summer's end

from seed, you grew tall

orange cupcake flower

i wanted you to bloom forever

but summer's end is here

[pause]

spin me out of summer blues

as flowers turn deep sun-blood

slow decay by wind chill-  

dying/dyeing

ink, garden these verses  

[within me]

Zinnia, Orange Cupcake

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille #207 Poem Spin Cycle, hosted by De Jackson.  The chosen word is SPIN to be used in this 44 word count poem.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

The Garden

Welcome to The Garden!

You may walk barefoot here if you wish.

Inhale the fresh air.

Sit on the benches under the shades of trees

Eat the fruits that you find

  Your hands will be holding the sun's warmth

  And the dewness of rainclouds 

Our trees here are grand as 

Cathedrals reaching for the sky

But watch out for poison ivy and stinging neetles

  The giant hogweed can cause burns

Traveller, there is no judgement 

  Of where you came from 

  Of what is the color of your skin 

We would love to hear your stories

  if you are so inclined to chatter 

  Over teapot of orange blossom

If you choose solitude and soil

  Abandonment with vines is the upward course

If you seek knowledge from the trees

  Meditation with the bees is the eastern path

And if you wish to walk further

Nearby a river runs in ziz zag pathway

   Refusing to run straight

 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, Its Written in Stone, hosted by Dora.

Thanks for your comments and visits.

seeds

within my gardener's pockets are seeds

i harvested all seasons-

round & small as buttons

flat & pointed as pins

white, brown, speckled, yellow, black 

or shiny and pearly

i have all the colors- 

soon, i will open my shed for more seeds-

mottled, scarred, rusty, half-pitted ones-

it comes

from all over my travels

i have kept them in the darkness for the season

but now it it time

to scatter them in the wide fields

all the seeds are covered with soil & water & compost

i don't know which ones will take root & grow

some will blossom in a few weeks with leaves

some will decay underneath the soil and never

even bloom

but this i know:  all are good 

so are the sky, sun, rain, cloud storms and creatures

pollinating and moving the pollen & grains-

there will be good fruits to harvest

there will also be plants to prune and throw away

one rotten apple does not mean the tree is not good

sometimes we just need to look for other good apples 

& often times finding one good apple is enough

for this gnarled gardener's hands

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  A discussion on Good and Evil, hosted by Punam.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

An invite to a party

 

Each guest will bring

A poetry book to read

To a garden party

Brimming with roses & tomatoes

Smell of peonies, spice of citrus

We will listen to each guest

Read the words

Of dead poets

Of living poets

Their own poems in draft format

It does not matter

This is not a euology

But a banquet of imagery & paradox 

Amidst tea cups and wine glasses

A valley grows with pear & apple trees

A cloud storm erupts with sunflower seeds

A lake shimmers with bluest of blues

We voice each spoken word with vibrancy

of buzzing bees

We will each have our turn 

with word salad, 

soup of alliterations,

and generous helpings of hyperbole

then, we will enjoy the dessert of 

exquisite haiku from Basho and Issa

Then each guest will select a book

from my bookshelves

or exchange poetry books with each other

To bring to their home

What a fun merry-go-round of books it will be!

The books will outlast us

eventually

At 6pm, the party will end

No goodbyes will be said

Only see you at the next one

On the way out, each guest

will receive  

thank you note with

my unfinished poem:

Twilight glows vivid violet & red-orange

“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.”

Quote:

• “A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” Vladimir Nabokov

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Words of Departure, Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you.

my garden bed is buzzing

 

may your summer morning be bright

as purple salvia, flashier than eggplant

dangling from vine, lush & lethargic

may your garden flowers bloom

with spike of ginger & tantrum of cumin

as bees hum a hot peppery buzz

<an alarm goes off>

i wake up 

and there is a down-

pour, 

my garden boots are 

muddy greasy

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Meet the Bar with Dissonance, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

no benches in this garden

 

her face is a red

   bee(t)

