Best Flowerpots Poems
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.
Black onyx night, of the pearlescent moon,
diamond dew kissed, musk rose red.
Deep purple and white passion!
Phantoms dance in lilac dreams;
around the corner of blooms,
with memories of sunshine.
Comparing lovely costumes,
in fields, beds and flowerpots,
just steps away from moonlight.
A polka dot rainbow flared.
The names of the poems from which each line
above was taken, is listed in order:
1. Precious Black Night
2. Sunshine Missed
3. Lilacs Lacy
4. A Fruitful Day
5. Hibiscus Hypnotic
6. Van Gogh's Flowers
7. A Final Sundown
8. Impossible Primroses
9. Redolent
10. Polka Dot Rainbow
My thumb’s not any shade of green
Yet on my windowsill
Are varied plants in flowerpots,
So water them, I will.
Most stay the same; they grow a bit
But really do not thrive,
Although I’m happy just to know
They somehow stay alive.
And yet my orchid plant (a gift)
Has flowered several times
Despite the fact my city home’s
Not like its native climes.
I watch the buds and patiently
Await their opening
So grateful to them these dark days
For all the joy they’ll bring.
Wintry white weather whirling westward,
whooshing wildly when winds wrestle.
Snowflakes swirling starting snowy stacks.
Spring showers sprout saplings
some scattering so softly.
Florist fashions flowing florets
flowers form filling flowerpots.
Summer sunshine sets
sending sunrays sideways shimmering so sparkly.
Pool parties prove popular pastime plan.
Fall foliage falling fiercely
Floating, flipping, flopping… fell!
Autumn afternoon adventure
accumulating apples, apricots, and acorns.
Water of the sublime dusk
Slow moving, decorated in color
A idea by the sea
Moonlight shines on jasmine blossoms
Waves and wind making ripples,
crickets begin to sound
Where do streams flow?
Poise in an old oil lamp
Fantasies filled with fireflies
Romance in an old wine glass
Bonfire on the shoreline blazes
Olive oil, garlic, parsley
Time, a clock stopped
Adventure amidst blooming peonies
Breeze blows the silk curtain
Our dialogue is an easel
Colors of oil paints run freely
Our love an old country road
Reflections of children playing.
Fall trees caress my dreams
I whistle, walking the shore
Felt spires in lilac clouds
Wreaths and garland ideals
Brick alleys with flowerpots
Away from the dark shadows
Birds singing on a wire
Day and night like lovers
Colors soft prism rainbows
Storms as soft as velvet
Peace, a quiet river
Cheryl Koomoa
© 2016 Cheryl Koomoa ( rights reserved)
o civilizations
o development and progress
in your rapid stride,
in your vain pride,
to vanquish the nature ,
u have robbed from man
his happiness , and pleasure
the mirth ,joy and contentment of life
have taken a flight
in a mad race to survive
the chirping of birds ,
the song of woods,
the freshness of flowers,
the springing life of spring
that the season brings
alas! they all have become the
casualty of climatic change
the nest of sparrow,
straight and narrow
hanging on a branch of tree
seldom will you get a chance to see
now seasons are grown in
flowerpots and vase
feel if you can
in your imagination and thoughts
For the first time ever,
a Cardinal's nest lay cleverly hidden
in a juncture of two branches
of the red rose climber
on the south wall of our garage.
Over the years, we'd watched with pleasure
as House Finches, Eastern Phoebe,
Bluebirds, and Wrens nested in flowerpots,
birdhouses, spruce trees, and on porch walls.
Purple Martins snootily passed us by
in spite of elaborate housing provided.
Once, a Rufous-sided Towhee deposited
her eggs on the ground, underneath
a large cedar tree near the driveway.
We mowed around them, shooed turtles
toward distant woods, and watched
eggs hatch, babies fly into the future.
Cardinal babes were a new and welcome
experience. Almost daily, we peeked.
But grief came quickly with eagle eye,
hooked talon, and razor-edged beak.
