Best Rock Garden Poems
As I stood in my garden amongst my flowers,
a parade of blue butterflies was drifting;
past my lovely brilliant primrose rock garden,
they kissed a purple cornflower growing.
They stopped and caressed rainbow painted daisy,
drifting over to drooping bleeding hearts;
resting on white campania with their trumpets,
like sparkling garden gems quietly hovering.
Blue larkspur and columbine called for them,
the tiny rubies twirled over in a waltzing dance;
and between yarrow, sage and yellow tick seed,
they spotted echinacea and came fluttering.
Floating on over they kissed orange scabiosa,
then the assemblage of sweet butterflies left;
just stopping for a quick sip of fountain water,
and gone this parade of fluttering blue gems.
__________________________
August 11, 2015
Poetry/Verse/"Fluttering Gems"
Copyright Protected, ID 15- 699-038-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Late Summer Premier Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
___________________________
Submitted to,Any Poem Written in 2015, Contest
sponsor, Julia Ward
Third Place
___________________________
Submitted to, Butterflies Among Us, Contest
sponsor, A Skat
Fourth Place
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
heaved, convulsed
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
transformed
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
and automobiles
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
lifeless form
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
awaiting still
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
~~~~~~~~~
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
by ~Soulfire~
Amassed in flamboyant Azalea blooms when my garden is free of the cold.
Bird of Paradise, dressed in purple and orange, wear their colors so bold.
Crocus bloom when the mounds of snow finally melt and say, "Goodbye."
Daffodils display delightful faces and seem to be greeting me with a, "Hi."
Easter Cactus in pink and salmon, adds bursts of color in hanging pots.
Favorite in my garden are the carpets of romantic little Forget-Me-Nots.
Gardenia shrubs line my walkways with sweetest scent to tempt the bees.
Hyacinths are compact flowers on a single stem, but cause me to sneeze.
In early Spring my beds of Irises trumpet that a new season has begun.
Jasmine on the vine attracts hummingbirds in my garden spots full of sun.
Kerria bushes keep my yard enhanced in shades of chartreuse and gold.
Lily of the Valley is said to bring lots of happiness to the young and old.
Mock Orange, a pretty perfumed flower, prim and proper in purest white.
Nandina, Heavenly Bamboo, have bronzed red leaves of medium height.
Oleander clusters are a riot of color on the end of green foliage so tall.
Peonies add charm and grace in pink pastels all along my garden wall.
Queen of the Prairie in the landscape, reach up to the sun and the sky.
Rusty Foxglove is a late Spring perennial, I find very pleasing to the eye.
Sharing a treasured vase with them, I will select the lovely Shasta Daisy.
Three Lobe Spirea (Bridal Veil), is so easy to grow it could make me lazy.
Under the shade trees grow Urn Bromiliads, on driftwood from the river.
Verbena is Queen of the rock garden, in shades of burgundy she'll deliver.
Wisteria, in white or lavender, hangs in sadness until it withers away to die.
Xylosma blooms in masses of berries, in hedge rows of separation they lie.
Yarrow's blossoms are medicinal, likes dry soil and an occasional drought.
Zesty Zephyr Lily can grow in the wild but it's one I could never do without.
{April 23rd, 2016 ~ Shadow Hamilton's "Spring Flowers" Contest}
Ajuga, will be a must, a blue beauty that blows in the wind.
Bellflowers, charming and faithful and lovely, of course I must have
Candy Tufts from gardens of long gone, enchanting. And mother's favourite,
Daylilies, in a rainbow of colors, Delphinium and Daffodils also, so dramatic.
Evening Primrose along the fence will create quite a stir, and on the porch
False Watercress spilling out of a container, and then old dependable,
Geraniums and Glory In The Snow, I love my dreamy dream of spring flowers.
Hyacinths, scented jewels of color sparkle in my garden, along with
Iris Reticulata, an early spring treasure, it will be a wonderful place.
