White Flowers in Blue Trees
My husband pronounces this a cow
standing among greens
well if it is a cow
don’t eat him
he is a sacred cow
as we all are sacred
I see him standing among the brush triumphant
for no one has turned him into hamburger
but
I say they are blue trees
at twilight
filled with white blossoms
well if they are blossoms
don’t pick them
and extinguish their life of beauty
grabbing Nature
as if She were our own
meant to serve us
when She is there to teach us
about the Great Being
benevolent with His gifts
such as blue cows
or blue trees with white flowers
as Nature whispers in our ears
as She manifests the gifts of the Great Being
and we boorishly
cut them down
and put them in vases
(if I am right and they are blue trees with white flowers)
where in a day or so they die
having given their lives
for the mundane, bourgeois folly
of decorating our homes
or
(if my husband is right and they are cows)
we boorishly eat them
despite the disgust of eating flesh
at the expense of deaths by extreme cruelty
a travesty of justice
crimes against Nature
when She is to be untouched
and admired
just as She is
for She is the perfect
creation of our Heavenly Father.
A Microcosm of the Macrocosm
To see a cathedral in a flower,
to be drunk with its nectar,
under an opalescent sky.
*
“Infinity is our Home. We are just sojourning awhile in the caravanserai of the body.”
~ Paramahansa Yoganada~
(Click http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html for information on, and to purchase my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir.)
Starbursts
Starlike
explosions of blue
with an
out of season
dusting of snow
a foretaste
of the approach of winter
a sugary confection
one is tempted to ingest
a similar temptation
(I suppose)
as those tempted by coca.
A Wee Life
Oh wee one
how I envy thee
trudging up and down
the raindrop slopes
of rain and nectar
safe within the confines
of radiant yellow
succulent pink
in a self-contained
world of beauty
however short-lived thy life.
The Intimate Intruder
Je suis tres intime
avec les fleurs
I am very intimate
with the flowers
and fear I am intruding
into their secret
world of silent sensuality
visited by bees and butterflies
and other tiny creatures
seduced by their siren song
of quiet sexuality
seductive to all
who pause to peek
inside their blooms
Heresay Hear Today
In
sin
u
ation
over
what
Katy
did
or
didn’t
do
to
Dahlia
is
here
say
prattle
of
goss
i
ping
blooms
filled
with
en
vy
Oh Dying Lily
Oh, Lily
in the valley
of despair,
the devil’s lair,
thou seemeth to be shy
with your glossy, glassy tears.
One day we all must die
and we all have fulsome fears
of dying.
It is not
for lack of trying
your life to live;
it is not from sins of lying
or reluctance to give.
You lived your life purely,
always kneeling demurely,
and though your petals turn to crepe
your form still has a humble drape,
still praising He who made you
in your last living days
and inspiring us to follow suit
in your reverent ways.
The Stealth Kiss
Unseen by a background of fellow flowers
he rushed towards her purple petals
to plant the blossom of her bosom
with a kiss
when
blew a breeze
that steathily stole his kiss,
before she ever knew, sending it wafting
above the treetops to the forever fields of lost loves.
It’s All Relative
In the land of the giant Lily
the little ant is King! *
Man thinks himself giant, so important, even grandiose, at times,
when, in relation to the universe,
he is of microscopic stature,
less in size than the tiniest of insects
who live in a veritable macroscosm beneath our feet.
(Adapted from the proverb: ” In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”
The Infinity of Spring
Light embraces each flower
encasing it in color
energizing each blade of grass,
an infinity of green,
creating the world we see,
the dream screen
photons of energy
we drink with our eyes,
as our total being,
like the infinity of blossoms,
is caressed by the Light.
Cruel Beauty
The nature of paranoia
feels persecuted by nature
sees flowers gossiping
their pistols pissing/hissing
stamens wagging
with stories about
the outsider
who turns away in tears
malicious, vicious words
pollinating the silence
while venomous stamens
draw ovules of blood
as the razor sharp leaves
slit slender petals
Fragile Croci
Oh, brave town crier of Spring
bursting forth before all others
in the cold
you age
as I watch
wrinkles in your petals
still beauteous with inner glow
as you close your countenance
against the chill wind
MOONSIDE 
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