Another Birth Another Time
Flower buds sleep,
hiding dreams inside.
Universe rests in grain of pollen.
When dawn touches,
by golden quill dipped in dew,
life wakes up afresh.
Divine breeze kisses soft,
Lips slight apart aghast.
Heaven slides down,
tongue twists exotic.
Drama of life unfolds,
as sun wakes up full.
Five petals spread far n’ wide,
trek every nook n’ corner,
acts in scenes of desire.
Time sinks in ocean infinite,
fishing out dead hopes.
Sun dives down in coma.
Mind floats dead in dead-sea.
Retirement arrives unaware.
Lying on a rickety cot,
life unknown, stretches frozen.
Day falls deep into nightmare.
faded petals retreat to dust.
One by one teeth fall.
Skin wrinkles. Tongue bites.
Eyes closes, as ears go blank.
Body remains among discarded flowers.
Life stinks, delves deep into abysses,
Off to another birth another time.
into dirt and filths again.
________________
poem by Satheesan Rangorath
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Thou Art a Flower
Thou art a flower, dear heart, a fragrant flower
And I, the wandering, hair-clad, amorous bee.
’Mongst all the regal beauties of the bower,
I seek but thee.
I feel the ivory of thy petals fair
Brush lightly on my belly as I woo
And I would sting thee, if I did but dare,
So sweet are you.
I suck the honey from your dewy bowl
And drunken mad, with wild, delirious bliss,
Within your cup, I yield to you my soul
And drink your kiss.
Oh! petals sweet, close in and crush me dead.
I am consumed in flames of passion’s fire.
What else is left, when this dear hour hath fled.
But dead desire?
The juice of poppy flowers and breath of rose,
Wistaria’s purple, blood-flecked lilies white,
I pilfer and when, soft, your petals close,
When comes the night.
I pour the passions of the world of flowers
Deep in beyond the lips of quivering red.
Your life is mine to craze the trembling hours,
All else is dead.
poem by from The Point of View
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Live And Love Some More
we open our eyes
must always
open our eyes for
new surprises
we do not close it
for the twists
and turns of life
everyday is a disclosure
every hour
an unfolding of buds into
flowers
spreading scents
pleasing us with its petals
and bright colors
handing us more of
those memories
nothing is discarded
everything is embraced
and kept
and treasured
but like the petals
subject to time
and the seasons
we arrive at the alleys
of wilting
and drying and
crumpling
we too open our eyes
for all these
familiarizing ourselves
with the cycles
of endings and beginnings
the shalls and musts
perhapses and maybes
and all the other
potentials and
possibilities
ah, life is exciting
who does not like to live and love some more?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lovers In Love With Life
The petals that fall from a rose in bloom
do so with grace and ease.
One by one they leave the flower
and flutter in the breeze.
The lovers that fall in love with life
do so with eyes that see
that what they have before them
is a set of keys.
These keys can open up life's doors
that lead to roads unknown.
Together they travel the path of life
and never feel they're alone.
They face a future not carved in stone
but will do it fearlessly
for they know that their love will protect them
wherever they may be.
And like the petals that left the rose
because its life was done,
So too the lovers in love with life
will leave this life as one.
For lovers that shed the tears that drop
just like the petals that fall
understand that what they had in life
was that they had it all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Prose to a Rose
Such A flower is the rose
Its colour bursting red
Such a flower if the rose
The flower of passion the poets often said
I could gaze upon its beauty
And not lift thine eyes
And when it closes its petals to go to sleep
A tear of sadness rises in my eyes
Such a flower is the rose
For it reminds me of you my dear
When ever I gaze upon a rose
It makes me wish you were here
Its petals are soft as thy skin
The colour like your lips
Its fragrance is sweet and pure
Like the flavor of your kiss
Such a flower is the rose it beauty
Has been endless through out time
And when ever I see a rose be reassured my love
You are for ever on my mind
poem by John A. Hancock
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The ROSE Healing - God's Design
When spring comes to us,
Scent of flowers in the air,
A tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design.
Perfect in His possession,
Always in His hand,
God unfolds the petals,
The secret's unknown to me,
The tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design,
Unfolds with perfection,
The rose in His hand.
