A sunflower

is a flower

it has petals

like a flower

it has color

like a flower

it needs sun

like a flower

But what it has

that no other flower has

is the energy

to stay happy

wherever they are

no matter how hard

they work

they try their best

with happiness.

So to whoever is listening,

Be like the sunflower.

The light of the world

the opposite of darkness.

Cerulean sky

stretches down to kiss flowers

sunflower turns face

earthy heart bleached by the sun

watermelon moon beckons

Let me tell you a story about a girl who was born in the sunflowers

It was a series of bad luck really

Her water broke early and one flat tire later they’re in the middle of a field

But sometimes those worst moments turn into the best days of our lives

A baby’s cry rings out amongst the endless flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who grew up in the sunflowers

Her papa loves her so much he plants her a garden of sunflowers

She spends her childhood hiding, and reading.

and playing, and sleeping.

and breathing in the flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who fell in love in the sunflowers

This little girl grows up and moves away

She becomes a gardener

And that’s when a young man starts coming by

He asks about a different type of flower everyday

Until he comes in and says he’s looking for the perfect flower to ask out a girl

She suggests sunflowers

Half an hour later he suggests they have lunch together with a bouquet in hand

They were married surrounded by the yellow flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who lived her life in the sunflowers

Over time her back starts to ache

So when she’s saved up enough, she opens a floral shop

She spends the rest of her days selling sunflowers

And going home to a husband who always makes sure there’s a vase of them by the window

And to two sunshiny little girls who love the colour yellow

Let me tell you a story about a girl who died in the sunflowers

She lived a good life, a happy life

Eventually her skin started to wrinkle and her hair turned white

but as she lay there in that hospital bed, she knew she was loved

So many bouquets, all of them sunflowers

Until her whole room was garden

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-

And yet...

Let me tell you a story about a girl who was reborn as a sunflower

for a while it’s cold and dark

wet and damp and cramped

so cramped she decides to stretch

she stretches until her fingers break through the earth

and she pulls herself up towards the sky

And when she feels brave enough, she uncovers her face to feel the sun

The warm glow kisses her cheeks as she smiles

her yellow petals caressed gently by the breeze

Autumn breezes raked

the ephemeral essence

of withering verdure

across barren dirt

where the balance

of unspent years

laid witness to

the change

of seasons.

Winter would soon

drape the decaying

in ivory sheets of snow

to be stained

with mire

&

swallowed in

hollow crevices

(carved by the hands of time

repeatedly striking the end of an era)

&

consumed

beneath the burden

of

six feet of soil.

Still.

Time marched on.

Summer scorched seeds sown

in the year’s morning

known as Spring.

Bermuda blades,

having just pierced

the earth’s healing wounds,

perished in the drought

while high-desert Fahrenheit

fueled unrelenting winds that

plucked

&

scattered

bouquets of

sun-bleached silk flowers

across a hillside

stitched in stones

&

dotted with decor

left

for the dearly departed

as though the season

(of grief)

was mocking her

in its tattering

of her

(favorite floral)

family.

She gathered each floret

while traversing

toward the cemetery’s egress.

Intricate, iron details

(married in metal

like honeysuckle vines

bound to a garden trellis)

spiraled upward to

an inscribed

passage of peace

that arched over

several young stalks

stretching toward heaven

as they flanked

the two gate posts,

separated

by twelve spires.

There, her umber heart

caught its likeness

in each crepuscular face

surrounded by

yellow-gold petals

as though crowned

with the sun.

She thought:

Like shadows slumber

pitch as night,

(sunflowers sleeping ’til first light)

eclipsed,

horizon’s

hide sun’s rays

behind the path

to morrow’s day

Hers was no uncommon journey,

many survivors

vanquished in the valley,

yet,

knowing that shadows

form in the presence

of illumination,

she found comfort

in realizing that

Light was following her

(like heliotropes track the Sun)

&

had gone before her

to shine on her, again,

once she had reoriented

in the darkness

to the dawn

of a new day.

