Beyond the Bushes
Bu2
Posts: 1,693
Misty grays, there are so many
though not as many as misty greens
The garden paths, they make such tunnels
I choose the one that meanders most
So hard to see the sky
after a while
So many are the leaves
Now and then
I am able to gaze up at it, though
It is gray mixed with green mixed with purple
This mixture mixes well with the colors all round me
brings out the greens and the pinks and the blushes and the whites
Makes everything stand out by itself
makes everything look pure and real and perfect to one’s eyes
Without a camera lens to be seen
to witness the next scene
Big, fat, sloppy, floppy raindrops fall
where they can
amidst the canopies and bowers of ivy and flowers
Plopping thickly, making random torpedo hits
through the canopies and arbors and pretty things all around
The leaves overhead no longer give shelter
the cover and comfort is gone
Heavy winds, with the rain, and the hot humid summer
paint chaos that is pretty
only when seen
from afar
Up close, water tramples fragile flowers
forces new fresh mulch into canyons
giving no mercy to the carefully thought out
lovingly planned walkways
aside flowerbeds
that meander
like a path
to where
no one knows
though not as many as misty greens
The garden paths, they make such tunnels
I choose the one that meanders most
So hard to see the sky
after a while
So many are the leaves
Now and then
I am able to gaze up at it, though
It is gray mixed with green mixed with purple
This mixture mixes well with the colors all round me
brings out the greens and the pinks and the blushes and the whites
Makes everything stand out by itself
makes everything look pure and real and perfect to one’s eyes
Without a camera lens to be seen
to witness the next scene
Big, fat, sloppy, floppy raindrops fall
where they can
amidst the canopies and bowers of ivy and flowers
Plopping thickly, making random torpedo hits
through the canopies and arbors and pretty things all around
The leaves overhead no longer give shelter
the cover and comfort is gone
Heavy winds, with the rain, and the hot humid summer
paint chaos that is pretty
only when seen
from afar
Up close, water tramples fragile flowers
forces new fresh mulch into canyons
giving no mercy to the carefully thought out
lovingly planned walkways
aside flowerbeds
that meander
like a path
to where
no one knows
Feels Good Inc.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
DAN Rather, too.
As usual, Chads, I was trying to write a pretty poem about gardens and flowers.
Instead, it somehow turned political (if you read between the, erm, "leaves", or, um, see the forest for the trees...something like that).
Well written, Bu!
If I was at a poetry slam, would I have to shout "Buuuuuuuu - urns?"
~it is shining it is shining~
Horatio Hornblower.
"Forgive every being,
the bad feelings
it's just me"
Triumphant are the angels if they can get there first."