Best Campanula Poems
A-Z Latin and Common names of plants.
A is for Acanthus Mollis the Latin name but this does teach us
B is for the common name we know it as bears Breaches.
C is for Campanula some are short and some of them tower
D is for the common name the pretty blue Dalmatian Bellflower
E is for Erigeron a daisy like flower not keen on the rain
F is for its common name, a strange sounding Fleabane.
G is for Galtonia its nodding head like a bowing nymph
H is for the common name the snowdrop or summer Hyacinth.
I is for Imperata Ruba not so hardy let me tell you alas
J is for the common name It’s known as Japanese Blood Grass.
K is for Kniphoria Triangularis a tall flower when unfurled
L is for the common name the pretty Light of the World.
M is for Morus nigia a stately tree with hearts shaped leaves
N is not for the common name but NEEDS care when pruning as it bleeds
Oenothera biennis is for an ephemeral beauty a perfume delicate on the nose
P is for the common name, and we know it as the Evening Primrose.
Q is for Quercus Ruba a fast growing plant that looks tremendous against a wall
R is for the red leaves that this plant displays when in the fall
S is for Salvia greggii you will of heard of this I’ll will wage
T is for its common name we know it as a Texas Sage.
U is for Ugni a fruiting tree with leathery leaves that is second to none
V is for variety in fact in this tree there is only one.
W is for Wisteria that loves to ramble up wires and twist
X is for Xeranthemum the flowers are straw like and crisp
Y is for the Yucca plant a flowering beauty that last for weeks
Z is for Zantedeschia a lily, a variety of colours for you to seek.
© 27/03/2013
Larkspur blooming in the garden,
With violets in the dell;
Ask to beg some pardon,
Because their petals fell.
Roses climbing on the wall,
Reach up to find the light;
While lilies standing oh so tall,
Have throats that sing delight.
Columbine is reaching up,
Her colours sigh in vain;
And campanula lifts her cup,
To drink the falling rain.
The sunny shades of gold trefoil,
Are basking in the sun;
While hyacinths send scented oil,
To delight the nose of everyone.
Blue phlox lifts her lovely locks,
To sigh upon the breeze;
While poppies grow in scarlet flocks,
Their fires can but please.
Purple coneflower spreads her petals,
Around a browny head;
And hanging heads of soft bluebells,
Are like a blanket spread.
The goldenrod stands in the sun,
Bringing songbirds there to sing;
And asters bloom for everyone,
To beckon the butterfly wing.
The spreading spikes of bergamot,
Give honey to the bees;
And geraniums sit and think a thought,
Beneath the leafy trees.
Flowers come in many shades,
Their glory finds a place;
To soon the scented petal fades,
To soon the blooms erase.
I am standing in my garden amongst the beautiful flowers,
when a kaleidoscope of butterflies comes silently drifting.
Past my lovely primrose rockery, so bright and brilliant,
they find a purple cornflower by the fence just blooming.
All the colorful butterflies stop to kiss painted daisy,
then glide to the red bleeding hearts that are drooping.
They settle for a rest on the white campanula trumpets,
and give a gentle touch to the columbine just growing.
The blue larkspur called them over it seems to me,
so those tiny gems prance on over with joyful dancing.
Between yarrow, sage and yellow tick seed in bloom,
they spot purple echinacea and just came a flying.
The kaleidoscope of whirling wings is perfectly still,
then the parade of butterflies leave on wings fluttering.
But first- stop for a quick sip from my water fountain,
and then gone the colorful kaleidoscope of gems gliding.
_________________________
May 8, 2016
Poetry/Couplet/"Fly Gems"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-787-860-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies,
sponsor, Julia Ward
Third Place
As I stand in my garden amongst my flowers,
a parade of butterflies comes a drifting,
past my lovely brilliant Primrose rock garden,
and kiss my purple Cone flowers, blooming.
They all kissed my rainbow painted Daisies,
drifting over to my bleeding hearts, drooping,
settling on the white Campanula trumpets,
kissing the Columbine, by the fence, growing.
The blue Larkspur called them for a kiss,
so the tiny rubies pranced over dancing,
between Yarrow, Sage and yellow Tick seed,
they spotted Echinacea and came flying.
Floating, they kissed the orange Scabiosa,
then the parade left with wings a fluttering,
O, just stopping for a quick sip of fountain water,
and off they went, a parade of rubies, a drifting.
