Her Botanic Barrage
It is no secret,
natural red woman.
It is no secret that shades of
tickled pink and vineyard purple
should exploit their interests,
blossoming from afar.
The stem of the growth,
the root of the stem...
reaches out to touch the soil of
Clouds, puncture thy center and
let the rain speak for itself!
Share the wealth and
awaken that which lacks the
slumber and pollination.
When the heavenly aroma
reaches the tip of the nostrils,
forever will you be encased in
Gaia’s willful abilities.
And on the seventh day,
confined deities let loose an
organic way of living.
Selene arouses the curiosity of
stamen brothers and petal sisters.
tilting on the silver lining,
shines on the silhouettes of
mating and dating rituals.
Ah, what a century!
Oh, how soft the infant dirt
feels on these youthful feet,
running through fields of
authentic nature, blessed and fruitful.
Her seeds are children from above.
The choir of progress carries
such a sweet voice that
accompanies fruit growing on the vine.
Take my hand,
daring mistress of the flowers, and
away we shall fly!
Promise from plant life:
“Out of death, new life emerges.”
A colossal monumental memory,
orchestrated by a watering pot and your love.
The planet’s core: royal seed.
It sprouts an anonymous garden.
Your Infinite Ink Runs Through
Your infinite ink runs through my mortal pen.
Let Erato have the
golden reigns of love poetry,
for you are the goddess of words.
Words are all we have,
thanks to your gracious breath,
thanks to your mental semblance,
thanks to your infinite tidal wave.
Your infinite tidal wave
washes over my mere shoreline.
Water-filled bliss browses
windows that display plastic fads.
We do not let a rose with
thorns on its side to prick us.
Blood: creativity juice,
permanent, similar, and irreconcilable.
Your infinite serenity gallops around
my limited sanity.
And you keep me supplied.
And you let me hold your entirety.
And your love led me to ecstasy.
And your celestial twinkle is all I need.
She is her.
Smiling is her.
Speaking in that
natural tone about
1940s horror movies is her.
Syd’s irregular head becomes
vacant for the presence of her.
How she absorbs the
world and proclaims the
love of enjoying life: her.
Kept these brown eyes
locked on no other girl but her.
One would rather not converse with
any girl but her.
Have you seen her?
Have you seen her waves of
shaking pleasantly when
she laughs at the most miniscule
Vast as oceans.
Like yours truly, a
larger love for animals
more than sorry humans, for
we belong to the earth, not vice versa.
This instant connection
runs faster than
pitiful satellite for the
World Wide Web...falsehood.
Help her rediscover the
gift of ars poetica,
for it is not just writing,
but a blessing made of
ink, paper, and your infinite mind.
This is the heartbeat in sync, and
no one else but her
can know these facts.
A rising star in the arts that
deserves long-awaited recognition?
Constant silent encounters
with whom I experienced,
a talkie that deserves an Oscar?
Gal with traits of positivity?
Who can I daydream about
for hours on end until nightfall?
Why daydream, though,
when she is only one
beautifying look away?
I celebrate her!
Let me learn everything about her!
Breathe in the though...of her.
Z.M. Wise is a 26 year old pure-blood poet, a proud Chicago native and the Co-Editor of Transcendent Zero Press, an independent publishing press.