WILDFLOWER

Not the queenly rose that rules a garden not the pristine lily that adorns saintly hands not the cheerful sunflower, nor fragrant jasmine but a wildflower, unheralded, unseen, I am. Obscurity is the meadow where I grow The wealth of the earth is my bed I dream beneath the stars’ watchful glow and wake to

SALUTE TO BEAUTY

  If only  I could gather words as one would flowers I would inscribe into these pages spells and enchantments  my pen stops  in mid-air, bowing to beauty greater than its words.   The above poem is an attempt at writing a Sijo poem, a poetic form of Korean origins. According to Poetry Foundation, a

OUTSIDER

Like a beggar child Looking at the rich folks’ fare I was. An outsider Wanting to belong I shed myself Put on a mask To fit in. From within I watch the world Through the eyes of one who has found Her own home.   For DVerse’s Quadrille prompt: rich

BECAUSE … (A Haibun)

“Vanity of vanity. All is vanity,” so says the prophet Qohelet in the Book of Ecclesiastes about  life. It does seem like life is all about chasing the wind. There are days when, saddled with the routine of everyday, I find myself engrossed in an internal conversation about existence. How do I reconcile the repetitive

SATISFACTION

Weary feet Plod on grassy paths Oblivious Of the world they have seen so many times Jaded, their spring dies Wild Lily Flirting with the breeze Captivates Tepid eyes Drink deeply of loveliness And sighs at such bliss.   These flowers are Turk’s Cap Lilies that I found growing in Sweets Knoll State Park, Dighton,

MEADOW BELL(E)S (WPC: Rare)

The belles are swinging in the meadow their ruffled skirts are flying up high The hornets are stealing their sweetness and butterflies let out an envious sigh Come, come watch the spectacle it doesn’t last all summer long Be there in the early days of August when the sun is bright and strong All too soon

A SUNDAY BOUQUET OF WILDFLOWERS

  The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. ~Basho Pluck not the wayside flower; It is the traveler’s dower. ~William Allingham Where flowers bloom so does hope. ~ Lady Bird Johnson The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air than in the hand. ~ Sir

WPC: SPARE

Bluets sweeten our spring visit to Maine.   It is always a delight to see the little white clumps of flowers amidst the sea of green.  It is amazing that though very little, they still manage to stand out and be noticed.  When I stoop down low to take a close look and snap some

SLENDER BLUE-EYED GRASS (for Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Purple)

These  lovely little wildflowers grow in the meadows.  Though they are just a tad bigger than a dime and grow alongside taller grass, Slender Blue-eyed flowers are easy to spot because of their purplish color and elegant bearing.  

ODE TO WILDFLOWERS (for Poetry Jam)

Wildflowers bloom where they are in places where no one dare to be in rocks and crags, in sun or shade in well trod paths, in places nobody sees. They need no care, no pampering except that which nature supplies They’ll plant their roots and they will grow whether they’re met by cheers or sighs.