Cast forth a handful of these pro seeds;
a promise of potential – hoping the value of
them, proceeds the muck that clings to your spirit.
The filth of your mind you must strain per sieve;
being wise to carry a filter, for all the shadows that
your mind will perceive.

As I'm learning the art of resilience;
refusing to fret whenever life wears me down
– like a flower dressed by the whims of the seasons;
whether you like it out, life is full of these changes.
So gather a bouquet of flowers on top of your head,
to remind you of such a nature, and don them as
a regal crown.

Two crocuses
Have the whole garden
To themselves.

The mousetrap
Is snapped shut
And empty.

My garden's full of daffodils.
Each border is a-groan with them.
And so are all my windowsills!
This sea of yellow flows and spills
Around, about each stalk and stem.
My garden's full of daffodils
Up to their ears in yellow frills!
The garden's quite an anadem.
And so are all my windowsills!
Not narcissi! No! Nor jonquils!
Or flower as dignified as them
My gardens full of daffodils
Each tidy border overspills
Blazing with ochre meristem
And so are all my windowsills!
The twentieth vase this arm full fills
I shall not plant this bulb again!
Mat garden's full of daffodils
And so are all my windowsills!
Lal Lewis (c) 2000

I Gazed within my Love
While The Evening Moon
Was Crescent,
Why is it so hard to Be in the Present,
A gift of Nostalgia And Reveries,
Wistful as any Flower
That Sways in Stillness
And Dreams With moonlight,
Nothing much compares
With The Romantic beauty of the Moon,
I seem to love her in all its phases,
Like the mystique of a woman
With all her personas,
Like the Petals of a Rose,
The Sunflowers Sweet laughter
In The Jazz Breeze,
The Candles Golden sighs
Waltz Sweet
Luminous moon
In my Loves Stillness
And
Your Dreamy and Exotic Repose

Reynaldo Casison

Sigh my love is sweet and loose
As the Midnights breeze
Within the Honey
Of your tresses
Sigh our love is meant to soothe
Sigh my love with Sighing Kisses
Summer rain caresses
all of our loves flowers,
In our loves
rose sunflower and moonlit robes
Let your fine wine beauty
Unwind like Sighing Kisses
With Sweet and tender blisses,
Sigh my Sultry dove, Sigh My Iris love

Reynaldo Casison

Art is born in a poets hand,
Though, like the fragile flower it is,
Art always crumbles to dust.

It drags the poet with it too,
For deep in their heart it grows its roots.
So when it fades, wrapping tight around their sickly heart,
The beating stops and they drop.

It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?

I walk through the garden,
In the light of day,
Rays of pink dawn,
Jumping through the fray.

Strolling long through the roses,
Bushes aligned in a beautiful bouquet.
I ran my hand through their blossoms,
Yet it came back with blood.

Snagged on the same beauty,
I was there to adore.
Dripping to the rocks,
Laying ugly on the floor.

What do we learn from the teachings of flowers —
That one does not grow in poisoned soil.
In unfavourable conditions, we wilt.
But we can heal from the root,
When cared for and place in nourishing spaces.
We grow, sprouting new life.
The mighty stem, building stronger cells,
Your bloom becomes brighter,
Opening up to the welcoming sun.
We learn a lot from the flowers
One just need be observant of its teachings.