Time for Daisies

Time for Daisies

“Bring me flowers
while I live”,
she said,
so long ago.
We brought
them to her
for us
as well as her.

Springtime came
on a wall.
pray they
will not fall.
All of us
are children,
each short day.

Black and white
reveals a lot.
Colours can
we can learn
from too,
before our
feelings heal.

White flowers
in the springtime,
on the
flower stand,
waiting for
a buyer
to take them
all in hand.
Disaster in
the springtime,
when promises
are made.
There are
some things
I can not say.
Sweet words
that must
be stayed.

In all my days,
it’s never been
as deadly
as today.
came too late,
and sickness
came along,
bounding like
a skipping child,
who’s climbed
forbidden walls.
So now we’re
trapped behind
our door,
one and all.

Springtime came
on a wall.
Bounding little
pray we will
not fall.
All of us
are children,
learning each
short day.
Black and white
reveals a lot.
Feelings are
we may suffer
before our
feelings heal.



Flowers so small,
they may
remain unseen.

They stand
before me,
unaware I
may have
crushed them
my large and
clumsy feet.

We miss
so much
under the
of our
frantic lives.
We walk
our walks,
past so much.
So much beauty,
so little time
to see it.

A time may come
when I will seek
her friendship
if it’s there
for me.
But now we walk
unseeing past,
mired in
we dare not
truly face.


All these things
we never see,
all joy and wonders.
Close up,
things become,
in some ways,
Yet, we see
even less.

All in a family,
there can be
so many variations,
potatoes, tomatoes,
and poisonous cousins.
Nightshades can be deadly.

Potatoes and tomatoes
are such favourites,
the poison
is bred out.
So nothing’s left
to fear.
And life continues,
to ends
we cannot know.

Summer Tulip

Not long ago,
it was so beautiful,
attracting bees
and delighted
Sometimes even
for brilliant bouquets.

Red and yellow,
as I almost remember.
Or maybe
it was pink,
double blossoms,
with ragged edges.

Another day,
or just a few,
and suddenly,
petals are fallen.
A sign
of middle age
or maybe
Something interesting?

I never was
that pretty,
I declare.
But time rolls on
for all of us.
No one is spared.
My own petals
have long since
on the ground.

What character
is left?
And have I learned
a thing?
Something to share?
Anything that
resembles wisdom?
Or, at least,
a not-too-boring

What is a Garden

Colours bright
or colours dim,
we notice
whats in focus,
and as shadows
trim our image,
add water
to the dust,
things grow.

What is a weed,
but an unwanted
A garden’s
not the same.
You walk
on water?
That’s a
different game.

A volunteer
can be a
great thing too.
Flowers can grow
from unexpected seed,
and welcome,
none of them’s
a weed.

A little beauty
sneaks into
the picture.
A little colour,
bright and amazing,
a garden like
her garden,
makes your
heart sing.


Each and every spring
they’ve sprouted,
fresh leaves
to feed blossoms
on the wild rose.

We like to struggle
with the question,
“which came first”,
but do we want to know?

New leaves
in springtime,
as they spread
green wings
that do not fly away,
until the fall.

We do not worship nature,
but enjoy.
It seems that
wild things and places
were made
for us to love.

Between the thorns,
we cannot see
the rose.

It’s time has
not yet come.
If we are patient,
we may see it’s glory.

It’s always
come before.
Our patience
was rewarded.

A little hope,
a little faith,
and roses soon
should bloom again.


Something Beautiful

Something beautiful,
the way she holds her head,
smiling at me,
but there is
something impermanent
about it,
special but yet
we must be reminded
of the inevitable
we hear
that comes
for each of us,
that comes for all.

But now she bows,
dedicated, fading.
Her petals are nearly
ready to fall.
I see some fuzzy bits,
turning to
wind-catching sails,
nature’s little parachutes.
Still there is
something left
and she is
still beautiful,
in her way.

Small Things

Small Things

We could do better,
   if we understood more.

Small things count,
      you know.
Sometimes we can’t see
         if we have a big issue
   or something trivial.
We are only human, at best.

And some are fools
   who amuse,
      until they step on
our toes.

Their words and acts
   seem trivial
      and amusing
but can be dangerous.

We could do better,
   if we understood more.