her eyes are sky-

   lights

holding summer

with her hands -

reds, violets, pinks & yellow sun-

   flowers

common & breezy, plucked 

   from the garden

not peonies-caped in neat rows

not blue ivy tended by gloved gardeners

nor rose-potted in wooden plant boxes

but from open field

along walking & biking trails

\\where seeds, grape leaves & herbs spring

escaping from botanical gardens//

i

bade her a {goodmorning} smile

& 

drink in

her calmness

her happy strides

her weighlessness of cares

& walk towards

where she came from

there's plenty still

    to gather the wheatgrass & knot

wildflowers draping the field

    with worts, weeds & bugs

perfusing perfume:

    sunshine from birdsongs 

    & musk perfectly mulched from wasps

a harvest by creekside, until the sun 

    sweats

                gold on 

                             my arms

Posted for the dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Garden(ing) with Claudia Schoenfeld as our special host in celebration of the 10th  year anniversary of dVerse!  Come join us for a gardening treat at 3pm EST.  

its show time!

i pose, pretty in bell-shaped dress
lavender with polka dots

i stand here, smiling all day long
with petticoats of velvet & tulle

while I itch to walk 
in my green minted slippers

here comes an old lady
with a bag, colorful as lemon

under her glasses,
she marvels at my freckles

alas, her dog got too excited
and prancing around,

pawed his dirt on my feet-
yikes, it was all I can do

not to smack him back
with my corns and toady toes

i did sneeze a big ACHOOOO!!!
as the old lady pulled him back

sh-sh-smacking her lips
moving along where hydrangeas and azaleas 

are shooing away the bees & bugs - 
please leave me alone!!! 

I'd rather be
ribbing with roses
fibbing with pansies

than waving cherry Welcome  !!!  
at 500+ strangers,  
in this garden show

Centennial Park Garden

Posting for dVerse Poets Pub - Real Life Humor with guest blogger, Mark Walters.  Thanks for the visit ~

at a garden show, if all we see is

one frame- all black and white
unrippled of contradictions
flatlined in dust 

we'll be 
blind to spontaneous outbursts,
deaf to echoes of dissent

all flowers, stilted monotone
all trees, uninteresting as street lights-

and garden -
boring place to visit

show me 
your true{true} colors




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - Hosted by De Jackson ~   This is a 44 word post with the word - ECHO ~  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST ~

Lost garden

his heart's a thistle, sparse skin and dry.   today, his eyes are moody blue when he is stuck in the room all day.  the suffocation is real, like someone is stepping on his fragile chest, when all he wants to do is be a balloon, untied touching the sky.  his tortured thoughts haunt him, a scar unseamed, a whispered scream.

during school's lunchbreak, he escapes with a walk around the block.  there is a slight drizzle overhead, hint of cloudy night.  the air is cool and damp, scent of trees soothing his nerves.   in a corner, he sits down to watch the pigeons haggling over breadcrumbs. some grey pigeons stand overhead the wires and roof tops like sentinels looking down at the streets. an idea brews on his head, an image stretching into infinity of patterns.   he takes his pen and draws what his mind is echoing, in fast paced strokes.   for a few minutes, he is a river, gliding with fish and tadpoles, absorbed with his artwork.   now he is a tiny insect, crawling diligently beneath layers of soil, grains and seeds.     his fingers inked with markings, he smiles.   his chest is all mushy now, filled with trills, caws and sunny leaves of a lost garden.

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Prose Poem by host, Frank Hubeny ~  Try your hand in writing one when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Three gardens

I.

This garden is bowl of seeds
for birds, snails and worms
Under the orange umbrella,
I watch the creatures
whirling, chomping, chirping-
content with gifts from the earth


II.

This garden is scratch of hope
a glint of tranquility in the city's grey
minted with medicine, not only
for tired bones
for damaged liver
for scarred heart
for torn ligaments 
but also for
spirit seeking solace
amidst the perfume of blooms, 
vines and buds-
pinking the hours full, sated
by good company 


III.

In the basket-
okra, eggplants, lemon grass,
squash, radish, peppers, pigeon peas-
await my grateful hands
to slice their roots
to boil their leaves 
to brew their stems
to bottle skin and sap
and finally
to fold seeds to sleep
in my garden, silted with rain 
& green peelings of hope  



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Johnny's Garden Hosted by Kim Russell -  Pub opens at 3pm EST.