She traces line from terra-forma
receptacle arises
from stalk;
winding flow,
imagery appears as
sepals blanket bud.
Ovule gives way to fruit,
an arising style
with stigma flares pollination;
marriage of pistil and stamen
and a new life is revealed;
a celebratory blush and
petals shield gentility of bud;
light waves meld with pigment,
a thirsty flower births,
sips mother’s milk as
Gaia sculpts her 3D garden.
Brave is the rose caught in November’s thorn
While she endures nights of chill and snow,
Awaiting gold daylight's warmth to bestow---
And liven her frame…her mouth drooped, forlorn.
Gently, new moon peeps into kohl of eve
While its luster reflects on this bud , soft
Like a pubescent ovule held aloft
By elms guarding her round shape NOT to cleave.
Though one kind-hearted owl perches nearby
Mutely disapproving this ghastly tread…
An obscure fog sprays crystals overhead
Instead, wings lock against nip of the sky.
How unwavering…in her innocence
Morning rises, its lucent gleam so young
That frozen dusk pales with wheezes unsung…
Oh, grit of a rose saved by providence!
Written 9/10/2018
Contest of Broken Dream
Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018
Among the phantom of hillsides and trees,
She hovers quietly, fragrant as a ripened jasmine
Beneath the stark new moonlight peeping
Harsh to a disguised tryst, a forbidden desire
As her lover appears near the appointed cave--
His musky whisper gasping across the sky, hushed
To imbue love forbidden within those emerald eyes;
O perilous enough to claim her... owned by another.
Warm, warmer like one torrid August, they caress
On a night's full steam, knowing in the darkness
This rendezvous must be their last, final liaison--
For a thousand concealed ramblings spread
Around a small locale: But quivers of hunger
Render them untamed --fondling seeking waking
The openness of an ovule and bold pistil...
Till an old eagle owl shrieks while woman and man
Endure the rise of morning's call--- unbridled.
Free Verse Only- Pick a Theme Contest
Sponsor: Laura Loo 6/8/2018
Accepting aloneness, incomplete solitude, imperfect rest. The garden
wasted, pumpkin patch planted late, potatoes untasted left in ground.
A thousand email addresses, each unique represents a flame of
passion, compassion, desperation or depression. To understand, to know's
impossible. It is therefore only reasonable to observe the shadows
on the mountain, the actions of the dreamer which tell us something,
little, nothing of his dream. It's a simple secret shared,
longevity. The half breed John Russell says it right, the
date and place don't matter, dry desert or cold mountainside,
lush bottomland, soulless or hospitable, contagious hospital.
The best laugh's death's, a perfect escape, perfect error, perfect
rest. Their solicitude's unnecessary, grief is temporary, life goes on,
you go under, underemployed, the undertaker's never unemployed.
Forensics prove an ovary with two chambers, ovule adnate to the funicle.