I tried to draw a rose today
but noise and life got in the way
my pencil finally took control
what it drew I hardly know
“it’s good I guess” I tell the pad
I sniff the scent of rubber band
I tried to draw a rose today
crumpled paper, thrown away
*
rare beauty
inhale, no bottle can hold
rose succulence
Flowers can cheer a frown into a smile. Poets United knows this well and so the prompt this week is Flowers!!!
beckons my eye
nature in perfect balance
effortless beauty
*
see small loveliness
blue reds rise autumn dawn
tail twitches “welcome”
Happy 1st day of December to each of you lovely people!
“a flower was offered to me…” *
crumpled, once wild and free
the little one that gave it
an orphan was he
I looked in his eyes
a clear blooming love
I gathered some stars
and joy from above
brief mere moments
were all that we had
but flowers are like that
petals in our hands
***
Memories like flowers
spring fragrance on winter’s winds
petals on a page
Some poems write themselves. This came as I remembered a precious orphan who gave me a flower because I had smiled and spoke to him (in very poor Russian). This week’s prompt from Poets United – begin our poem with ” A flower was offered me”
(* William Blake)
I was wild a little daring
boldly wearing magenta in a sea of green
standing tall at the close of spring
the thing was no one knew my name
they knew the pansies, marigolds, lobelia
I heard one flower proclaim
“she’s a beauty for a weed
she should be removed
who knows if she will infect you”
I wasn’t refined, knew little what to do
hard to define, but I like who I am
I heard the master gardener say:
“don’t stop being who you are
a time will come I will cut away
do not dismay you will endure
long years you will smile and sway”
It’s difficult standing among a crowd and being different. Perhaps while everyone wears blue and yellow, you like orange and pink. Your shoes are tall while everyone else wears flats. Were we made to be all the same? Apparently not. Some people are petite others are large. There could be one hundred people with dark hair and that hair would be long, straight, short, kinky, medium, bouncy, shiny, red tint, or dull with some grey. God made us this way. We are different not so that we can point out that we are the best flower in the garden but so that we can give food or shade to a certain creature, offer a rare fragrance in mid-day, cheer up someone who is downtrodden, or shine our faces in a smile to the sun. We each carry a gift that like a bouquet is an offering of beauty to our maker and to our world.
“Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit.”
John 15:2
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
Ephesians 2:10
Shared today with Poetry Pantry at Poet’s United and Godinterest
entwined
in white wisteria vine …
spring moon
© Lolly
lifting her pink face
nectar blows sweet over fields
sun’s broad smile
Lolly’s haiku is today’s inspiration for Carpe Diem Tokubetsudesu
A brush, my fingers are entranced
inhaling rich loamy soil
time upon time ago what were you?
acorns found a safe harbor
limbs created wind breaker
mules with plows toiled
deer on fallen leaves pranced
I kneel beneath arbor
I hold today’s beauty
before she …
becomes rooted with her maker
It is Earth Day – time to care for the ground we live on
Dressed in tones of sunshine
my yellow bonnet waves
amidst contrast of green fields
we chorus spring today
an errant finger plucks
I cry in silent agony
breaking Printemps connection
separated from celebration
Disappointed with my fragrance
I am flung upon a pile of debris
rubbish clogs my senses
I used to breathe beauty
(now I brave man’s stench)
“SKY and EARTH”
Gold lining my sleeve
a small face peeks from earth below
I don’t want to alarm her
deep my thundering bellow
reach and inhale her beauty
jealous of rich soil wrapped about her
I wake each day to his radiant smile
each morning warmth tingles within
I envy the birds that fly so high
near him they almost touch
I want to lay on fluffy clouds at night
to his pocket be pinned
longing to feel his breath on my skin
only to turn my face in a smile
Never to caress the one I love
distance that separates more than miles
At Poets United we are celebrating Earth Day!!!!
Love invisible
rooted deep within the heart
grows strong like the oak
soft scents of flowers
spring blooms in lovers eyes
desires entangle
This week at Poet’s United we are besting Hallmark with personal expressions of love!!! Love is not a card.
The wordpress photo challenge this week: “Art” isn’t just paintings and sculptures, it can be anything in which we find beauty and meaning — even food. Show us a thing, place, or person that’s a work of art to you.
Learning to live by the indwelling life of Christ.
Gud skaper noko nytt ved sitt Ord og sin Ande, vi kan ta imot det i tru og få oppleve at han gjer sitt verk med oss. Hans skaparkraft verkar konstuktivt i våre liv og skaper noko som er verdifullt for oss. Naturkreftene verkar nedebrytande, i fylgje entropilova, men Gud er Ånd og det som er født av hans Ande består. Jesu frelsesverk er fullbrakt og fullkome. Han er den siste Adam, som er ifrå himmelen og som for oss har vorte ei livgjevande ånd. Han gjev oss den Heilage Ande frå himmelen av berre nåde. Han gjev oss det evige livet.
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
Thanks for following a cowgirl on her crazy life journey.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe
Hoping to make the world more beautiful
Books by author Diana Coombes
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
my humanity in written form
Experiments in Creative Writing, and more ....
Poetry by Mich
FOR READERS AND ASPIRING WRITERS
Everyday musings ....Life as I see it.......my space, my reflections and thoughts !!
From Board Books to Clean YA
Cherishing the Past while Celebrating the Present
FROM ONE PARENT TO ANOTHER
Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd
penned in moon dust 