Biography of Bradley Flowers
I don't read poetry books and understanding poetry is hardly something i'm good at. I like to write it and I feel i am good at it, with plenty of room to grow. I plan to get 70 good poems together and have them published. when I'm old and all that. not all my poems are great, so i know it will take time. With the 14 something posted on here so far, i'd say only five are good and still need improvement.
thanks for reading.
Bradley Flowers Poems
Petals Of Our Life
</>One could say: There are petals for every flower A record of moments Every so many years
Sleeping In Wait
There is an alluring feeling The way the eyes sink low. they touch to the lids- then shutter The closed moments that feel like eternity.
</></>Swaying beautifully I stare Colors of purple violet with tranquil orange It shimmers gently quixotic with you My silhouette
Back then I was trapped: kept along the flux of tides; desperate I envied the shallow times. Intuitive to be buoyant regardless- I struggled within the celestial sphere of colors shaded.
Within A Moment
The wings of the ocean combed azure and teal. My feet, nestled just before the sea cliff— Slowly encompassed my connection. I swayed to a tranquil flow, an alluring gaze
The Past For Tomorrow
They can have pictures of us and bones in the dirt; Stories with quixotic tales and tears we shed- And whatever little is left— it's saved to decaying paper
With words I sleep away, Hidden beneath what others lay Like quince.
The Cycles Of A Cloud
At first I'm obscure Thus, I'm precreation At the stand still of time Soon to speak my mind
Thy Bird In The Well
This place, the dry air burns Thy bird on a moon well Dependence fly’s down The shallow, my Soul singer
Lucky Little Fish
The bird that dives the fish that flies dinner drop and lost at shore
Swear by the night that once every week My room has monsters lurking the dark It’s really kind of scary; I know it’s rather silly They are just sock monsters after my stockings!
Memories last, I feel them. Like the future, they stay. Aged and colored gray They do Wrinkle though from time
Visiting my mother, room 32 in ICU Life truly starts and sparks ignite Grinding friction from the facts of life Pushed and forced by flow and strife
Pictures In Our Lives
There are pictures on walls Some dirty, others blanketed and dusty.
Visiting my mother, room 32 in ICU
Life truly starts and sparks ignite
Grinding friction from the facts of life
Pushed and forced by flow and strife
That day, those steps-the tears
They became the longest thirty feet
I'd ever walked in such short time
To let in the things that change