A Cooper's Hawk left a shattered nest,
a mother's heart ripped apart, and us,
feeling her pain to the marrow of our bones.
It is a morning in early spring
I see my flowerpots filled with left over growth
So ugly and demised
Peaceful and quiet ,until the surprise
Of multiple leaf blowers
From every corner of the neighborhood
It was as though they called each other out
Funny one man starts his and it must prompt
the rest
Lets see who can do there best
Soon my head was filled with noise
from every angle of the yard
Dogs would be barking, babies waking from their naps
All for the sake of leaves
God is there no rest from this weary place
What ever happened to a man using his rake?
Winter snow make branches bow
The birds are careful as they land
Icicles and ice crystals make them glint like jewels
Dressed in these necklaces the tree looks grand.
The branch of hope is Spring
Tiny buds hold up their heads
Birds are dancing on the branch of love
Pairs fly off to build nests for the off spring ahead
Summer sun, the branches raise a majestic arm
Apple blossoms abound
Perfume of angels fed by the bees
Whilst butterflies drift on a musical sound
Leaves of Autumn are falling leaving branches bare
Squirrels hide their nuts in the flowerpots I think,
Many smokey garden fires, until raindrops cool the air.
Hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate drink
vibrant primroses
in countless arresting shades
bring back the glad smiles
sunshine symphonies
in fields, beds and flowerpots
rhapsodic summer
fragrance from a dream
dreamt in the heart of winter
under the pearl moon
teeming colors mass
for a doomed beauty contest
baffling all judges
In a local hardware store,
An old one – not a chain –
I found just what I needed,
Though I thought I’d search in vain.
Some saucers for my flowerpots
So water wouldn’t drip.
I’d recently transplanted
And I had to re-equip.
Imagine my surprise, though;
On these saucers, what’d I see?
A label boldly stating
They were “Made in Germany.”
It really goes to show you,
Since that gave me such a shock,
That it’s rare to find an import
That is not from Chinese stock.
Guess some other countries export,
Or at least it so appears,
But more likely, my new saucers
Have been on that shelf for years!
Dandelions and daffodils
Baby's Breath and violets, mix
In flowerpots on window sills
A sparrows nest built broken sticks
Cracked open shells, first flights from chicks
Testing their wings and flying skills
One day they'll learn to make their fix
A nest for chicks, up in the hills
We wear are days on our skin
Truth seeking pilgrims in the land of the grim
So long ago the winds rustle in,
Lost cities filled with neighborhood friends
We wake up to a day we try and defend
Useless wars we wage to the end
Betting on stars to the bitter end
Cosmic chapters and newest trends
Hillside views and perfect spots
Mangled up bones and flowerpots
Surface allusion and sandy thoughts
To go on forever or just sound off......
In a little country village
in a cottage near a farm,
was a curious little kitten
that was knitted out of yarn.
In a rainbow’s worth of colours
from its tail of strawberry red,
to the blue and yellow ears
which sat alert atop its head.
Created by a gentleman
who’d lived a long fine life,
and had taken up the hobby
to impress his darling wife.
It had whiskers long and dangly
its eyes were round and small,
from the top down to the bottom
it was all of four inch tall.
And in the country cottage
where the three of them reside,
there are lots of clever places
for a yarn kitten to hide.
In the kettle, or the flowerpots;
under cushions on the chairs;
inside the ladies’ slippers
at the bottom of the stairs.
High atop the cupboards;
or low beneath the bed;
and once inside a bucket
in the little potting shed.
It’s a source of great amusement
in the little country home,
to discover all the places
that the yarn kitten might roam.
As the lady and the gentleman
take turns in their sweet game,
to find the little kitten
and then hide it once again.
Poetry is made with
rivers that flow through us,
flowerpots
and flowers that we
adorn life ...
With clothes
not wearing bodies ... bodies
naked without clothes ...
Walls that
suddenly speak,
mirrors that
abruptly
show themselves ...
Voices manifested,
inner voices never
before spoken ...
Voices of ourselves,
only at this time
whispered...