Garden Of Poetry

Do come and enjoy the beautiful and romantic poem – GARDEN OF POETRY

The Lonely Author


My poetry rarely contains much symbolism. However, my desire to improve as a poet urged me to pen this little write. (The symbolic meaning of every flower mentioned can be found at the end of the post). The inspiration for this piece comes from Nandita’s “The Root Of Life.”

Garden of Poetry


Strolling through her stunning verses
the aroma of rhymes entices my lungs
as poetic sunflowers generate warmth
and her love blooms in flowery tongues

Her windblown kisses of Baby’s Breath
Are love florets providing a sweet motif
As we exchange our primrose affections
For I am her stem and she my adoring leaf

She will eternally be my sacred lotus
Planted inside the deepest part of me
As I’ve become the photosynthetic sun
‘ever nourishing her garden of poetry


The image reminded me of you N. Eye liner, touch of lip gloss, and of course the…

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Siren Whispers

I don’t fall fast

My descent is slow

Achingly so

And with that drawn out

Downward trajectory

I savor all that it means

How it makes me feel

The way it transforms every moment

Nerves alight

Skin tingling

A vivid hue

And every synapse firing

As I give myself over to it

And him





Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart

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tethered to glory ~


RedAs much as I might claim otherwise, I sometimes find myself ‘drifting’ through days – life and memories, back and forth between the past and present, and quite often into an improbable future.

At times, my absence is hardly noticed; at others, the person to miss my presence most is me.

Mornings are my favorite time for traveling.

In the hour it takes me to get to work, I can traverse years, miles and lifetimes.  There are no calls to make, so I drive without much distraction, often arriving at work with no clear remembrance of passing the post office or picking up coffee.  Some might call it multi-tasking of another kind altogether.

It’s what I do, and suspect I’m not alone in my comings and goings.

Yet now and again, I am pulled from my reverie by the most unlikely of culprits. One such diversion is a dear friend I call Red. Red is a…

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