As my life lies before me,
With it's joy and distress,
He is always near me,
Unfolding all life's petals,
The flower of His design,
Forever in His hand.
poem by Eva L. Shaw
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Rose Petals
Rose petals are so soft to touch,
rose petalsfragrance is so divine to smell,
rose petals are like lovely lips which smile,
rose petals are given to lady love,
rose petals are spread on bed of newly bride,
rose petals are life of butterflies,
rose petals are used for beauty baths,
rpse petals are offered on the lotus feet of god,
rose petals are placed on grave of dear ones,
rose petals are offered in river ganga for departed soul,
rose petals are showered on newly weds,
rose petals are decorated on festive days,
roses are given as a promise for everlasting love.
poem by renu Vig sharma sharma
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Life or something like it
A flower stretches toward the sun.
alone. unoticed such a pitiful sight
she will not give-up, no not this one
as darkness decends upon the land
a flower stretches toward the sun
alone in the shadows, there she will stand
and sit, and wait for coming of the sun
spring is over, summer is soon done
around the corner comes Winters icy blast
a flower stretches toward the sun
in the cold the lonely flower dies, at last
with a push and with some screams
somewhere a new life has just begun
a life full of hopes and of dreams
and a flower stretches toward the sun
JPM 2/8/2008
I continue to experiment with more formal types of poems this is my attempt at a Quatern
The White Flower
THE WHITE FLOWER
A white flower opened its petals
to reveal a golden centre – so laden
with pollen –
Just then a gentle breeze passed
and
the flower opened its petals
and the gentle breeze wafted
its resin onto the bodies
of some young girls and boys
who were playing naked by a pond
until their skin glowed golden.
HJB 1990’s
poem by Helen Bauman
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Dead Or Alive
There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines: That time is dead for ever, child!
I.
That time is dead for ever, child!
Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!
We look on the past
And stare aghast
At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast,
Of hopes which thou and I beguiled
To death on life’s dark river.
II.
The stream we gazed on then rolled by;
Its waves are unreturning;
But we yet stand
In a lone land,
Like tombs to mark the memory
Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee
In the light of life’s dim morning.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Flaw
I remembered last night.
I told the child
that that was not blood
on our friend's body,
only red flower petals
all wet from the rains,
and to be quiet,
or we would wake him up
and ruin the special dreams
that come from sleeping
under red flower petals.
There is a flaw in the face of man
called war
that begs the question:
does the memory of the dead
hold up the living?
Perhaps sleeping
under red flower petals
will cause me to forget about it.
poem by Rebekah Gamble
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Dreams And Ghosts
the dreams
of the heart
the dreams
of the mind
change and pass
with time
throughout the span
of a lifetime
many dreams
will come and go
but some dream
like childhood
quality must be
kept and preserved
from childhood
for this is perpetual
renewal of creativity
this deep solace
sustains aspiring soul
with hope filled
love renewing life
with new dreams
to inspire to grasp
to share eternally
the hard hearted
are played out
lost broken upon
twisted memories
dreams long dead
life expired withered
dead to deep feeling
which sustains life
the dead of heart
live only in shadows
of yesterday’s hope
ghost haunting
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Indiscretion
RED tulip-buds last night caressed
The sacred ivory of her breast.
She met me, eager to divine
What gold-heart bud of hope was mine.
Nor eyes nor lips were strong to part
The close-curled petals round my heart;
The joy I knew no monarch knows,
Yet not a petal would unclose.
But, ah!--the tulip-buds, unwise,
Warmed with the sunshine of her eyes,
And by her soft breath glorified
Went mad with love and opened wide.
She saw their hearts, all golden-gay,
Laughed, frowned, and flung the flowers away.
Poor flowers, in Heaven as you were,
Why did you show your hearts to her?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Valley Deep
Your eyes are a powerful ocean,
Your hair a golden field of wheat,
Your lips are crimson rose petals,
Your mind a valley deep,
I want to drown in the ocean,
I want to run my hand through the golden field of wheat,
I want to press my lips against the crimson rose petals,
I want to run through the valley deep
poem by Mary Great
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In Times Of Depression
failure. defeat. setting sun.
dark nights. Bar escapades.
lost hopes. Excitements gone.
feeling like a dead log floating on the river.
silence. Conversations that do not mean anything at all.
dogs howling. Cat naps.
furs left on the sofa. Carpets and dusts
and some bites from mosquitoes
that find themselves
whisking inside this room.
ticks and tic tac toes of boredom.
book waiting to be read. Bookmarks and ears.
sitting on a bench. Sunshine falling on your hair.
warmth spreading inside your armpits.
lips wetting. Saliva on the tongue.
Air getting inside your nostrils.
a bubble of air inside your lungs.
a word shaping inside your mouth. You want to speak.
you choose the mute mode of your life.
You switch on to hibernation.
some leaves fall. The wind arrives. Some flowers
bloom. The bees beginning busy.
Some butterflies. Blue and Yellow lights.
Grass as green as ever with dew on their tips.
There is no depression. There may be denial.
When pain is so much. Try these little things.
inside your mind, there is fullness of thoughts.
