The Flower Bed of Illness
In the flower bed of illness,
My drowsy midnight disease blooms.
Plucking petals of happiness,
My poisonous pollen consumes.
The venom stemming from my soul,
Pollution rooted in my mind,
Leaves me far lesser to control
The garden of mine I've designed.
The sick spores of my sleepy head
Spread, fertilized in dirty soil
Made of decomposed ink and lead
That preserve sorrows as they spoil.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Fragrance Of Virtue Rises To The Heavens
The blissful flower landed on the earthly dirt
And rooted its seeds on the bosom of mankind.
The flower blooms only in fruitful pure heart
Which grazes its petals like one hungry hind.
Virtues are the atoms of God, the holiest one.
The more we attain it, the more we appear near
To Him, His being, Virtues and godliness anon
As our soul drenches with immortal holy tear.
The earthy flower blooms, dies in perched air
With a fragrance that melts, melts, melts away.
But the fragrant flower of Virtue is always fair,
Its fragrance rises towards heavenly stairway.
poem by Osman Gani
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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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Self-forgetfulness
....Gentle smooth touch
Of flower petals,
Swallowing the kiss,
An angry buzzing bumblebee
Fluffy and painted
Like in a thousand colors
Leaving the pollen
On the fingertip,
Inhaling the pollen
For tasting the flower,
Sitting in that field of daffodils,
Yellow daffodils,
For dreaming love
Until self-forgetfulness,
For waking up,
The dew shining on the leaves,
The breast caressing,
Tasting the milk,
Caressing the skin,
Long hair touching
The increasing beard
And the flower flavor,
Flooding the mouths,
While kissing
And bearing all these....
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Sorrows
My sorrows consumes me,
There won’t be a tomorrow,
There won’t be a light that shines above me,
There won’t be me anymore,
The way I feel,
The hate I feel,
My heart is breaking,
Its aching,
I am crying for this pain to end,
Today is no ordinary day for me,
Today’s the day I feel more drifting apart from this world,
My sorrows won’t go away,
My deep thoughts in my head leaves me laying dead,
I didn’t mean to lead this pain on and on again,
Look at me now,
I am falling apart,
Apart into million pieces,
This sorrow keeps on going into my thoughts,
This heart break makes me wanna cry over and over again,
My sorrows won’t fade away,
Is this me,
The me I have been waiting for,
Too many times my sorrows has over come me,
This is not me anymore,
This is my sorrows that makes me feel all sad inside.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Three Headed Mind Pollution
I made up my mind, do you mind that I really don't mind?
I gotta align my mind, but I ain't got the time
My mind mind? Yes, it minds. now do you mind?
I made up my mind, do you mind that I really don't mind?
Out of my mind
Three headed mind pollution
When the mind goes blind, you just might find
The mad man was busy sucking down the wine
Three headed mind pollution
I made up my mind, do you mind that I really don't mind?
I gotta align my mind, but I ain't got the time
My mind mind? Yes, it minds, now do you mind?
I made up my mind, do you mind that I really don't mind?
Out of my mind
Panic
I'm not gonna ask, you ask
Are you now or have you ever been
A member of the three headed mind pollution?
Three headed mind pollution, out of my mind
I'll take a double three headed mind pollution
Extra chili and cheese, to go!
song performed by by Infectious Grooves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is The Details, Be Aware, And Then Be Creative
he could not believe you
when you enumerated all the parts of the flower
what he meant perhaps was only a petal
how it smells at six o'cock in the evening
when you are with him but you said, in all completer
scientific details as follows:
the flower is made of its:
1.Petals are used to attract insects into the flower,
they may have guidelines on them and be scented.
2.Stigma Is covered in a sticky substance that the pollen grains will adhere to.
3. The style raises the stigma away from the Ovary to decrease the likelihood of pollen contamination. It varies in length.
4.Ovary This protects the ovule and once fertilisation has taken place it will become the fruit.
5. The Ovule is like the egg in animals and once fertilisation has taken place will become the seed.
6.Receptacle This is the flower's attachment to the stalk and in some cases becomes part of the fruit after fertilisation e.g. strawberry.
7.Flower stalk Gives support to the flower and elevates the flower for the insects.
8.Nectary This is where a sugary solution called nectar is held to attract insects.
9.Sepal Sepals protect the flower whilst the flower is developing from a bud.