Jacob's Ladder, with blue-purple blooms, mingle with Johnny-Jump-Ups.
Kalmia Latifolia, pure white blooms, related to the laurel family.
Lily-of-the Valley, so sweet and fragrant, how could I forget you and,
Meadow Rue, a lavender wave in the wind, and anther old dependable,
Nasturium, a gardeners dream and it is also edible. Oh my list is long!
Oriental Poppy, was there ever a more heavenly gift from God, except maybe
Pasque Flower, unfolding from beneath the snow, and those Pansies and Petunias!
Queen Anne's Lace, so pretty is her lacework, did you know ishe is a wild carrot?
Rosemary, with a scented pretty flower, like dew in the morning is a must, as is
Sage, that billowy haze of lavender, pushing away the rainbow Snapdragons.
Thrift, delightful vintage touch to my rock garden in the shade, sweet the tulips too.
Umbrella Magnolia growing in the garden corner, with creamy white blooms, and
Vinca Periwinkle with lovely blue flowers, friends to Violet and Viola.
Wall Flowers, who love the sun, drooping with snow cap jewels, oh over there
Xenia's blooming in marine colors, so unique. And here a childhood love,
Yellow Anemone, aka Buttercup, who does not love Buttercup?
Zinnia, friend of Sunflower, elegant and colorful, nods. Must this dream end!
________________________________
April 13, 2016
Poetry/Abecedarian/In My "Dreamy" Spring Garden
Copyright Protected, ID 16-777-564-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
I reckon you'll find this tale of romance less fact than fiction,
But please bear with me as I try to give it plausible depiction.
I was about half asleep, musin' on the patio the other day,
When my gaze settled on my ornamental iguana on display.
It reposes on a stump in my rock garden starin' back at me.
It looks so real you'd think it could scamper up my apple tree!
Nearby is a birdbath that caters to squirrels now and again.
(Those dudes have taken over my yard by eminent domain!)
A squirrel dropped by for a snort and after much twitchin' of tail,
Leapt to the stump from the bath, that innocent iguana to assail!
And I'll swear this to be true, he hopped on the iguana's back,
Assumin' a very romantic position that really took me aback!
He lay there awhile claspin' the iguana with his quiverin' feet.
(Peerin' with half-closed eyes I tried to appear discreet!)
Strangely, he glanced at me as if to say, "What shall I do?"
I thought, "Son, I'm not in a position to offer advice to you!"
That lothario fell asleep atop the iguana soakin' up the sun.
In that little tryst, 'twas obvious that the inanimate iguana won!
I pondered, "Should squirrels actually mate with iguanas,
Would not the jungles of Guyana be teeming with squanas?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Ordinary Precious Stones
Buddha saw it first
but as is his way never let me in on it.
The stones, rough, unfinished,
ill sized tribute to chaos, beckoned.
I closed my eyes
It started to take shape in the mist.
Each stone should have its place
separate yet dependent on the others.
They should not attract attention for themselves
but become a part of a greater beauty.
I touched each stone, listened to its passion,
rolled it, positioned it so the sun would
augment its finest facets. Allowing them time
to adjust, to relate themselves one to another.
When each stone hummed in wind coaxed OMMMMM
I rested, placed the Buddha in the midst
of these, now precious, stones.
Each morning I look out on the Buddha
in the midst of his rock garden, see the
sun creep over his shoulder glancing off
the facets of those most ordinary
precious stones.
Submitted to – Precious Stones and Gems – Poetry contest
Sponsor – Anthony Slausen
11/14/2014
Out in the backyard
The snow is melting
Brown grass is showing
A Mother nature tease
Up on a small hill
is a rock garden
The rocks are showing
White snow surrounds rocks
Squirrels are out searching
For their peanuts meal
A cat in the doorway
Watching the scene
How can so few have so much -
so many have so little?
I am rich beyond belief
yet am not considered rich.
