Best Begonia Poems
This global pandemic causes confusion from social isolation.
In a virtual world without human touch - there will be irritation.
When burdens of life, echo like chunks of tumbling rubble
mind is misplaced in intense injustice - inflicting trouble.
With no desire for fake and scentless artificial flowers,
the soul is soothed by buds which flourish in April showers.
To sit in smooth stillness of silence, admiring nature's grace,
a paradise of petals, guide emotions to that peaceful place.
Windmill palm spreads its charm among yellow, white, lilac roses,
darling dahlia in hues of pink and white gaze at fuchsia poses.
Lovable lobelia and bewitching begonia hang from baskets,
above a colony of bees living under a pen for rabbits.
Bees buzz among an abundance of blossoming nectar,
their aim to *bee their queen's favourite honey collector.
A poet's eyes will always admire vibrant butterfly wings,
a poet's ears will always listen to melodies a bird sings.
A flower garden is a silent sanctuary - inspiring one's muse,
like rain after a hot day, refreshing buds in twilight dews.
If fate and destiny depended upon the sowing of seeds,
how would you cultivate ideas to prevent the growth of weeds?
The Silent One
15 August 2020
*deliberately spelt as bee (not a spelling mistake)
With the incoming sounds of spring, a resurrection of life,
the chilliness flees. Quote _ by Poet
Ready for a new season, Spring birds
Shake off winter; embracing
The bonniest warmness weather,
Babies born, and color of nature's crowns.
Scarlet Tanagers chatter, flying round,
Feasting on caterpillar’s slowness
And beetles boring away that are found;
whilst
Eternal sunlight reft through sturdy limbs
And myriad leaves of the mighty old oak;
Rapid rhythm clatter drum sounds
Of the Woodpecker on its breast shout.
A hum, a garden faintly woo a smile
At song sung by pretty red feather Robin dancing.
A sweet kiss, a seed, the male Cardinal
Feeds his blush pretty mate favor.
Yonder pond, tree boughs
Teasing the water's edge
Whilst
Little Mallard ducklings
Follow mamma to the bank.
Bluebird builds her nest
Right in the heart of the sprouting
Redbud flowering tree.
Camouflage in the red begonia
An orange breasted Oriole
With its sweet enchanting sound.
On the horizon the fire fades out,
Hush around in high perch, tiny roosting
Cold blue moon comes into sight.
2/26/2021
Poetry Contest: Spring Birds
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I’m feral like a fox
misplaced in the
maroon mists
of wilderness,
only found in
woeful woodland.
My skin is blanketed
in crimson balmy
hyacinth feathers
from a
forsaken rainforest.
Misguided on
delusional paths,
where spring-tides
mirror liquified colors
of warm diamond tears
I’ve suppressed
behind ice blue sighs.
And I’ve seen
splintered petals
beneath thick-leaved
jewel orchids,
that surrendered
to greying leaves
on tainted twigs
and broken branches.
I’ve walked through
fields of thorns
where the
musky scent
of roses remained
a poison to
my aching soul.
So, why does it
feel like I’m chained
from vines of changes,
that suffocate
the sun within me,
crucifying the fragility
of premature
begonia beginnings?
Am I to follow
the darkness,
to cast away the evil,
constantly pushing me
into a cave of
cacophonous silence?
As I see beyond
the gossamer veil,
hiding sharpened talons
of treacherous eagles-
flying amongst
vicious vampires;
emerald foes
masked as friends,
feeding my conscience
with cruel concoctions,
oblivious to the truth,
that I am a bark believer
of marigold miracles.
So let the
steel black breeze
and the
faceless ghosts
of fleeting time,
witness how I
rise against
wicked wolves
lurking behind
stars within
a chiffon laced
canopy of nightfalls.
For, I am more
than the empty labels
you’ve placed,
like the shame,
I’ve buried beneath
lyrical lies drizzling
from vanilla skies.