_________________________
June 6, 2013
Poetry/Rhyme/Butterfly Kisses
Copyright Protected, ID 06-483-757-06
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Along the walkway somewhere lilacs scent
And visions of grandeur waft betwixt my head
A “Hmm” after each new-ward notion, then
Like thistles, keep slipping through the cracks of zen
Why Campanula ringing out
Disturbed by the sounds unrenounced
Then I stop again, in an “ah ha!” revelation
Followed by the “No wait, that's not quite it” aggravation
When from on high, a mighty oak hits me on the acorn
“Oooh” suddenly things seem clearer more and more
And looking down I can't ignore the facts
Of my "that's it" underwear and my "oh no!" pants
Mr. August, the mature man with shining golden hair the color of a ripe cornfield,
He is slightly graying at the temples but his eyes are clear pools of deepest blue,
There are hard lines in his face, they are deep, he's strong it's part of who he is
He stands and looks around him heavy hands on his hips a tall man of rural beauty,
His serene presence hints of much wisdom a good age make his company so delightful,
Casting his eyes as far as can be seen he smiles because all is right for this time,
The rich soils are dry and pillows of clouds wisp across light blue turquoise skies,
The dark greenness of the fields, the meadows and the pastures are strong and sweet.
He watches cattle grazing on the richest grasses and they low because they are well,
The day warms and the cows lay easy, chewing cud a sight worthy of a painter’s hand,
Warm breezes temper the sun as a second spring is flowing through the healthy trees,
He nods to the mighty oak the king of the woods and forests and the trees wave back.
His eyes catch heather on the moors and the dust devils on the heath's new flowers,
They are all there in fine form, dog roses, blue chicory, hawk weed and honeysuckle,
And as he stands nearer he breathes sweet perfumes from his August summer gardens,
Looking to his glades knee deep in grass the blue campanula dances a flowers dance.
Nuts growing fast they are fat and green they hang in the tall hedges and woodlands,
There are more nuts in trees along old woodland lanes and deep in the dark forests,
He salutes the fading roses and kneels down to thank them they have done their duty,
Then waves goodbye to the foxglove with a warm smile and thanks her with a blown kiss.
Did the Foxglove blush, just a little?
August is mature with shining brown hair the colour of a ripe cornfield
Greying at the temples and his fringe he has clear eyes of deepest blue,
Deep smiling lines of crow’s feet on the sides of his rugged brown face,
He looks all around a strong tall a man one who was born to be a leader.
His serene presence of wisdom and age make him delightful company,
He smiles broadly when crops and orchards are ripe ready for his birds,
Feels the soil with callused hands as clouds wisp across a turquoise sky,
Walks through forests, woods and copses he breaths in air fit for a king.
He watches the cattle on the rich grass a gentle lowing from the beasts,
Staring at rich green grasses that have grown boldly on heath and field,
Rinsing rough hands in a cool spring flowing through the healthy trees,
Leaf mold has an earthy smell a good contrast to the woodland flowers.
On the moors and rich dusty commons heather covers a dry hard ground,
Scabiuses compete with blue chicory, hawkweeds and rich honeysuckle,
Perfume from his August splendour drift far away in warm gentle breezes,
Blue campanula is cascading down banks of thickets this the day of days.
Nuts hang in tall hedges by ancient woodlands green and sweet to taste,
Growing along old woodland lanes old path’s picked for Christmas Day,
He salutes the fading dog stars of the thousand year old thick hedgerows,
Walks towards a foxglove and kneels down, winks and blows her a kiss
Mr. August, the mature man with shining golden hair the color of a ripe cornfield,
He is slightly graying at the temples but his eyes are clear pools of deepest blue,
There are hard lines in his face, they are deep, he's strong it's part of who he is
He stands and looks around him heavy hands on his hips a tall man of rural beauty,
His serene presence hints of much wisdom a good age make his company so delightful,
Casting his eyes as far as can be seen he smiles because all is right for this time,
The rich soils are dry and pillows of clouds wisp across light blue turquoise skies,
The dark greenness of the fields, the meadows and the pastures are strong and sweet.
He watches cattle grazing on the richest grasses and they low because they are well,
The day warms and the cows lay easy, chewing cud a sight worthy of a painter’s hand,
Warm breezes temper the sun as a second spring is flowing through the healthy trees,
He nods to the mighty oak the king of the woods and forests and the trees wave back.
His eyes catch heather on the moors and the dust devils on the heath's new flowers,
They are all there in fine form, dog roses, blue chicory, hawk weed and honeysuckle,
And as he stands nearer he breathes sweet perfumes from his August summer gardens,
Looking to his glades knee deep in grass the blue campanula dances a flowers dance.
Nuts growing fast they are fat and green they hang in the tall hedges and woodlands,
There are more nuts in trees along old woodland lanes and deep in the dark forests,
He salutes the fading roses and kneels down to thank them they have done their duty,
Then waves goodbye to the foxglove with a warm smile and thanks her with a blown kiss.
Did the Foxglove blush, just a little?