I am reminded of... the days I would watch her work
in her flower garden for hours at a time
I am reminded of... the days she would take me by my
hand and say come along help grandma
I am reminded of... me carrying my little bucket along
to help her water all of her flowers
I am reminded of... The smiles that would cover grandma's
face when new flowers would be blooming
I am reminded of... sitting on the bench with her and watching
the butterflies fluttering amongst the flowers
I am reminded of... The birds singing their happy songs as they
flew around the flower garden
I am reminded of... the wind drifting by us and the fragrance of
the flowers floating all around us
I am reminded of...our walks back from the flower garden and
our talks along the path back to her house
I am reminded of...how much I miss her everytime I smell these
beautiful flowers that still grow in her flower garden
In Loving Memory of my Grandmother
Helen Lyvine (Fosnaught) Myers
Entry: 5th Poem on the Soup for P.D.'s contest
12th Place winner
Asters litter beds in rainbow colours
Berries red and black slowly growing
Clover adding bright patches of green
Daisy's dotting the rolling lawns
Enchanting us with their beauty
Fox gloves waving their wands of trumpets
Gerbera brightly show the sun their faces
Hibiscus blown by gentle hot breezes sway
Irises joining in glinting and glimmering
Jasmine flowers spreading out profusely as
Kale fish swim in the pond flashing colour
Lilies floating gracefully give them shelter
Mums giving ground cover to the rolling banks with
Narcissus poking out between them while the
Orange hues of asters are a delightful background for
Peonies some tall most very short nestle beneath
Quince flowers, still their tight buds vie with
Roses stately and wafting perfume clouds around
Snapdragons closing their petals over insects
Tansy's rarely seen now a days, here do thrive and
Uniformly line the garden paths whilst timid
Violets of deep purple shyly peek out and the
White tulips dance amid the rest under hedges of
Xylosma giving height and deep shade for plants
Zinnia's with rings of colour exploding
04/24/2014 by Shadow Hamilton
contest What's in your garden placed 1st
Ornate is the ironwork that I peer through
as my fingers grasp the garden gate,
and I open my eyes to my Wonderland.
My bare feet step down the moonlit path,
where fireflies twinkle amongst the stars
that reflect upon the flowing crystal brook.
I capture them in a lantern, then set them free.
My lavender dress twirls weightlessly as I dance,
here I am free to feel joy and to dream.
Here beyond the gate of my enchanted garden,
when the golden sun sets low in the evening sky,
the daisies, gladiolas, and pansies never close their petals
and the sunflowers shine in the moonbeams.
While butterflies stay to perch on the blooming trellis,
the song of the hummingbird fills the warm night air
and I fall asleep in my flower bed of thorn-less roses.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
February 17th, 2014
For Nette Onclaud's contest - "My Secret Garden"
Garden Of Flowers
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you turn violet?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you set like the summer sun?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you turn pink?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you shower like the spring rain?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you turn yellow?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you fall like the autumn leaves?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you turn purple?
Red rose’s red rose’s, won’t you freeze over with the winter breeze?
As the roses looked up
As the roses looked down
As the roses looked right
As the roses looked left
They spoke with a gentle tongue, like a thousand whisper “As the seasons turn, so shall we. We’ll move with the wind, and stop with the thin air. Well be heated by the summer sun and frozen with the winter breeze”.
So, said the roses from the garden of flowers.
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
this flower bed,
is just for you.
Among the stone,
and in the mud,
a flower shone,
a beautiful bud.
It grew so tall,
proud and strong,
it learned all,
right and wrong.
Giving it water,
and warm sun,
your only daughter,
learned about fun.
Mommy come see,
look what I did,
now I can be,
a grownup kid.
This flower bed,
is just for you,
with roses, red,
and violets, blue.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
Let us walk together
to a garden of flowers
beneath a clear
blue sky of spring weather
we will when we get there my love
while away time
sitting under cool shades
of sinuously swaying trees
as we listen to the mellifluous
harm of nectar sucking bees
and the enchanting songs
of flower birds and watch
as butterflies of all glorious
colors grace the place
and when we are deeply satisfied
I will pick for you the flower
most admired by bees,
flower birds and butterflies
and we shall walk back home
dreaming of love
which does not wither
as time grows old
with a vivid picture
of a never aging flower garden
painted on our minds
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Cleaning up the garden
It was just a few short weeks ago
When I looked out of my window
And saw the state my yard was in
My angst, it sure did grow
It was like blooming Jungle
So wild, and thick and free
And so I thought with truth and all
How lazy can one be?
So I got out there with all my tools
And cut the whole lot back
It took me three long tiring days
Though me I did not lack
In energy, I worked so hard
And in the in between’s
I sunk me back a beer or two
Cause the days were hot and mean.
And now I look into my garden
And the sight it does delight
The climbing Roses everywhere
They’re such a pretty sight
They looked so suffocated
No flowers on them grew
But now they’re looking wonderful
The whole yard looks brand new.
11 March 2014 @ 0927hrs.
I do not know?
All day she watches, feeding on greed,
but she would not pick any of the flowers.
These are flowers that fly and all but sing.
For flight and honey, dazzled so in quest of sweetness.
A bird, one that gathers its wings
and flies higher and higher.
This lovely flower fell to seed.
Work gently sun and rain.
I try to ignore the squirming Hyde within
And, with effort still,
I raise myself for the last traces
of sunshine and fun.
What was left of the day, I savor for me.
As the withering leaves of silence
have perfected the petals of stillness,
Such absence of sound
Never a serenity to the mind.
Disturbing solitude haunts.
Loneliness seems vivid as reality speaks
Even the poignant sadness never parts
Solitary confinement paints an art.
Like the spectator in a thousand theatre plays,
I achingly wait for the final curtains to part.
Then, as always expected -
Left were the
together with the late sunset wind.
Tiny golden flecks
imprinting on the soft white
laces and trims.
Catching shadow images
of the last rays of brilliance,
blending slowly in yellow embers,
forming orange coals,
turning into sunkissed glow
of a sad goodbye.
ever so softly fading
into dullness and cloudless cold.
And as the night falls,
its shadowy self dances
against the moonlit music of silence.
I listen and search still
for what is left.
No traces of the sun
whose magnificence and radiance
had touched the leaves of laughter
during my daytime slumbering; children frolicking,
early had the mind sensing.
And, gone astray were the seeds of kindness
the day had grown.
It seemed they were sown
by someone I wish I had known.
If only I could frolic
where little lads had been early today -
in the meadows,
by the pond,
along the shores,
around friendly trees and smiling flowers,
with the meadowlarks and chirpy games,
I’d give away anything.
Basking in the sun on such a lemony day,
someone sulks to find it's an emotional burn.
If only I could catch the loveliness of the sun,
I'd give away anything.
Just for something this grand.
The mind wills but the heart groans.
A moment of joy and laughter, so fleeting.
Forgot me, gave away the troubles.
Today could be A DAY,
If only, ever so softly, I could catch the sun.