A is for Aster dancing in the wind
B is for Begonia as many as you can find
C is for Cornflower adorning a maiden’s hair
D is for Dandelion waving in the air
E is for English Daisy shining silver along the brook
F is for Fairy Wings kept in granny’s book
G is for Geranium in our pretty garden
H is for Hollyhock atop the Afghan’s turban
I is for Impatiens a carpet beneath the tree
J is for Jewelweed visited by the bee
K is for Kalimeris white as the snow
L is for Lily that in the church glow
M is for Marigold all over the hills
N is for Naranjilla without any frills
O is for Orchids that the pretty lady got
P is for Pansy drawn on the riverside yacht
Q is for Quail bush bright in the summer sun
R is for red rose in the senora’s bun
S is for Sunflower thousands in the field
T is for Tailflower out of its shield
U is for Uncarina deep in Madagascar
V is for Verbascum shaped like a star
W is for Wisteria soft as satin dress
X is for Xyris which grows without a fuss
Y is for yew fresh as spring dew
Z is for Zinnia that once in the yard grew
These flashes of colours in our everyday life
Gives meaning to that endless strife
1/03/13
By- Tahera Mannan
Dare you look deep into this darkness
Persecution of Jews - Holocaust
In Hebrew, this has the genocide
been called Shoah,
which means disaster or destruction
The journey has just begun,
and it is far from over
The destination is Auschwitz
to a place without return
The smell of vomit, urine and excrement is overwhelming
Without food and water, trapped in an unbearable heat
Everything is better than nothing
witch's brew, eaten with Satan's fork
made of bats, rats, worm and mice
The vultures is the bird and the messenger
who hunt along the train tracks
Dark tracks ... Jews were sent in closed
freight wagon - before they ended their lives in gas chambers
Their souls destroyed by evil and hatred
Neither will, power, alliances
or the strongest alpha males
- cannot escape the dirty claws of the Nazis
A young mother was raped by the soldiers
White dress with sewn-on transparent arms
a newborn baby suckles the mother's naked breast
It is definitely not for the faint of heart
Shoah !
Through tears, sweat and blood,
from generation to generation
At home in the window frame a red Begonia blooms
- for the last time
The door is branded with a yellow star
13/04/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Last Train To Auschwitz Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
1st place in the contest
I tiptoed through the tulips
And leapt over the lavender bed
I covered the ground in red rose petals
And laid out a picnic spread
I winked at the Black Eyed Susans
And flirted with the buttercups
I sipped my glass of dandelion wine
As my eyes drank all the beauty up
I patronized the pansies
And was mesmerized by marigolds
I assembled all the azaleas
Into my memory portfolio
I borrowed from the begonia
Her bouquet of wondrous smells
And listened for the tinkling
Of little silverbells
I was dazzled by the daffodils
Enjoying every one of them
And couldn’t take my eyes off
Of the blooming geranium
I snapped pictures of petunias
And was patient with the impatiens
I love the lily of the valley
Not to would be a sin
The garden is my canvas
Springtime her coming out
My favorite time of year
Of that there is no doubt
written and posted on 4/5/2012
The orchid moon and I look in kind
at the dimpled ocean's
aubergine plain, meandering thought's
violet caves. I've lost my way
in the lavender vortex
of a tuberous begonia.
A July storm has passed.
Brackish petrichor lilts with the purr
of surf, now jade in lilac light,
unfolding on mulberry sand,
effervescing at my ankles,
gentle as cat fur.
This full moon buoys
out past merlot bluffs,
reposing on a mauve ribbon
between sea and plum sky;
periwinkle stars beg to spark
beside the aura of a steadfast satellite
that casts the grape of night
in fixed solitude.
Charlieku (var of 2-3-4)
engraved bubbling hark! the tinkling
on hard rock with happiness laughter
a pact of love wild daisies of bluebells
blooming the joy begonia
with rising sun of giving sweet promises
chicory no bartering at stake
meditation like a crocus her words
in the woods open up a fleeting touch
silence to warmth of warm breeze
justice- frothy bridge crossing
truth is not indulgence the stream and I
exchangeable morning pleasure skipping
a free deal riding waves soulful
at the grocer’s- living clarity
gossip for the moment chickadee’s song
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Charlieku 4-3-2 Contest
Hosted by Charles Messina
Placed 2nd
© 15th October 2018
Words are not enough
Language of April showers
Say it with flowers.
Gracious camellia
Daintily posing, but in vain
Begonia lost in thought.
Desirable
Hopes teeming with ambition
Of a stargazer.
From friendship to love
Exchanging yellow petals
With the deepest red.
Delicate beauty
Of hibiscus in full bloom
Inspires iris.
A blushing lilac
Unaware of dawning day
Dreaming of first love.
Bittersweet flower
Ever loyal to the end
Won’t betray a friend.
Parting time is near
Save the memories within
And forget-me-not.
Yellow hyacinth
With a heart that knows no peace
Nest of jealousy.
Morning breeze scatters
The rich fragrance of jasmine’s
Deep sensuality.
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* Hanakotoba is the language of flowers.
** each flower is bestowed with symbolism & meaning.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Any Poem#21
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placing: 8th
cat, death, dog, flower, nature, rain,
HAIKU
It rained cats and dogs
My begonia bit the dust!
Dead-drunk begonia!
Spring Flowers
Allium is raising Spring’s alarm.
Begonia is beating Spring’s drum.
Crocus is Spring’s first charm.
Daffodils dance in delighted decorum.
Easter redbud shines in red glow
Freesia sends descent scent to flow
Gardenia is gorgeous in pretty white.
Hyacinths honour holy Spring being polite.
Iris idly smiles sweet and shyly nod.
Jasmine is glorious as gift of God.
Kangaroo paw beautifies the mother tree.
Lilac shrubs swing inn cheers and glee.
Marigolds make merry in Spring garden,
Never become extra or season’s burden.