Though still shrouded

in the umbra

of

the Shadow of Death,

the moment of solace

was etched upon her soul

as she turned her cheeks

(kissed with bereft bitterness)

toward the face of God

and drank

the amber hues

of hope

in full bloom.

she is a

sunflower.

standing tall,

towering above

the torment of

the world.

she wears

a crown

of butter

yellow,

radiant,

almost glowing.

she is full

of

seeds.

seeds of wisdom,

seeds of hope,

seeds of

possibility.

her stalk

can support

anything,

so go

ahead

and throw

it at her.

murders

of crows,

drought,

weedkiller.

she will

remain.

but like

a sunflower

one day

she will

wither

away

&

die.

I look across a sea of

sunflowers

in an open, sun-dipped field.

Where the honey-soaked petals glow

like untouched gold

and every leaf is emerald-spun.

And the summer-sweet potential

amongst each of the towering --unreachable--

hand-picked flowers

has me feeling smaller than ever .

For to leave me abandoned

in a faultless sunset meadow

- - I don't belong - -

is to leave me examining the

star-dropped beauty of every

sunflower

while I forget myself.

For how can I compare to something so perfect as the sunflowers I'm drowning in?

1.

we walk by the distorted field,

not yellow, not brown, but orange.

we remark sadly:

here grew sunflowers.

can’t they grow, in this sludge?

or is it, that no pollen passes,

on the wings of the burnt bees.

the stalks shrivle to the touch,

there is almost a sigh,

a cry.

the field mourns the yellows.

chalk and tar, cake my boots,

i caution you, friend,

watch your step.

2.

there was an artist, long ago.

who sought no fame , nor fortune.

every day went he to the field,

and sketched:those sunflowers.

he explained once that the theme,

may seem the same.

but everyday, he sees changes,

here petals grow,

there a magpie steals.

and through this change he sees in himself the sturdy granite,

which lives forever.

there was another artist.

daily he took the knife,

and cut and burned.

he then took his easel,

and the canvas,

and daily set about drawing,

his scars he drew,

against the yellow backdrop

of the sunflowers.

he explained, that the scars and blood are daily changing,

slowly spiraling down

while the sunflowers remain constant.

there was a third man,

he could nor draw, or sing or write.

he held a match box in his hand,

there were no explanations given.

3.

the ersatz sunflowers in a vase,

will dust , long before it wilts,

i hold on to the last of the seeds,

spiced in sickly annis, and sweet.

i wish the differences in expectation,

would be more manageable.

4.

Socratese drank the hemlock,

he loved the truth,

and did not see the lies.

my grandfather took my bishop,

i could not reposte,

the queen was lost, next.

I won once only, when his mind was gone.

There will be no mention of the dutchman,

who drew sunflowers, I do not care.

if the sunflowers knew of chess,

and truth and self mutilation,

would they see their oriantation a joke?

or will they just shrugg ,

and let the eaons pass?

Our love was like a Sunflower,

growing up towards the Sun,

Higher and higher, we were Lovers,

we were smiling, having fun

But just as a Sunflower lasts,

our love and infatuation

would never last a long, long time,

now

it's

in

the

past...

After warmth, and beauty, our Sunflower

cripples up and falls to the ground

most of what's left will be covered in frost

and then -

gone,

like a discussion

from the

past.

20.7.2020

sunflowers rise up

towards our adoring faces

simple and saturated

au naturel

yellow like the bee

sucking on its seeds

nature is smiling at us

for what is beauty

but catching our collective breath

seizing the day

teach us your ways

We swivel towards a sweet release

to what is seemingly a moment of peace.

Deprived of a clear end in mind,

our light will never truly shine.

A sunflower knows what is best,

turning towards vitality; lest,

they shrivel up and die.

For this, the sun is very kind.

And yet, our sun is unknown,

for humans are uncommonly prone

to the destruction of what they most love,

for they do not value their steadfast sun.

Admiration, success, and opulence

come with quite a chance.

Their light is blinding, yet not true.

What we desire most is not new.