Best Hyacinth Poems
In a hyacinth bed of seven stars,
winter fairies waltz in pearl elegance~
a token of faith engrossed amidst scars,
while skies drizzle rain in fruity essence.
Angel of sleep seeks through frost's icy thorn,
fallen feathers soar towards jasmine moon,
when lotus light within soul is reborn,
listen to the tree of life sigh and croon.
Somewhere between daisy dusks and rose dawns,
seeds of sun unfurl promises in gold,
sowing herbs of hope across sequined lawns.
In the realm of healing, love I behold.
The winged god Zephyrus, handsome and graceful
gently flapped his wings, gliding across the meadows.
His eyes fell on naked youths splashing at play
in the sparkling water of a deep wide pool, sheltered
by willow trees, where fragrant flowers bloomed.
He slowed his flight and looked with lust and admiration.
On the green grass he espied a tender youth;
athletic and beautiful was this young Spartan prince,
scantily dressed, playing his flute with nimble touch.
Zephyrus’ heart fluttered and leapt; he could not help
falling deeply in love with beautiful Hyacinth.
Little did he know that he was already being
courted by Apollo! Out of sight he lay in wait
then made his move and sought him out at sunset.
He approached him and with golden words he tried
to tempt his heart, but all in vain. Though impressed,
Hyacinth remained firm and faithful to Apollo.
That night, Zephyrus many restless hours spent
alone, ignoring Chloris’s sexual charms.
Entangled thoughts engulfed his frenzied mind,
jealousy clawed at his heart, tore deep within.
Dawn arrived, and bleary eyed he hastened forth
towards the hills, in search of calm respite.
Alas, it was not meant to be; envy reared its head
with poisoned fangs that sent him reeling mad.
Emotions changed from red to green, and in despair
he flew high up, aimlessly circling in the sky.
Then all at once, upon a verdant field below,
he caught sight of Hyacinth and Apollo
playfully engaged in discus throwing.
The green-eyed monster lunged and with swift intent
Zephyrus blew a gust of wind that swerved the discus
from its route and it hit Hyacinth on the head
resulting in instant death. Jealousy prevailed.
Furious yet heartbroken, Apollo held Hyacinth
tightly in his arms, blood dripping from his temple;
and with one last act of love he changed that blood
into a most beautiful flower called Hyacinth.
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He came to me and gently brought,
the fairest flowers of His thought.
Joy arrived with euphoric mums,
softly as the hummingbird hums.
Purity blown from baby’s breath,
ever innocent until death.
Peace pervaded purest poppy,
tranquil bliss nothing can copy.
Happiness borne from pure lily,
butterfly wings, dainty and frilly.
Gratitude from feathered pink rose;
praises for His blessings arose.
Humility spread bold bluebells,
silken as bunnies’ cotton tails.
Faith that flourished in bright iris,
no other bloom so desirous.
Hope sprung forth from gladiolus,
comforting as lotus’ solace.
Love effused from fan-shaped aster,
greatest from our Lord and Master.
Graciousness shone from all flowers,
teaching of His perfect powers.
My ego-cracker, silent observer and prayer flag hoister …
she birthed bloodied an embodied freedom seeker, genes helixed with slavery, in early hours of a winter’s day, cold was dark room
petunia posy planter fed four mouths marjoram on Malay curry and rice, with scarcity being her best stage act when hunger a primary protagonist
she announced there was nothing when everything circled happily, then declared abundance when cupboards stared dust
Piscean, she presented toughest tests with hyacinth hands, only an embattled Heart would accede to, shook away delicious aloe dreams as tests rounded a corner with bed lamps flickering time out
my spinal cord nerves entwined with hers, she decorated with wondrous wild animal decoupage vases, dispatching me on shopping chores when I planned dancing ~
my leap into sublimated Sovereignty depended on unraveling bonds binding us through lifetimes, countless ages, sotto scenarios swirling sorrowfully in shore walk shells
I despairingly detached from her plundering pain, her principal pleasures, subtle oomph
a sophisticated Archetype hallowed that Jung would label Grecian Urn shallow
I offered awaiting Sky breasts, hips and sighs through strategies of temperance and slow witch manoeuvring
my divinity and verses would have black burnt in futuristic coliseums had she not been Mother of trailing pegs, variegated embroidery cotton and oatmeal scones
~~~~~~~~~~~
He stole the heart of the Sun
Charmed the western wind
Then on a whim
He played a game with them
at the greatest cost
It was a terrible fight
For by jealousy's might
And the discus's flight
Hyacinth's life was lost
Said Hyacinth
Shadow is in my garden again.
