Feature photo by geralt
SHE HATED FLOWERS
She hated flowers, and I wondered why
When diamonds less radiant
Diminished her gloom,
And she delighted in the fragrance of her favorite perfume.
She hated that they withered and faded,
That their petals broke loose,
And they barely hung on.
She hated that they were thrown away,
With every trace of them gone.
They were delicate and fragile like her,
The kind of thing
She felt so undeserving of.
It’s such taxing work for the weary,
Simply to nurture and love.
She clung to her own greenness and vigor,
Exquisite as they were,
They brought too much sorrow;
She detested caring for those that,
Would not need her tomorrow.
She was too oppressed to provide refuge,
I heard heartbreaking stories,
Where she had it rough.
She did the best she could, I know,
But it was just never enough.
She is every bit like the flowers,
Warms your vulnerable heart,
With kindness and grace;
Brings happy tears to your eyes,
And the most joyful smile to your face!
She regales like a queen, and she stuns,
And I love her,
As I do those flowers she hates!
Some have penetrable walls, you know;
She has padlocked iron gates
Author: Kyrian Lyndon
Speak to me of what you dream
While the world, in a hush,
Lays itself to rest in the darkness.
There is change,
There is gray,
There is truth
In the haven of a colorful world
Free of elitism and unbending visions,
Far from the inflexible architects of doom.
We have room!
We are one.
Two sides of the same coin.
Compassion for all
Or we fall.
From ‘A Dark Rose Blooms’ by Kyrian Lyndon
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Joseph Rudyard Kipling is best known for his novels The Jungle Book, The Second Jungle Book, and Kim, and his most famous poem, “If—“.
This poem is in the public domain.
The sun rises with Foreboding crow caws, While the day brings Sirens of uncertainty. Allergies persist. Well, for the lilac pansies, The snapdragons, And the daffodils… Oh, and the tulips in all colors, Beautiful and bold. We see the sun From behind the glass. We hear the rain. Upstairs, there is music. He’s singing— Playing guitar. Below we talk like survivors Of dystopian madness Taking shelter in a cave. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. Are you?” “Yes.” The days are longer. Open windows let in the breeze. Outside, the trees are tall and proud. With all their flowers, Cherries, And leaves. Yet we— We are powerless, Our illusion of safety Violated once more. Oh, but the birds chirp in a frenzy! Come play. The earth is alive! We need to laugh and To cry. Everything is tragic And beautiful. But some have no one to talk to, Little, if anything, to eat, No way to get well, And nowhere to hide. Others rise to an occasion They never could have fathomed, Working toward their lifelong dream With infinite empathy. Does it wreak desolation? We don’t even know the extent Of how harsh life can be. People die for greed. Dreaded knock on the door now. No one should come here— Maybe not for a while. Uneasy eyes Behind masked faces. Down the stairwells then, One flight at a time, I go beyond the door, Where the world is. Experience it once more, For a short time. The sun is bright Across a vivid blue sky. There’s the scent of fresh-cut grass And the sweet caress of the wind. It’s like a summer day With pillowy clouds And butterflies. The world’s magnificent beauty. Then it’s back to the safe place. Do you have one of those? A safe place to be? I hope you do. Because the stars are still there at night, Like the glorious moon. I watch them as I hope Things get better. Like they always did before, At least, for a little while.
“How Are You Feeling These Days” poem by Kyrian Lyndon
Photo credits (from top to bottom):
Crow – Alexas Pansies – Shirley Snapdragons – Metsikgarden Tulips – Annca Cave – Stocksnap Cherry blossom trees – Dewdrop157 Dogwood Trees – Brinnington Bird in Tree – bardia Hashemirad on Unsplash Landscape – Larisa-k Clouds – Johnsongoh Fantasy Stargazing – Larissa-k