every occasion
of renewal and
revival
sometimes she wears a dress with flowers
of blue designs
she weaves stories for herself
and indulges in the fantasy
of her sorrows
away from grief and
numbed by the pains
this time as the rain pours heavily
and she cannot go into her garden
to pick a flower
she takes a picture of herself
half nude, her breasts
protruding to the light of the sun
whose fingers
caress her nipple and she closes her
eyes
not wanting death
but remembering the face of another
man
even an illusion of a nose
and a set of thick lips
shall make her
survive
whatever, is, the name of
lament.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lover Sings Of A Garden
Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,
The flowers of your garden are fair:
Blue flowers of your eyes
And dusk flower of your hair;
Dew flower of your mouth
And peony-budded breasts,
And the flower of the curve of your hand
Where my hand rests.
poem by Helen Hoyt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Butterflies, Flowers, Romance
Multicolored monarch fly,
Flower to flower vie,
Tipples nectar,
While I play guitar
Flowers everyday,
For a buxom young lady,
You and I ready,
For a lusty romance
Kisses cheek to cheek,
The dame and I at the peak,
To pick on, pick
Yellow red daisies n’ garden
Flowers I seek,
Roses and candle stick,
Athirst to smooch and flick,
For sweet red lips
Flowers n’ tears, monarch departs,
You and I aren’t apart,
For true love had start,
Promises not to part
poem by Noel Horlanda
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Flowers In The Rain
Woke up one morning half asleep
With all my blankets in a heap
And yellow roses gathered all around me;
The time was still approaching four
I couldnt stand it anymore
Saw marigolds upon my eider down.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.
So I lay upon my side with all the windows opened wide
Couldnt pressurize my head from speaking
Hoping not to make a sound I pushed my bed into the grounds
In time to catch the sight that I was seeking.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.
If this perfect pleasure has the key
Then this is how it has to be
If my pillows getting wet
I dont see that it matters much to me.
I heard the flowers in the breeze make conversation with the trees
Believed to leave reality behind me
With my commitments in a mess my sleep has gone away depressed
In a world of fantasy youll find me.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enter Her Garden Of Flowers
now you may enter her garden of flowers
but first you must be wise
do not think that what look like flowers are
nothing but flowers
man be wise, there are those that look like flowers
but they are something else
do not just pick them up, think twice think thrice
in her garden
there are some flowers which are bred in guilt
and if you are not so careful enough
pick another one
that one is meant for your death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fine Face with Five Flowers: Gita-Govinda
These lips of thine really bear similarity
with the beauty of flower Bandhū ka.
O Self-esteemed Lady!
Thy comely cheeks compile the lustres of Madhū ka.
Manifesting the beauty
of blue lotuses, thy eyes are very lovely.
The stature of Tila flower, thy nose bears.
Thy teeth, O My Dear!
spread the radiance of Kunda flower.
Serving thy fine face with these five flowers,
the Flower-shafted Love-god Cupid
conquers the entire universe indeed.
poem by Harekrishna Meher
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Eventually
the evening smolders into night
turn up the music and i'll drive into the city lights
the wind is on your face
i'm blowing kisses down from outer space
baby won't you be
part of my fantasy
cause i can't sit and wait around until eventually
so let me take you home
and watch your garden grow
a little closer and i'll make it so you can't say no
caress the rhythm with our feet
we move as one and everyone around can feel the heat
let's take a step outside
cause me and you got something we should hide
so baby won't you be
part of my fantasy
cause i can't sit and wait around until eventually
let me take you home
and watch your garden grow
alittle closer and i'll make it so you can't say no
uh and its making me crazy
to be your friend when you're my fantasy
the morning's melting into day
we're nose to nose and i don't think that i could turn away
the world is in this room
the world is in this room
so baby won't you be
part of my fantasy
cause i can't sit and wait around until eventually
let me take you home
and watch your garden grow
a little closer and i'll make it so you can't say no
song performed by by Zox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Widow's Lament in Springtime
Sorrow is my own yard
where the new grass
flames as it has flamed
often before but not
with the cold fire
that closes round me this year.
Thirtyfive years
I lived with my husband.
The plumtree is white today
with masses of flowers.
Masses of flowers
load the cherry branches
and color some bushes
yellow and some red
but the grief in my heart
is stronger than they
for though they were my joy
formerly, today I notice them
and turn away forgetting.
Today my son told me
that in the meadows,
at the edge of the heavy woods
in the distance, he saw
trees of white flowers.
I feel that I would like
to go there
and fall into those flowers
and sink into the marsh near them.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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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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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
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The Gardener IV: Ah Me
Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?
They moor their laden boats near
my trees.
They come and go and wander at
their will.
I sit and watch them; my time
wears on.
Turn them away I cannot. And
thus my days pass by.
Night and day their steps sound
by my door.
Vainly I cry, "I do not know
you."
