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Blossoming
July 2012
 28 July 2012


FLOWERS UNFOLD

Forward into the world of truth
Blossoming like the undergrowth of time
Open sky unseen
Unheard
Unfelt
But life, it blossoms

Birth and its meaning
Cries -
New borns with wonder
Triumph with heralding music
Grow into beauty

Each individual so new to itself
They capture the world with thought
Brains so intelligent - and yet
So apart from each other
Until - they meet

Smile - for the truth
Bless the earth for supporting the human
Without where would we be?
Let war and its failure to blossom
Cease
Please

(c)28.7.2012
Josie Lawson
All Rights Reserved
GROW



MEADOW CRANESBILL

It sounds like a bird,
but is a species of geranium
hidden among the grass,
unless you know where to look,
easily stepped on by careless
hikers or cattle, maybe eaten
by those cattle to flavour
their milk, or plucked by
hikers to grace a buttonhole
or lifted by teenage lovers.

The sort of flower found
pressed into books or onto
love letters by men who knew
this was as close as they would
get to laying down in a field
with the woman they wrote to,
a flower whose colour sent
a delicate signal, whose
scent, while it lasted, meant
possibilities, or hopes deferred.

Whether the hikers called it
Geranium Praetense, or our
younger lovers knew it as
Field Geranium, anyone
who saw & valued its violet
flowers for colour, scent,
or associations, had their
day brightened, a spring
put in their step or a hope
put into their hearts.

Brian Docherty
Word for Word




Blossoming

In the summer there is a meadow i like to visit
The natural beauty and scenery is really quite exquisite
It is a beautiful wild flower meadow
it is a good place to go when you are feeling low
I love to watch the wild flowers as they sway in the light summer breeze
but I cant get too close as they make me sneeze
but its only hayfever but its not some kind of contagious disease

The flowers are all different colours across the spectrum
I love to watch them as they blossom
from tiny delicate little flowers
into big beautiful flowers that is natures power
I love the brilliant red poppies
they have a certain elegance nothing else can copy
and the magnificent sunflowers are sunshine yellow
I only have to look at them and my mood mellows
it fills me with a certain glow

It is a gift from god, a place for peace
It is a good place to go when you need a release
From the stresses and strain of every day life
everyone can go, take your kids and your wife
You can just sit and watch the flowers as they blossom
it will pick you up when you think you have hit rock bottom
it is an annual event it takes place every spring
it really lifts your spirit and makes you want to sing
Nature truly is a beautiful thing

Liz Jury
GROW




An African Girl in England

Blossom sat down, and declared the world was mad
Didn't the stupid rain know, where it should fall?
Why was her furniture floating in this wet England?
Whilst the land of her birth, was as dry as a bone.
Three years, she'd been here, left the famine behind
Had enjoyed the rain; at first, on her upturned cheeks
But now it was up to her knees, she wanted it gone
'Go to Africa' she cried 'you are not needed here!
Burning sun of Ethiopia - I wish you were here!'

Jan Hedger
GROW



FLAMING JULY

Just a little while ago
The ban on hose pipes came,
My garden couldn’t be drier
The drought we couldn’t blame,
Because I am disabled
It didn’t affect me much
Told we could carry on
And keep the flowers in touch.

But then in July it poured
And poured and poured,
So I stayed indoors.

Yesterday I took a look
I couldn’t believe my eyes,
My flowers hung their heads
The soil was over dried,
So out came the hose pipe
Though the sky above was gray
The weather threatened rain
I can’t trust it either way.

Now I blame the wind
The direction that it blew
It drowned half the garden
Missed where the flowers grew.

© SALLY FLOOD
NEWHAM WRITERS




Wooden fingers

I can not have
my old job back.
My wooden fingers
don't want to type anymore.
Stiff fingers like their rest.
Somebody else does
all the typing now.
Not me,
I don't want
my old job back.
Pain in the wrists,
I learned to type wrong.
There was no time
to improve my skills.
Or was it?
Fingers say no
and my eyes blink,
when they see
a computer screen.
I like to watch
flying, or sitting birds,
flowers in full blossom,
to see their petals
slowly open
to the Sun.
I like to see bumblebees,
bees and watch rabbits
eating blossoming clover leaves
one by one,
well maybe five
and then it hops
to the neighbor's garden
for slightly different diet
of a variety of salads
for tonight's supper.
I don't want to type
anymore. I am done.

Marie Neumann
POW!



Blooming

Daffodils in bloom
Golden orchestra trumpets
Heralding the spring
Sunshine mirrored on the earth
The universe rejoices

Ashley Jordan
GROW



The Lilac Tree
(Kyrielle)

Purple beads on the lilac tree
Darkened by the early morning dew
Waiting for the sun to set it free
To burst into a brighter hue
 
Inside the tree there hides a bird
Head bowed in prayer on private pew
Apart from rustling, nothing heard
To burst into a brighter hue
 
The roots are pushing up the path
The paving slabs are all askew
I stroke the rough and mildewed bark
To burst into a brighter hue

Fragrance sweet in the warming air
I'm filled with love and gratitude
A taste of heaven I can share
To burst into a brighter hue
 
Ashley Jordan
GROW



Scented Repose of Me

Burgeoning
Lilac tree
Oh how your
Scent excites me, yet
Stills me in contentment
Of who I am today
Me and no-one else
In scented repose
No-one can diminish
Gods' love for me

Jan Hedger
GROW




BLOSSOMING (ACROSTIC)

Blooming forth
Large as life
O’er the
Seasoned
Soil
Ornamentally
Moving
In the
New day dusk
Germinating

Mark Crittenden
GROW




Emptiness

They cut it down, our flowering cherry.
The main branch broke, it was too heavy.
The wind and rain caused it to fall;
Now clouds and sky, no flowers at all.
It’s such a pity we shan’t see
Our pretty flowering cherry tree.