10.Filament This is the stalk of the Anther.
11.Anther The Anthers contain pollen sacs. The sacs release pollen on to the outside of the anthers that brush against insects on entering the flowers. The pollen once deposited on the insect is transferred to the stigma of another flower or the same flower. The ovule is then able to be fertilised.
he could have been sad. He wants the poetic sense of things
not the scientific, realistic approach
to something, like a flower,
the symbol of his love for you.
You busy yourself, without feelings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Garden
Like a Garden we flourish
With colour and life
Each of us different
Each of us bright
The petals of colours
Flutters in the breeze
As we reach for the sky’s
Full of life full of dreams
The sunshine’s down
Upon the garden of life
Spreading its warmth
To give us more life
Making us want nothing
Just being content in the sun
We grow and we spread
Our petals to bloom
Sending out pollen
To cultivate our seeds
As we grow in the warmth
Of our loving god’s embrace
poem by Kaila George
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The Flower of Death
The life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind
Death will take blossom, and it shall never fade it shall stay bright
And oh it shall be a beautiful sight, as it holds its petals into the night
And the leaves shall spread as green as green can be
And if you look close you will see
It's roots shall grow deep in the pot of eternity, in the dirt of the mind
The flower shall shine, so magnificent so kind
It's pollen will fly, will sour
And wait at the front of someone's door
The sun of the next world shall shine and nurture, the rain shall fall
Thanks to that the vines shall grow, and overcome the wall
The minerals of the soul will strengthen the warmth shall grow
This process shall grow, like snow falls, fast at first then slow
For the life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our minds
And its stalk will sprout and wind
For now the flower shall bloom
The darkness shall leave, take the gloom
It shall leave us and we shall follow in the light of what's to be
Only then, we shall see
The flower of forever
As it takes root, you use it as a lever
Lifting you to the flower
And now you shall not cower
For you know this will spread and the flower shall grow shall thrive
And then you will know you are truly alive
As it takes root in your soul, and it shall becomes the power
For this is the blossom, this is the flower
The life is all our have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind
Bethany Hill
(This poem is not supposed to make you contemplate death, and I would not like to have people think that it is. It is just meant to show you that you should not fear death yet you should not reach for it but to take it when it is meant to come. Thank you)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Love is like a delicate flower
Love is like a delicate flower.
But no water is needed for its existence.
Only gentle words to feed its roots,
and passion to help it grow.
Trust to help it stand against the breeze
Kindness to carry its pollen far.
And as this flower grows,
so does the wonder of life
never alone will one soul be,
as long as the flower blooms
No frost to shatter its fragility.
poem by Ben Littlechild
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Efflorescent Catch
I’m in a garden, amongst the blossoms,
alive with floral scents and insects in flight,
I am one of those delicate rose buds,
so I open my soft petals to the sunlight.
Yet the wild world is harsh,
I am fondled by a pollen seeking bee,
so I shyly fold my petals over my pistil,
to keep at bay the demons from the apiary.
In the breeze I elegantly sway,
brushing my petals with your fingertips,
plucking me from the sea of floribunda,
cupping my corolla, you raise me to your lips.
You take a breath and inhale my floral aroma,
filling your lungs with a sweet desirable smell,
but you don’t cast me back down to the ground,
for I’ve enamoured you with my alluring natural spell.
Taking me home you plant and place me in the soil,
to grow, protect and nurture me in to full bloom,
providing me with all the light and liquid warmth I need,
saying that I give your house a delightful boon.
I am the central piece in your glorious abode,
glamorously displaying me to all those who venture round,
you carefully caress my stem and stroke my leaves,
and affectionately water my roots in the ground.
If I begin to wilt or I prick you with my thorns,
you always provide support to keep me upright,
laughing and smiling as you suck your bloodied thumb,
until I stand phosphorescent from your sunglow every night.
poem by Dale Mullock
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Culture Flowers
We’re all lashed
to Cultural Helms
besodden
ingrained eyes
narrowed to squinty plane
seeing;
not seeing
only mine;
and not mine
blind.
Culture is the Gardener's Death
who’s kind to only one flower;
other's bloom in the garden darkened
by blindness over-powered.
Strain some may
against the mast
yet they most times
cultivate only their own gardens;
time and the past
cause other flowers
to bloom and wither
before our very countenance.