Some of them are known to my
fingers, some to my nostrils, the
blood in my veins seems to know
them, and some are known to my
dreams.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "Come to my house
whoever chooses. Yes, come."
In the morning the bell rings in the
temple.
They come with their baskets in
their hands.
Their feet are rosy red. The early
light of dawn is on their faces.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and I say, "Come to my garden
to gather flowers. Come hither."
In the mid-day the gong sounds
at the palace gate.
I know not why they leave their
work and linger near my hedge.
The flowers in their hair are pale
and faded; the notes are languid in
their flutes.
Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "The shade is cool
under my trees. Come, friends."
At night the crickets chirp in the
woods.
Who is it that comes slowly to my
door and gently knocks?
I vaguely see the face, not a word
is spoken, the stillness of the sky is
all around.
Turn away my silent guest I
cannot. I look at the face through the
dark, and hours of dreams pass by.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Blue Rose!
Genetically modified flower blue rose is unique!
Rose colour gives hope of future by its very look;
Red rose is unique among flowers as it is queen
In the flower world nobody can deny having it!
Yellow rose shines bright in the long green garden
Full of many trees and other flower plants broad!
Pink rose flowers are many everywhere as border
Mainly in the botanical garden of hill stations here!
Blue rose, a new addition in the flower kingdom
Among lavender, blue bells and rare kurinjis of
Light blue, violet and ink blue colours everywhere
Stands majestic and having healing touch to all!
Rose is rose by whatever name it is called and also
Rose is rose by whatever colour it is produced ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Kiss Kiss Kiss
Kiss kiss kiss
Even if she does not posses
Angelina Jolie's luscious lips
Take her imagination to ecstasy
A place where flowers dance tango
A garden full of red and white roses
Your chapped strong lips her ticket
To the city where waterfalls sing
Kiss Kiss Kiss and make up
Make all her troubles go away
Light up your beautiful home gentleman.
Kiss Kiss Kiss
The only way to keep him
Close to your fire of passion
Put a lip gloss on your body
By the time you approach him
His eyes will be kissing and kissing
All over your smooth fine body
Be the lady of the smoking home
Kiss Kiss Kiss and make up
Take his imagination out of hardships
Worthy to be your partner kiss him.
Kiss Kiss Kiss
Respect your loving husband
Love your respectful wife.
poem by Young Church
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Grandma, I Never Knew You
I never knew you
You are my grandmother.
I get mad at God
For not giving me a chance
To know you.
You died ten years
Before I was born.
It breaks my heart
Every time I think
That I will never get
The chance to know you.
I look at your picture that hangs
Almost everyday.
I wonder if I have your eyes.
I wonder if I have your laugh.
I wonder if I have your smile.
I wonder if I have your nose.
I wonder if I have anything of you.
I guess I will never know
I guess I will never get to see you.
Death is the most tragic thing in life
Death is hard on me now than I was younger.
Death is what I have inside
Thinking of everyone that I have lost.
Death is forever
Death is longer than an eternity
Death is permanent
Death is a scar that never goes away.
Death is what I feel everyday
Death is what has to be.
Death is what is happening everyday.
Death is what no one knows for sure.
Death is what everyone goes through.
Death is the reason why I am the way I am
Death is what I fear…
poem by Kimberly Santistevan
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Empty
In the melancholy, of my mind today
Tucked, but not hidden away
Is the 'Blue on Blue' of my entire life
With the sorrows, of my yesterdays.
Approaching them, with nostalgic pangs...
I reach, out comes, all the worse...
Knowing things, that i must face
Remembering mistakes, i now curse.
My life, a never ending lesson...
Each day, something new. i learn
Today, heartbreak and even more sorrow...
Along with disgust, i burn.
I wipe the tears, from my green-gray eyes
Call it a waste, of sorrows energy...
Pick myself up, off the ground
Trying to face, the world unemotionally.
Yes, still broken hearted and 'empty handed'***
No touch, no hugs, nary a caress...
This, a daily ritual now...
Learning to settle, for much less.
I am not sure, the reason why
As my heart, is all but destroyed...
Only know, its filled with deep melancholy
A fact of life, i no longer avoid.
poem by Theodora Onken
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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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The beauty of poetry
I am a woman painted by poetry
the picture captured between night and day
between a dropp and dropp of rain
a blow and blow of wind
a beam and beam of sun
the paint created by imagination of poetry
I use wind for seducing you
I use rain for wetting you
I use sunshine for warming your heart
I am poetry the woman like wind rain and sun
the picture captured between unreality and dream
I am fantasy I don't exist in this world
my home is the beauty of poetry
I am the beauty of poetry
the night wove for me the dress of moonlight
the flowers made for me the crown
happiness and sadness make up my face
my eyes glitter by tears
my lips gloss by smile
my heart lights the candles for strangers
who come to warm their hearts
by the beauty of poetry
poem by Ata Augustyn
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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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The Weed
There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.
The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send
the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.
Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.
The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.
But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.
She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.
The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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