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Flower Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Flower

These Flower Narrative poems are examples of Narrative poems about Flower. These are the best examples of Flower Narrative poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |

The First Bloom

You wonder why, my love
These memories flitter in the hallways of my mind
Knocking on the door
of every room
Where I’ve hung
Do not Disturb Signs
For I don’t want to remember you
My Paradise Lost and yet….

Oh, you wonder why, my love
I still rise to open the door
Why I fling them open wide
When each memory comes calling
Why I let them come inside
And sit here at my table
While I play the gracious host
As I listen to each memory repeat
The love story I love most...

You wonder why, my darling
I sit in rapt attention
Dabbing at a tear
While I smile
A sweet smile of remembrance
As one by one
They kiss my cheek in greeting

They all sit around me
Each one vying for my attention
These sweet memory guests
Are there to make sure
The visions are ever fresh
And so one runs his fingers through my hair
I close my eyes
Giving in to his ministration
But he couples it with kisses on my nape
To keep me awake
For he remembers the times
When your fingers playing with my hair
Would entice my eyelids to close
So the kisses he keeps coming
Preparing me
For what is to come...

The other memory holds my hand
Caressing tenderly
Making love to my fingers with his own
Intertwining and releasing
Whispering in my ear
In husky whispers of love
And I melt
I melt
At the resonance of his voice
The memory of enticement
The Prelude

I gaze down to look into the eyes
Of the memory guest sitting at my feet
I see there the devotion
Of someone at a shrine
As he looks up into my eyes
His hands on either side of me
His palms caressing my legs
Kissing as he goes along….
They are preparing me 
For the memory that has been waiting at the door

He watches intently
My favorite memory
There just inside the room of my mind
Of my wildest fantasies
He has been here before
He has been here often
What nights those were
What days
When he would ravish me
Till I could hardly breathe
Fatigued and spent
In the aftermath of his
Love storm

Now he stands
And though I try to rise
To close the door
I’m held back by the others
Whispering all around me
"Let him in
Let him come in."

A smile plays on his lips
As he sees me weaken
His devouring eyes take in my form
I feel the heat of his gaze
As his eyes feast on me
In my revelry of love
And at his signal
The other memories quietly leave

I look at him shyly
As he draws the filmy dream curtains tight
Blocking out the light of reality
Blocking out everything but his entity
He walks over to me
Stopping to light scented candles
Stopping to make me feel
His close proximity
He is near

He looks down at me
Claiming me before even one touch
"I’ve come my passion flower
I’ve come again to make you bloom
Like that first time
That first time
You opened up to me."

And then he is here kneeling at my feet
Undressing me
His breath hot on my breast
His hands gently probing
His mouth tasting
His tongue teasing
His fingers...pleasing
"You are altogether beautiful"
He whispers 
And I can only sigh
As the memory of that first bloom
Comes alive in my mind
And he takes me again
Takes me
Like that first time
When I discovered
What it means
To find release
Quivering on the edge of
Eternity
Suspended in time
As I give in 
And let the streams flow
Falling free
Falling
Like the tears that fall
Glistening on my rosy cheeks

And as I lay spent in the silence
Of my own dark and dreary room
Savoring the fragrance of my memory
My memory of you
My first sensual dawn
My first taste of the heady mix
Of pleasure and pain
I know I must rise
To close the door of my mind again
This time I will lock it
This time, I will throw away the key
But the memory of that first bloom
Will find a way
To visit me again….
Oh, my love
For I cannot forget you
And that very first time
You made me...
***BLOOM***

Eileen Manassian


Details | Narrative |

Wild Flower

Wild Flower
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 In Death Of A Rose by Nate Spears
 
Rescue this sunflower
It's capable of being a ray of light
Nurture it, value it, and love it
Its petals are more delicate than they appear in sight
 
 A wild flower it is; but it displays beauty
The facts of its species remain unknown
Its fight to reach its true potential is admired
It’ birth to existence is undetermined
 It’s roots shows trauma
Its presentation brings hesitates to potential caregivers
No one's prepared to take a chance
This flower is destined to win
 
All earthly roots sprout from above
At some point in a life’s span; we could use a kiss or hug
 He who refuses to display any element of the wild
Is merely real
An artificial representation of life
Stuck in Styrofoam surrounded by fake moss and dust
No breath, no soul, non-existence
A human being choked from an outer dimension.
Rescue this wild flower with love.


Details | Narrative |

The day they fell

The day they fell


He stands before the great woods
Arms stretched, bracing the storm of machines
They roar and bark, trying to break his wall
But he stays put, Save the Forests he screams

The tress stand tall, lush and green
Seedlings sprout, Flowers bloom
Animals frolic in their wonderland 
Is the forest really meeting it's doom?

He stands before the great woods
Protecting everything it confides
Many plants and animals are within
Away from the human eye they hide

Even if you have never seen them
Just take a step inside
The feeling of life the smell of grass
Do u really want them all to die?

