flowers

The blue printed flowers on the bed was soft. Petals caress my skin long after the sun rose and warmed the sky. Last night was not a good night as I got lost in the vines and couldnt find my way out of the sheets.

Spring Fever unfinished

(cough, cough)
She is poisonous
to insects and birds.
Pesticide dipped berries
they tried to tell me

(cough, cough)
But her face was a garden that had me blossoming.
And I couldn’t shade away
as she melted out of her fur for me with slow
seasoned eases

And sprinkled my lawn with the seeds of black roses.
Now, I am in too deep to be uprooted.
(cough, cough)

Bug at first sight

Repost of flirt in white dress

I was suddenly rooted in place because I saw that spring
has raked in a new budding interests in the form of Mrs. Ladybug.

My attention was on her black face and red dress
black pumps and red nails as she sat in the sun
drinking nectar tea. Showing vine spreading hips and
floating down breast shaped leaves.

She sprinkled a shy watery smile toward me
when I was thirsty for the whole watering can.

Humming while talking, my ladybug sent dirty messages through a love bird’s song
and it transformed me from a fiery spice into a dull potato.

Weeding and raking away of vermin and pesticides is needed at the head of the flowerbed, And maybe a fresh down pour of rain, or three.

9:58 pm

Weeds and flowers grown from the ground, simultaneously it creeps up her legs. Dangerous vines wrapping around her two worlds. Choking on her identities, trying mesh her inner-self, with her outer. The feeling is nice as it tickles up her thighs, stroking her stomache, and into her heart it twirls.

But...

Looking at her. Is she being fooled? That isn't what she wants. The Social identity is untouchable and mysterious. A memory one can never quiet recall to the forefront of the mind, is fueled to be remembered by the body. Dangerous. But the dreams still counts it as a feel good incorporation.

Look at me
Her body screamed, pay attention to me! Know who she is. All they heard was told through the grapevine. And its not enough. A pretty distant shell, with a flowery flirtatious nature. All she wants is not to hurt anymore. But then again she likes the thrones. A misinterpret sign of the mind.

What do they know about her? Anything? Nothing really it seems. Because they cant tell if they are getting the flower or the weeds.

Blossom at the End of the Body

Leaving this world must be the flower,
its three violet faces turned to the air — a man can't look
at a flower without knowing he's dying.
That's the beauty. Parting must be this little
chance, with its stem and flutter. It's no god
and it's no force and our grief is a rock, a clod,
a punk of earth. Truth is,
what we will miss most
isn't her or him or mother or child but
the particular blue at the side of the field,
the heart's pure botany, for

the body is a science. And there is no
substitute for thing. Not love, not happiness,
not faith. But flower. But flower. But flower.

Beckian Fritz Goldberg

A Dandelion for My Mother

How I loved those spiky suns,
rooted stubborn as childhood
in the grass, tough as the farmer’s
big-headed children—the mats
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.
How sturdy they were and how
slowly they turned themselves
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars
barely visible by day, pale
cerebrums clinging to life
on tough green stems. Like you.
Like you, in the end. If you were here,
I’d pluck this trembling globe to show
how beautiful a thing can be
a breath will tear away.

Jean Nordhaus

Return

RETURN

O, my darling rose,
put on your milk-white gown. I want
you to come back quickly. For my
desire feeds on

your beauty. Each time I see your gown
I am made weak and happy. I too
blamed the Cyprian. Now I pray
she will not seek

revenge, but may she soon allow
you, to come to me
again: you whom of all women
I most desire.

Sappho

Winter Flowers

Are you there God?
Yes, my little lost one?

Will you kill me please and bury me in the snow
Then when the sun melts plant some purple flowers

The ones that blooms bright after the Aprils showers?
No the ones that dies right before winter

Why do you want whither?
The snow reflects my cold life
It was her purple flowers that me less bitter

Lunar Flower

And then I kissed her rosy lips
Setting my body on blazing fire 
Seeping down neck, breast, to inner hips
Enticing arms embraced me, her thorny vines of desire

My mind strokes her soft petaled body
Sinful hands wishes to do the same
Urges so strong and wanting to fly free
But doubts keeps the honey bee's tamed

The moon blooms her to life again
But death comes with the rising sun
Last night we bathed in each others sin
And waited for morning to once again come