Tempted we may be
by soul's desire
to look beyond the garden walls:
But few cannot,
but lift the spade
and plow the same furrows,
which etch our brow
contain our lives
until our death
we having known
only one garden flower:
grown beautifully
in straight
and narrow furrows.
A few sometimes
smell other blooms
thereby open up
genius
which is
simply
being willing
to sip and know
Not Like We-Ness.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Im So Sleepy
Im so sleepy, yeah
Im so sleepy, yeah
I could lay my head on a piece of lead
And imagine it was a springy bed
cause Im sleepy, sleepy
Soon Im gonna slip away
In the night I feel it creeping, creeping, creeping
Im so sleepy yeah
Im so sleepy yeah
I could lay my head on a piece of lead
And imagine it was a springy bed
cause Im sleepy, sleepy
I cant keep my mind away from my dreams,
I hear them calling, calling, calling
Soon Im gonna slip away
Soon Im gonna slip away
Soon Im gonna slip away
In the night Im gonna slip away
I wont fight it, Ill just ride it
Im so sleepy yeah
Im so sleepy yeah
I could lay my head on a piece of lead
And imagine it was a springy bed
cause Im sleepy, sleepy
Yeah
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Because Youth Is A Flower
because youth is a flower
that blooms only once
one must be kind to use
hands which are gentle
a flower is fragile with
petals and sepals and
stalks not strong enough
to withstand the demands of
time
the flower that blooms today
tomorrow shall die
each moment is crucial
each bloom cannot last forever
the flowers of my youth
if well taken cared of
shall proceed with its fruits
and its seeds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Portential
Internal combustion engine exhaust noise encroaches on my sleep.
The first punks of principle could've used a dash of turpentine,
wash out their prickly pride there and then before the next generation
came along and left all the lights on.
It's never really dark in London, not outside anyway.
Pollution of every persuasion - noise-pollution, light-pollution,
mind-pollution, pollution-pollution - I just want to puke.
Stick my head under the pillow to escape - unlock my portential.
poem by Alexander Hawkins
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The Garden
The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow
The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Rose of Midnight
The moon is now an opening flower,
The sky a cliff of blue.
The moon is now a silver rose;
Her pollen is the dew.
Her pollen is the mist that swings
Across her face of dreams:
Her pollen is the April rain,
Filling the April streams.
Her pollen is eternal life,
Endless ambrosial foam.
It feeds the swarming stars and fills
Their hearts with honeycomb.
The earth is but a passion-flower
With blood upon his crown.
And what shall fill his failing veins
And lift his head, bowed down?
This cup of peace, this silver rose
Bending with fairy breath
Shall lift that passion-flower, the earth
A million times from Death!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Feeling The Sunflower
feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills
you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its red petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers
my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity
and its being so temporary...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sickness
THE toughest carcass in the town
Fell sick at last and took to bed,
And on that bed God waited him
With cool, cool hands for his frantic head,
And while the fever did its dance
They talked, and a good thing was said:
'See, I am not that Scriptural!
A lesser, kinder God instead.'
Fever must run its course, and God
Could not do much for the countryman.
At least he saved him certain dreams:
'I die! O save me if you can,
I am a bruised, a beaten slave,
I march in a blistering caravan,
They dash a stone upon my head--
Ah no, but that is God's white hand.'
God plucked him back, and plucked him back,
And did his best to smoothe the pain.
The sick man said it was good to know
That God was true, if prayer was vain.
'O God, I weary of this night,
When will you bring the dawn again?'
The night must run its course, but God
Was weary too with watching-strain.
A cluck of tuneless silly birds,
A guilty gray, and it was dawn.
The sick man thumped across the floor
And slid the curtain that was drawn:
'O pale wet dawn! O let it shine
Lustrous and gold on the good green lawn!
The lustre, Lord!' Alas, God knows
When sad conclusions are foregone.
The sick man leant upon his Lord,
On that imperfect break of day,
'Now, Lord, I die: is there no word,
No countervail that God can say?'
No word. But tight upon his arm,
Was God, and drew not once away
Until his punctual destiny.
To whom could God repair to pray?
Now God be thanked by dying men
Who comrades them in times like these,
Who dreads to see the doom come down
On these black midnight canopies
And on this poisonous glare of dawns.
The whole world crumples in disease,
But God is pitying to the end,
And gives an office to my knees.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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