Tiny butterfly wings. Shiny wings of beetles.
Aroma of coffee. Scents of roses. Red roses.
Beach bench. Under a tree. Time stops to run here.
You are here. You are not waiting for anybody.
Time runs. But there is no watch to tell you about anything.
Then you think you have something to write about.
It is about this. Welcome.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gardener LXVIII: None Lives For Ever, Brother
None lives for ever, brother, and
nothing lasts for long. Keep that in
mind and rejoice.
Our life is not the one old burden,
our path is not the one long
journey.
One sole poet has not to sing one
aged song.
The flower fades and dies; but he
who wears the flower has not to
mourn for it for ever.
Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
There must come a full pause to
weave perfection into music.
Life droops toward its sunset to be
drowned in the golden shadows.
Love must be called from its play
to drink sorrow and be borne to the
heaven of tears.
Brother, keep that in min and
rejoice.
We hasten to gather our flowers lest
they are plundered by the passing
winds.
It quickens our blood and brightens
our eyes to snatch kisses that would
vanish if we delayed.
Our life is eager, our desires are keen,
for time tolls the bell of parting.
Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
There is not time for us to clasp a
thing and crush it and fling it away to
the dust.
The hours trip rapidly away, hiding
their dreams in their skirts.
Our life is short; it yields but a
few days for love.
Were it for work and drudgery it
would be endlessly long.
Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
Beauty is sweet to us, because she
dances to the same fleeting tune with
our lives.
Knowledge is precious to us, because
we shall never have time to
complete it.
All is done and finished in the eternal
Heaven.
But earth's flowers of illusion are
kept eternally fresh by death.
Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Song. Sorrow
To me this world's a dreary blank,
All hopes in life are gone and fled,
My high strung energies are sank,
And all my blissful hopes lie dead.--
The world once smiling to my view,
Showed scenes of endless bliss and joy;
The world I then but little knew,
Ah! little knew how pleasures cloy;
All then was jocund, all was gay,
No thought beyond the present hour,
I danced in pleasure’s fading ray,
Fading alas! as drooping flower.
Nor do the heedless in the throng,
One thought beyond the morrow give,
They court the feast, the dance, the song,
Nor think how short their time to live.
The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace,
What earthly comfort can console,
It drags a dull and lengthened pace,
'Till friendly death its woes enroll.--
The sunken cheek, the humid eyes,
E’en better than the tongue can tell;
In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies,
Where memory's rankling traces dwell.--
The rising tear, the stifled sigh,
A mind but ill at ease display,
Like blackening clouds in stormy sky,
Where fiercely vivid lightnings play.
Thus when souls' energy is dead,
When sorrow dims each earthly view,
When every fairy hope is fled,
We bid ungrateful world adieu.
AUGUST, 1810.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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At The Last.
The sky grows white with the moon,
And the sea yearns up to the night
As the soul to an unknown height,
Drawn thence by a starry rune.
Only a lost wind strays,
Like the breath of Passion blown
In the vault of the night unknown;
And the heart in me sobs and says:
'After a while we, too,
Shall rest as the stars above,
When we have no more to do
With the dream of life and love.'
O Time! thy feet that run
Over the hills and waves,
Over the cradles and graves,
From the first to the final sun!
Some day thou too shalt cease —
Some way there'll come to thee
Death's white tranquility,
The boon of an awful peace —
When the latest grief shall flow
With the surge that drifts away,
And the Night shall no more go
In her endless chase of Day.
Then shall the worn heart rest,
Then shall the sad Sea yearn
No more for the Moon's return,
Like a bird on its frozen nest
Dead, with her young ones dead
Under her breast on the bough,
Where nothing can wake them now —
Not the Dawn with its golden tread:
Where Death has been good to all,
Good to the mother and young,
And the dreams are beyond recall,
And the songs have all been sung.
So, at the last, to sleep!
So, at the last, to be
Still as the dead still sea!
Never to wake and weep,
Never to know Love's pain,
Never to yearn on for
What is gone for evermore;
To be as we were again
Ere we came o'er the bourne of birth,
Ere we knew of the fading flowers,
Of love and of life on Earth
And the hearts that were not ours!
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Old Flower....
there is only one flower that i have
i am hiding it behind my back
and it is not for you
it is for someone else..
i am hiding it behind my back
so you may not see what it is
so you may not quarrel about it
it is for someone else...
i have only one flower in my hand
behind my back
it does not have complete petals
it is wilted and does not have any scent
it is dead
it is a dead flower and it am hiding it behind my back
it is for someone else....
this is an old flower that i have taken
from my antique trunk
tonight i shall burn it
and it shall have the smoke
which shall tell my story
to the cold moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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