The cat’s upset, it used to climb
The flowering cherry all the time.
And then the firemen would come round
And get our puss back on the ground.
Even the dog feels it’s been fiddled
As the tree is where it piddled.

It cost two hundred pounds today
To take the bloody thing away;
Charged to us by a man and kid
Who made a mess, that’s what they did.
They left us with a rotten stump
And that is why we’ve got the hump.

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers




Gardening Leave

I’m not very fond of flowers
Unlike my wife who can spend hours
In the garden, so enchanted,
Cutting flowers which she has planted.
Blending colours in a vase
Backed with lush green foliage,
Whilst I simply cut the grass,
My chore, my matrimonial task.
Sweating in the scorching heat,
Wishing it was all concrete.
The battle ‘tween the grass and me
Will never give me victory
For every time it’s cut, it grows
And shoves more pollen up my nose.

May the Queen stay hale and hearty
But keep me from her garden party.
Another place I will not go
Is to the Chelsea Flower Show
And neither will I come with you
To that botanic place at Kew.
Itchy eyes and streaming nose,
Pollen from the grass, the rose,
The lilac tree, the daffodil,
The whole damn lot just makes me ill.
Hay fever is a source of sorrow,
I could never plough a furrow.
So I have to beg your pardon,
I really do not dig your garden.

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers



The Male Chauvenist Gardener

At home I have no company.
There’s nobody to talk to me.
So, in the garden, I spend hours
In conversation with the flowers.

But our discussion is one way
They don’t seem to have much to say
Because, you see, in truth, a plant
Won’t answer back, because it can’t.

Unlike a wife, with much to say,
The flower stands silent on display;
Living to perform its duty,
Smelling sweetly in its beauty.

But flowers can’t clean, or wash my clothes,
Or cook my meals, or wipe my nose.
So if I had a wife named Flora
Maybe I’d learn to adore her.

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers




New Tree

There’s a depression
Over our street.
The rain is falling
On the tree
The Council planted
Over the road
Yesterday
Replacing the one
That they cut down
A month ago
Because it was dead
And they wouldn’t chance
Having a branch
Fall on somebody’s head.

My neighbour came out
To offer advice
As they dug the hole
To plant the new tree.
By him getting involved
Any problems they had
Were bound to be solved.
When it was planted
He said it was slanted
So they did it again
And altered the angle.
Now it looks more crooked
And we’ve got a neighbour
Who we’re going to strangle!

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers




Ring of Roses


Mature love unfurls from a layered bud, into
A scented rose that sustains, delights and heals
The thorns diminished on a silken stem.
Red velvet petals, deepen into a commitment,
Of re-arranging; ‘which drawer may I use?
Is there any room for my shirts? And by the way,
I can iron my own.’ ‘That’s nice sweetheart; and I
Really don’t need so many shoes.
A love that peels with the greatest laughter, of
Sliding open an imaginary patio door; to their,
Shared view of a new day dawning, of a love
Wrapped around them like a cornerstone.
Light floods in, awakening the rose, uncurling;
They recognise its familiar perfume of content
Of a sleeping love, they have both cherished.
Woken from their dormancy, they dance,
To the rhythmic beat of palpitating music
Quietening when they are alone, as they
Fall into step with each other, whispering
Words of fevered excitement and planning
And of a love cemented with a ring; so the
Petals never fall, leaving the love exposed.
When vows are spoken of a perpetual
Summer; the rose always fresh and new,
Intertwining, remaining thornless,
And the only bleeding is that of love.


Jan Hedger
GROW




Who will put the 'b' in blossoming?

A word that once wafted health,
and the smell of well being,
has lost its bilabial kiss of greeting
to some unnatural alphabet
where the corpses of 'bees'
don't buzz, and no one can read
the open book of spring.

Bruce Barnes
Friend




A Jolly in May (Kyrielle)

As the fledgling’s cry o’er the wood
And colour bursts from every bud
I whoop and holler with delight
Lengthening day; shortened night.

Blossom of beauty steals my voice
In praise of wonder I rejoice
Nature revealing in my sight
Lengthening day; shortened night.

With a flush of pride, I admire
Meadows pour forth in fresh attire
The noon day sun, crawls to its height
Lengthening day; shortened night.

Jan Hedger
GROW




A PERFECT GARDEN

I love my garden, it’s so serene.
In spring and summer it’s a beautiful scene
But it hasn’t always been like this
Because once I lived in married bliss
We had decking, slabs and potted plants.
No birds or butterflies; not even ants
Such a perfect place but sanitised
Nature disappeared before my eyes
Then she asked me to build a water feature
It was the final insult to Mother Nature.
So I dug a big hole for her creation
She said. “That’s very deep for foundations.”
She was always right; knew better than me.
I sold that water feature and bought a tree
When neighbours and friends started to wonder.
I said she was visiting relatives down under.

Jim White
Individual




WARMTH IN SILENCE


I must be on the mend
am getting the urge to get outside again
Feel the air on my face
The sound of the world through my hearing aids
This is the worst illness I seem to have had.
But - I've been through much worse
---you don't realise at the time of impact -
The end is near, but you survive,
---Blossom again into the world about you once more
and Smile; you then forget -
Move on - until possibly - the next time.

(c) 24.4.2012 - Josie Lawson
All Rights Reserved


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