Posts Tagged ‘flowers’


Posted: November 21, 2010 in My Poetry
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Floating like snowflakes,
thoughts drop at my feet.
Bright as flower blossoms,
I kick them all away.

This blizzard of thought,
distracts me with color –
Words follow images,
hurtling down;
bury me in a cacophony
of harsh, silent sound.

Drugs take the reins,
drag me to safety.
Silence, dark;
a grave-cave
where even dreams won’t go.

Stricken by sleep,
I lie, like death,
chemically induced.

I’ll take whatever out I can,
to avoid that blizzard.


Flower Press

Posted: July 18, 2010 in About Me, Flower Series
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Dried Flow Pictures, Images and Photos

My hands are off;
I have let go
of all you were to me.
My heart, like a pressed flower,
is dry and paper thin.
There is no room now
for love.

that great white roaring pain
before emptiness
sets in.


Your composure has crumbled
I stood too close;
felt the wild beating of your heart.
Fear is a tangible thing
and you strike out with cruelty
to protect your heart,
that coveted treasure.

A small crimson petal
like a single drop of blood
lies on this barren breast.
My heart, that lush flower is gone;
scattering petals everywhere
in the tempest of terror.

This lone red petal covers nothing,
yet carries all I lost.


Posted: July 15, 2010 in Flower Series, My Poetry
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The cactus blossoms
for no one but itself;
still, some small lives
savor the nectar of its flower.

Spines protect soft meat:
a secret oasis in this desert.
But for them, predators
might devour
the rich green land within.

The solitary cactus
raises arms in supplication
to a sky cold with disinterest.

In summer, the blank eye of the sun
withers everything,
But the cactus,
holding its own reserve of life;
clasping it in with thick, scarred skin,
is not scorched or moved
and stands unscathed
in the fiery blast,
arms raised in mock surrender.

A hawk lands carefully,
the cool green skin on its toes.
It senses the reservoir beneath its feet –
Unseen but as apparent as
a rushing river:
lush and verdant yet,
disquietingly unavailable.


Posted: July 14, 2010 in Flower Series, My Poetry
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Vibrant deep orange petals
open to wide black, furry navels.

I used to despise them
for their brash showmanship,
but I’ve come to admire
their audacity.

They bloom tall and proud
from bright green, pointed ovals
bristling with angst,

but produce
that sweet oblivion:
intoxicating – Pure.


All in line, they droop
beneath a beaten copper sun;
vibrant hued but sleepy.

Snapdragons, with their lazy heads,
will only bite when pinched.

They look fierce, their jaws agape,
but haven’t any teeth.
Even a bite from such a creature,
won’t scratch, much less, dismember.

Rest until provoked,
yellow tongues inside their heads,
they pretend to sleep as peacefully
as the daisies do, next door.

They, unlike the daisies,
have too much on their minds.
Discontent and irritable,
they long to pull roots from soil;
march somewhere far away.

Snapdragons, as a rule,
are never content where they are;
when yellow, they envy magenta.
Never too tired to be restless,
they bow their heads, feign sleep.

Until the children come along
and each, in turn, is pinched.
They come alive then, biting
with savage pretend fury,
relieved to have some action
in their otherwise boring lives.


Two weeks & two days since
you took the leap of faith
that broke your neck and our hearts.

It seems impossible
you aren’t coming back,
though that still, white face
was proof, even before
they took you away
to be made into a caricature.

The ground you lie under
was covered in snow,
thoughtfully removed for your burial;
bringing a false sense of spring
to your place of eternal slumber.

But the surrounding snow and
wind stabbing through our winter coats
and deep into our hearts
reminded us that snow was reality –
grass was not and
you’d be soon blanketed
under snow like a flower

that would never bloom in spring.

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