That Ugly chubby plumb British bulldog.
Why can't the Hamilton's keep her over there.
This a place for birds, bees
and gently dragon fly.
Yet comes this slob rubbing up on my roses.
You rascal!
Just look at you,
sprawled legs scattered up in the air
soaking in the sunshine.
Never mind,
just take your fat overfed self and run along.
Yes I am talking to You!
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 6/24/2016
Dictatorship is water hyacinth
once it infests water
it shocks aquatic life
limits fishermen
terrorizes fish at home
difficult to eradicate
and benefits a few
Pink and purple blossoms in clusters
Bulbs are revisiting from generation to more
Chills run across goose flesh from the frigid winters
Pink and purple blossoms in clusters
Icy snowflakes blusters
Sunshine decieves as winter roars
Pink and purple blossoms in clusters
Bulbs are revisiting from generation to more
Triolet in honor of Brian Strand
On a summer’s day
Hyacinths are in flower
In shallow water.
Long has lived the legend of her,
In sunsets of scarlet and violet,
When fields were scented in lavender--
Her theme fragrance lingers yet!
Dainty and elegant in lilac dress,
Hyacinth lives next to a grapevine,
Petite, pretty, pert, purple princess;
Upon her grapes she loves to dine.
The Princess of Purple reigns afar,
In the warm gaze of her mother, Sun;
In her royal robes--no other her par,
Highlighting all that she touches upon.
Hyacinth's rings of amethyst shine,
Like the starlight would if it could;
She's summer gladness and autumn wine,
Her home's a place called Wildwood!
She's wont to wear violets in her hair,
Which is somewhat the color of ripe plum;
A piercing ebony stare, beyond compare,
And each sunset's a purple martyrdom!
Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.
Fragrance of butterflies
or angel flutter
and
cloud float.
Scent of pastel
sun butter,
a soprano bird note.
Falling into the hyacinth sky as
your mouth is filled with my name:
I am eternal.
Eyes of violet and skin so smooth to touch
Fingers so thin yet so strong in their clutch
In the late summer wind, you are no mere man
You've tamed armies and Gods, and named cults and clans.
Strength and yet, I see how fragile you are
Brilliant as the sun, and sweet as the stars
You watched me as no one ever has before
No fear and no caution, just love to your core.
Dance with me in the cold, autumn air
Persephone descends, but we soar in our care
Deity, I am, and you, his mighty Majesty
Together, our love will bloom deep into history.
Highness, my prince, so many admire you
Mortals, Gods alike, to the nymphs of the blue
But in the winter frost, you seek only me
And I seek your brilliance that only I can see.
The flowers bloom soon, and while I will miss
How snow glows in your hair as you smile in bliss
I wish to see you amidst a field in full bloom
Your grin so bright it chases away gloom.
And I hold you amidst beauty that pales
To your grace, your words, the wind in your sails
I tell you — your beauty, it will never fade away
Even the West Wind will behold it with each passing day.
I lingered to enjoy the moment,
ending the eleven-month intermission,
as the sweet aroma reached me
from the garden behind the house.
The hyacinth had returned
without fanfare or recognition
by bulbs not yet broken forth,
or buds pregnant with the glory of spring.
I followed the unforgettable scent
to its humble position beside the hellebore,
and admired my early spring friend
before me in perfect health.
With one whiff, everything changed.
Last year’s faded images of spring renewed,
and the value of life increased
in a moment. In a breath.