Peony Haiku

photo shopped flower, white peoni, peoni bloom


heads hang low when
beauty is too much to bear


I photoshopped this picture and I really like how it turned out. Have you ever noticed how peonies often drag the ground when they are fully bloomed out? They are pretty, but their blooms are so heavy it is hard for them to stay standing upright.

Life as seen in Flowers.

Here are some pictures of flowers that I have taken and thought were interesting.

I always think about the circle of life when I see an old dead bloom next to a full bloom, and when I see a bud next to a full bloom.

5 o' clocks,

One leaf is left. One leaf without snow on it.

orange leaf


One bud is ahead of the rest.

phlox flower bud

A few blooms left on the moss rose.

moss rose dying back

One tree stands out

because it has changed ahead of time.

leaves starting to change

Not Yet Dead

5 o' clock, johnny jump up flower

Marigolds encased in ice. Time stands still for the seeds inside.

marigold flower

This was the picture that I have been wanting to use for a while, and I haven’t written a poem that really went with it.

There is a little bud next to the full bloom.

peony bud, peony bloom

Death at a Distance

tombstone, headstone, grave,

  Death at a Distance

Rocks falling through the sky

They are ugly up close

But as they fall they are beautiful

As they burn and turn in the night sky

They are a sight to behold

We find death beautiful and over too fast

When it happens in the sky



Here is an early small stone poem of mine. I hope you guys are liking these little diddies. Make sure to press like if you are! If something strikes a chord in you leave me a comment below.

Redbud Haiku

broken three times
but still here
redbud tree


It has not gotten big enough to bloom out and be that beautiful purplish color, but it is still here. I don’t know who named this tree, but someone should have corrected him before the name stuck. Below is the actual blooms of the tree. (It is my mom’s redbud.)

flower bud


Death and Rebirth: A Photo Series.

As I deadhead my moss rose I get to thinking about how life and death is a circle. I was noticing today that some of the seed pods were already breaking open. Now sometimes there is another rose underneath a dead bloom, and sometimes there is an empty seed pod because the seeds didn’t make. But usually there are several little seeds that look like gunpowder. I have thought about making a series like this for a while. I have many pictures of several different flowers where a new bloom is next to a dead bloom. I think I will put those together in a group in another blog post.  I dug out a poem that I wrote my Freshman year of high school when my great uncle Joe died and added it to this post. I hope you like this series.

Fall Comes

Fall comes and flowers die

Plants whither, the sky cries

It’s time for change, certain things most go

Soon all will be buried beneath the snow

It is the way of the world for death to come

A dark cloud hides the sun

Rain comes down and mixes the dirt

The waves wash away all the hurt

Things renew and bloom again

But the world is never free of sin

Nature has a balance we must make room

A new birth will come along soon

tiny flower, purslane

Here is the bloom of the moss rose, and the place where the cycle starts.

red rose, moss, tiny flower


After the bloom dies, and the wind blows it away there will be a seed pod or a new flower underneath.

brand new bud, purslane

Here is a seed pod just beginning to break open.

moss rose, purslane, seed

The seeds are peeking and ready to be spread by the wind, or a gardener’s hand.

purslane flower seeds, moss rose seeds

Here are the seeds still on the plant.

purslane seeds

Then in the spring a sprout comes up, and the cycle starts again…….

moss plant seedlings

We hated Death and hated Life

No one can explain the pain of loss and the wonderment of it, better than Dickinson.



The Frost of Death was on the Pane -

“Secure your Flower” said he.

Like sailors fighting with a Leak

We fought Mortality.


Our passive Flower we held to Sea -

To Mountain – To the Sun -

Yet even on his Scarlet shelf

To crawl the Frost begun -


We pried him back

Ourselves we wedged

Himself and her between,

Yet easy as the narrow Snake

He forked his way along


Till all her helpless beauty bent

And then our wrath begun -

We hunted him to his Ravine

We chased him to his Den -


We heated Death and hated Life

And nowhere was to go -

Than Sea and continent there is

A larger – it is Woe -