Flowers

These flowers are dead.
Gobbled up by starving kids,
Earth's last slice of joy...

Will we plant plucked men
atop their blacktop mass graves
to honor their lives?

Might as well leave them.
Let their spirits watch in glee.
Serve them their revenge...

We'll boil up our home
and set this patient globe free
from our apathy.

see my face! a thousand petaled-lotus
rooted deep in murky matter
my splendor beauty yet untouched
adorned, by precious jewel in the center,
a clear and unclouded mind
to pierce through the illusion-life
with the purity of its refined sight.

 For me the grass would
Always be greener
On the other side
As I retire to sit
In the autumn sunshine
Enjoying a cigarette
And a milky coffee
In the back yard
And it is a yard
No grass to speak off
No rolling lawn
It’s been replaced
By concrete slabs
And red brick paths
Clothes line poles
Stand erect like
Sentry guards on patrol
Wheelie bins stores
That look like
Small cottages
Despite the season
There is some greenery
As weeds still
Squeeze and push
There way in between
The concrete cracks
Wildlife is scarce
Mainly slimy slugs
And the pigeon family
That populate the
Building next door
A decaying old theatre
That attracts bats
In the night
And crows by
The light of day
Colour is provided
A small child’s
Pink cycle with
Matching streamers
And wicker basket
Aches under the
Weight of ever growing
Orange crusty rust
A supermarket trolley
In silver and green
Sits in the corner
Like a lost soul
Francis has put
Her washing out
A display of
Multicoloured foreign flags
Flap in the cool breeze
Finally it’s
Saving grace
A single pot
With a single
Red rose
Complements the smoke
Coming out of my nose
I can relax for
A short while
Before cold nose
Fingers and ears
Drives me back inside
From my concrete garden

C an there be no bloom of more fragrant perfume?
A ngels play pipes in praise, Gloria Patri!
N uncio exultation, Gloria Deo!
N eurons excitation, exhilaration soul illumination.
A flower of peace and love has been given to you.
B e not afraid for I bring you good news.
I mmaculate intoxication Spiritus Sanctus emulsion.
S olomon in all is glory is not as beautiful as the hippies’ lilies-of-the-valley.

When do Invasive
Four-o’clocks bloom in Summer’s
DayLight Savings Time?

I remember our old home by the sea
It was surrounded by flowers
That mama and papa had patiently planted
Despite the lack of soil
I was still a child then

I can't recall the names of all the flowers
That were part of my childhood years
Only a few of them where retained
In my earliest memory

There were yellowbells and wild orchids hanging in the front yard of our simple home
And sampaguita whose sweet scent wafted in the night air when their tiny white buds openned

Bougainvillea of different shades took the most space
In that little garden in our home by the sea
It was the most common flower in our area
And easy to grow

It was a delightful sight to see the flowers blooming
Their petals kissed by dewsrops in the early morning
I watered them at sunrise before going to school
Their beauty compensated the austerity and simplicity of our home

Through the years flowers were always present in our home
It was one of mama and papa's joy
They loved plants and flowers
They had an affinity for nature and animals

Mama had a green thumb that I did not inherit
Along with her other qualities that were uniquely hers
Her knowledge of medicinal plants is what I completely lack
She had the gift of healing
And I was not molded like her

She was like a rare flower
A desert rose that lived through the hardship of life
Resilient and strong
Patient and persevering
Through all seasons of her life

7/30

#NapoWriMo2019