The machines don't care 
Around the forest they continue to surround 
They have never seen the wind 
And never heard the sounds 
 
They never felt the wind against their faces
Never heard the rustling of leaves
Never seen the life in the forest
Never understood that it brings relief

Fire shoots up as the forest screams 
Roars and crackles follow too
Animals run, plants sink to the floor 
As the machine consumes the forests full

The trees spend decades growing up
The animals spend years moving in
But it only takes seconds to burn it down
To burn the forest into the size of a pin

What has the forest done he wonders 
As He stands in front of the orange blaze
To deserve this kind of torturous pain
With Heat and sorrow right in his face


Details | Narrative |

The flower and love


I saw a flower in your hand
It does not matter
which flower you held
either a rose or a cherry
because flower is flower 
a sign of ever-love

You presented me a flower
with love
It does not matter 
how much it cost
because the cost of flower is love
and love only

A flower can stop a war
A flower can break 
the domestic walls of a narrow mind


Details | Narrative |

Diminished

Diminished
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A diminishing Rose Bush
With every pedal plucked, beauty is fading away
Losing its essence of greatness
As we proceed to deplete its history
Life flows away,

I remain standing above
Polluted soil
Naked,
Stems are bare and exposed
Vulnerable to the world and its nature
I give woes
I give worries
I give troubles
These are my possibilities
Then the death of a rose and destruction
Hits home

Bare my green,
My DNA shows traces of the best soils
Traced back to my mother’s land
Surrounded by fellow planted gold
Some will never know

Doing well isn’t doing well
We can’t bloom unless we unfold
Reproduce the best again
Stop dying daily for less than a win
There’s nothing we can’t do
That we’ve done once again

The next season will bring new pedals
I will never grow pass go anymore
Next year, beauty will flourish
Next season remains to nourish
Each season we should cherished
In our best moments
Each year is the best one of your life.


Details | Narrative |

Where The Wind Blows



            Fields of flowers sway to the onslaught of the purest of pure winds
                The fresh scent it gathers by brushing through the grass itself
                    The motions it creates a delicate change with every brush
                          It combs through the endless views of long slopes
                 The wind in fields are the purest of all it gathers life with in it
                 Pushing the way to the edge of the forest were it dies down
                        But I rather not say die because it still flows through
                         On top of the forest, above the rivers, and hills of old
                                                 Where the wind blows


Details | Narrative |

Competition

We have come from every district
In the whole of our large state.
We hold a big  convention,
Every year around this date.
We greet each other cheerfully,
I’ve been friends with some for years,
Then turn back to our creations as
Completion deadline nears.

We know what the judges hope to find, 
They come from our own ranks.
They look for beauty and harmony.
Their only pay is thanks. 
We’ve memorized the scale of points
On which entries will be judged.
Each judge knows the rules by heart
And will notice if we’ve fudged. 

I stand back from my exhibit
And sincerely make a try
To see not as a mother views her child,
But with honest judge’s eye.
I carefully adjust another line
Before it is time to depart.
The judges are impatient for 
Their judging rounds to start.

I wander to another room
Where judging is all done.
I find to my amazement that
My chamaecypais nookatensis has won.
It has taken the arboreal award.
That is a nice surprise.
But it is in the other room
Where result of my labor lies.

We try to cheer each other
As we stay to hear our fate.
The judging books are closing.
We will not have long to wait.
I spy from far across the way,
Red ribbon lying there.
My flower arrangement’s taken second,
Which to first cannot compare.

I hide my disappointment
And hold back a falling tear.
And vow to win the big one
In the Flower Show next year.


Won first with this
 








Details | Narrative |

Under May's Emerald Sky

Who remembers, is it only me?
One emerald morning in the month of May
Spread upon a kitchen table 
Paste made of flour, scissors, rainbow crayons 
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans… 

The memory shrugs so many years away
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Such sweet accomplishments, each our own

Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern, 
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew, 
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom

Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles

Timid knocking on a neighbor's door
Calling “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs would run fast, down the road, 
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing light to someone's eyes
Was worth a lot !!
Under Emerald May Day's vibrant skies



For Tracie's Contest: "Flowers or Stones"...."May"
1/17/12


Details | Narrative |

A Flower

A lonely flower 
Quiet and sad
Swaying to the melancholy song of the wind
No other flower for company
Only tall grass hiding her from the outside world
One day brought a wandering bee
Saw the flower
And lost his heart
To her slender beauty
He tenderly sat on her soft petals
Caressing her center with his mouth
Overjoyed on being so close
To this delicate being
She—her emotions were in turmoil
It felt like heaven 
When he caressed her
He danced from one petal to another
And she swayed in pleasure
The wind supplied the music
The sun came out to give warmth
The bee tenderly opened
The flower center
In he went and drank the sweet nectar
Which seemed to go on and on
Satisfied he came out
Saw the flower was pale
Slowly one by one
Her petals dropped
She bowed her slender head and died
There was a soft smile on her face
The satisfied smile
Of a full and happy life
He sadly looked on in silence
Swaying slowly with the melancholy wind.


Details | Narrative |

Then I saw her --3

...such joyful company. I put my coat on and 
was about to leave while still seeing my nun friend there with me when my pastor handed 
me a book to read. I declined even though I knew by now that if he gave me a book to 
read , I was meant to read it. Period. 
    But right now, I had this nun I didn’t know how to deal 
with and anyway I had not finished the last book he had given me so I thanked him and 
declined. 
I left and as I went out and started my rig, the vision began to fade. As I drove down the hill 
away from the rectory, the last I saw of her was her face with her lower lip protruding in a 
make believe pout. I stopped, turned around and went back to the rectory.I rang the bell and 
when my good friend the pastor answered, I told him that I thought that nun wanted me to 
read the book he attempted to give me. He reached over on the table, gave it to me and we 
bade each other good night. It was too dark to read the title so when I got home into the 
light, I saw the title…. “ The Story of a Soul” by Sister Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower of 
Jesus. She was a Carmalite nun who died in eighteen ninety seven at age twenty four who 
was since canonized by the Catholic church.
     I no longer can see her but know beyond a doubt she is with me and anyone else who 
wants her to help bring them closer to Jesus. 
     This, as Holy God is my witness, is a true story, told the best way I know how. Thank you 
Lord. And thank you our friend Therese,... the little flower of Jesus.


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