I did not bring you roses
When you searched for something rare,
Instead I brought you daisies
And hoped you wouldn't care;

And now I look behind me
With a wistful little smile—
You would have taken dandelions
And loved me all the while.
     "A Flower Is a Flower," by Linda Ori

"Phosphorescence. Now there's a word to lift your hat to.... To find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry."
     By Emily Dickinson

Firefly, blinking night
Flashing bright
Not from fright
Just for delight.

In my jar
You won't get far
'Til the lid is gone.
I have to go home
So you can just roam.
      By Timothy McCoy

Phosphorescence is the emission of light from a substance exposed to radiation. It persists as an afterglow after the stimulating radiation has been removed. It is persistent luminescence, often described as "glow in the dark." Fireflies, or lightening bugs, use bioluminescence to attract mates or prey. The light in this image is imbued, by me, with an inner light that was not actually present. It is metaphorically "the light within."

a candle has been lit,
inside me,
for which
the sun is a moth.
    "Moth to the Flame" by Bahauddin Valad

In Islamic Sufi tradition, the moth to the flame is a metaphor of the seeker on the Sufi path who desires transformation into the Divine Essence or the inner light. In other words, the path is one of self-realization. The parallels to Buddhism and mystical Christianity are evident, but Sufism stresses diving into the flame which may involve being burned during transformation.

A moth dances with fire and light
Then it is there...and still
We dance with fire but never step in.
A moth is chasing its destiny
As we are running from ours
Into the same circles as ever.
     A yogi poem from "Like a Moth to a Flame" by Arun Deva

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
     From "The Rainy Day" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

With a mind filled with rain
No thought of a drain
To lessen the pain.

Bright red in the heart
So blue from the start
No place to depart
Since we've been apart.
      By Timothy McCoy

Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've nevertheless kept your phenomenal
beauty sane.
       From "Autumn Flower " by Herbert Logerie

As I watch the poppies gently sway
I think of childhoods snatched away
Taken by some unknown hand
And buried deep in foreign land

As I watch the poppies stretch out of the mud
Watered by years of innocent blood
I think of the fear in all of our souls
Of lessons unlearned and stories untold.
     From "As I Watched the Poppies," by Eilidh Collins

I felt my feet too tight.
It was midnight.
The sun came up,
I saw the light.
I crouched down
And with all my might,
Took flight.

Flowers can fly, I heard
From a now-fellow bird.

I soon tired of this news.
I guess it was the blues.
Perhaps I only needed
A new pair of shoes.
     By Timothy McCoy

On what should and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart begins to beat
Why dread hand? and what dread feet?
      From "The Tyger" by William Blake

Any path is only a path, and there
is no affront to oneself or to others,
in dropping it if that is
what your heart tells you to do.
      From The Teaching of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda

All manner of things shall be well
When the tongues of flame are infolded
Into the crowded knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
      From "Little Gidding" by T. S. Eliot

The "mystic rose of heaven" is an amalgam of fire and the rose that appears as orange in this image of contemplation relating elements of alchemic philosophy and the spiritual journey.

The Shadow involves the "personal unconscious" since it may be the result of the repression of unacceptable elements. The Shadow cannot be completely suppressed and perhaps may even be obligatory. On the level of humankind, the "collective unconscious" includes myths and fairy tales. A "witch's brew" evokes images of the devil or a witch in many cultures. 

The labyrinth hid the Minotaur, who was half-man, half-bull. The labyrinth is always present, and we have only to follow the thread of the hero-path to slay the Minotaur within our own heart.

Walking down the street, smoggy-eyed
Looking at the sky, starry-eyed
Searching for the place, weary-eyed
Crying in the night, teary-eyed

Wonder when I'll find paradise
Somewhere there's a home sweet and nice
Wonder if I'll find happiness
Never give it up now I guess.

There's no need to search anywhere
Happiness is here, have your share
If you know you're loved, be secure
Paradise is love to be sure

Don't you know that it's true
That for me and you
The world is a ghetto.
       From "The World is a Ghetto" by War (Songwriters: Charles Miller, Harold Brown, Mark Green, Morris Dickerson,      Terry Gray, Thomas Allen, Lee Levitin)
     

What is pink? a rose is pink
By a fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? Why, an orange,
Just an orange!
     "Color" by Christina Rossetti

A life won't do you favors
There's no map for roads to take

Experience is our only guide
The future ours to make
...
We've all got miles to travel
But no street signs to be read

Our successes and our failures
Ingrained within our hearts

As we crawl along life's highway
Right from the very start

No sense in blaming others
For our troubles and our woes

It's the paths that we have chosen
That's the 'me' which we now show.
       By Jerry Whysman (Whysman's Poems)

I've had choices
Since the day that I was born
There were voices 
That told me right from wrong
If I had listened
No I wouldn't be here today
Living and dying
With the choices I made
     From "Choices" by George Jones (Songwriters: Billy Wayne Yates, Michael Curtis)