Overwhelming jewel as Spring detector
Primrose rose inviting bees for nectar.
Quenching thirst of Spring – admirer
Rose realms supreme in reign of flower.
Scilla shows softness in purple and blue.
Tiger Lily looks top in fantastic hue.
Under Spring’s canopy Sun never turns arrogant.
Viburnum makes Spring bright and brilliant.
Witch Hazer shrubs call yellow tune to sing.
X’mas gets sad being deprived of splendid spring.
Yellow anemone sparkles like amber star
Zinnia is zealous to dazzle and glitter.
When In Paris
I think I see
you
lost under
some umbrella
and in my imagination
I am so lonely here
I stop on sidewalks
and let my keys
slip to the ground
with my address engraved
I walk to the old and settled in the parks
I pretend you are one of them
with hands that smell of crosswords
and begonia cuttings,
arms gently stretched out for the pigeons
And then at night
in my room
I cut holes in the bathroom mirror
and ask the ghosts
to rattle the table and make the mattress squeak.
© Gry W Christensen
It’s a pleasure to walk out on a Winter’s day,
When the cold air bites, and deep snow’s here to stay!
To hear the wind howling through the bare trees,
Perhaps hear the sound of a chickadee sneeze!
But then, I love to walk in the pouring rain
Without a hat! It cools my overworked brain!
Nothing beats that feeling, when you’re freezing cold.
It’s something to remember, when I get old.
Always supposing I will reach old age!
And yes! I like to go out on a Spring morn.
For when taking a walk, I’m glad to be born.
Though rubber boots leak, making feet sore, and wet.
I’m soaked to the skin! Can I get wetter yet?
There’s a Westerly wind screaming through the trees!
Better I think, than walking in a light breeze!
I slip and slither, and finally fall down.
If the puddle were deeper, I’d likely drown!
Then of course, I’d never reach old age!
When Summer is here, I enjoy a long walk.
To be out in the heat, when it’s hard to talk!
As sweat pours from every part of my being.
People can hardly believe what they’re seeing!
Dust sticks to my brow. I smell rancid and strong.
If you don’t like my smell ? Then best move along!
Still in rubber boots, though they make my feet stink!
I look so disgusting, it makes some folks blink!
I doubt they’ll let me live to reach old age!
In the Fall, I’ll be going out once again
Coughing and sneezing, I’ll slosh through the rain!
The chickadee died. He caught pneumonia!
So I buried him under the red begonia!
There’s a rash on both legs, and my nose is sore.
I’ve no handkerchief left, to blow it once more!
There’s an ache in my right ear, and fungus grows,
Itching and burning between most of my toes!
I’m amazed I’ve lived to reach old age!
Now, as another good year gets under way,
Why I wonder, are things tough for me today?
All I want, are the simple pleasures in life.
Maybe a good woman, to make me a wife!
But for some reason, they’re very hard to find.
Though I’ll still keep trying while I have a mind!
By until that day when I find one to train,
I’ll keep to myself. Out in the pouring rain!
At present no one cares if I reach old age?
Rhymer.
Bathing in the afterglow of sunset,
nature’s inflorescence meadows charm tread.
Sprays of flowers for my woven basket.
Gleam before the blooms fade and all forget.
Lavender, Daffodil, Take Me Instead!
Bathing in the afterglow of sunset.
Balm Jasmine, Hyacinth, Granny’s Bonnet,
slightest glow of early morning love shed.
Sprays of flowers for my woven basket.
Marigold, Primrose, at bay ... they trumpet,
raising spring voices in radiance bed.
Bathing in the afterglow of sunset.
Freesia, Begonia, nimbus duet,
rainbow chardonnay bouquet, insect fed.
Sprays of flowers for my woven basket.
Splashes of color for the daily fret,
nourishing aglow with warmth, grace breath spread.
Bathing in the afterglow of sunset.
Sprays of flowers for my woven basket.
It takes some courage to eat a legume's fruit
knowing what is known of each poisonous part
of the locust (although the flowers may be frittered).
What's pushing up through the leaf litter
before the canopy is out, past the stone fence?
Wild lily-of-the-valley is my guess.
Of 140,000 soldiers, less than 1% have considered
the fruit of the desert surprisingly good and varied.
They have stayed and married women who are crows
and will, circumstances dictating, fight for you.
We have waited and waited for this election
and now we're divided into just two factions.
If everyone votes and every vote's counted there will be
nothing for either faction to crow about. All will be
well with the republic and in the world what will be will be.
What responsibility does a citizen bear
for participating in a war, blowing the roofs
off houses, exposing the beds and clean-swept floors?
Warriors at the gate, you will not run,
you will not bargain. Dig in deep, feet
overhanging the abyss, protect your children.
I poured water into the dry vase of garden cultivars -
snapdragon, phlox, begonia, bluebell, mint -
and have they not rewarded me with their collective scent?