I count my riches daily:
the warmth of heart and
home, the patchy grass,
faded paint, rock garden
(each stone rolled by
my hands). The heart,
she waves to me each morning
as I leave for work,
greets me on returning.
Other hearts, now scattered,
not too far away yet never
near enough, have left their
emptiness to fill the rooms.
I sit, well clothed, warm, and
free. I am ever grateful for
this freedom, freedom to be,
freedom to be me, to love,
to sing, to speak my mind,
to write with passion of
passion. And yet I ache for
those who know not freedom,
nor peace, nor joy, nor a
day of Thanksgiving. I cry for
children who will not be
fed, nor cared for - not because
there is lack of caring - but
because the caring lacks
the backbone of freedom,
the hand of compassion,
the hope - of Thanksgiving.
John G. Lawless
11/28/2013
"Snapdragons and Dandy Lions - Part 2"
The day was cooling down
pressing itself close into
the amythest and musk pink early eve
as the eggshell pale blue sky rolled over into
Astor Purple to get ready for sleep.
The Ostrich Ferns rustled,
We’d frightened the Blue Tongue, he’d run back to his lair.
Coming in from the Ocean now
there came a light breeze.
I was looking for four leaf clovers
and Skink eggs but they were to be found nowhere
while she knelt in her rock garden planting
Agapanthas, Gladiolus, Calla Lillies,
Daffodils, Fresias and Pansies -
there were loose bulbs everywhere
and packets of Tulip
and Blue-Eyed Susan seeds.
Sooty, the Black cat sat
and watched with knowing sly eyes
twitched his whiskers, licked a paw on ‘his’ Window Sill,
he looked very wise.
We’d been making Daisy Chains,
she’d placed on our hair like Crowns.
Of course,
3’s always a bad number, it's never neat,
there’d been fights in between – still,
we were her adoring subjects, her princesses and
SHE our beautiful and kind QUEEN.
“Do you know why I love Snapdragons the best?” the QUEEN declared,
“They’re the knights of this garden –
they get a bad rap because of their name.
Look at their faces though,
they’re ferocious not frightened of anything,
great courage they always stand firm.
It’s the blasted Dandy Lions,
well they scare easy,
blow away every time
there’s a storm
and they leave a damned mess”.
She looked at us, and said,
“You’re like those Snapdragons my beautiful girls.
Always stand together.
Always stand firm”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
(1)
"Under the Ivy"/Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/NvKNzyO4wk0
(2)
"Datura"/Tori Amos
https://youtu.be/WX_dwuF-6oY
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
Plants, Trees, Hills, and Grass
White shed black trim corner back
School and Park with kids
Path near fence where two dogs track
Green, Brown, Orange, Yellow, Red, Black
Five Pines fifty years
Rock garden and sidewalk near
Lilac Bushes two
Squirrels, Chipmunks, Birds fly through
Expanse of sky white and blue
Back yard oasis singing
Leaves like bells ringing
Barbeque Charcoals on fire
Burgers, Brats, cooked to desire
Come with me, to where the river-water
Snakes around and through the rocks,
Lit by the sun,
To where the rushing stream
Cools hot, tired feet
Where all noise is stemmed by the stones.
Join me in this world
Of grey and green and blue
Where the old river sings its tunes;
Its hymns of hidden springs,
Its ballads of the valley,
Its memories of folks old and new,
And I'll tell you of the river-men
In their earthy dress,
Grinding meal and weaving reeds and singing all the while.
Of the hidden tomb,
Where a robber laid his tired mount to rest,
And of the cryptic tracks in the muck, which we'll try to guess.
The birds will entertain us,
With their piping discourse,
And we'll be soothed by the smell of sage on the breeze,
Borne down from the high hills,
Where tenacious climbers labor up steep paths,
Chasing a view spread before them like a living map.
But this struggle is not for us today,
The day is far too clear and warm.
We'll rest by the river , our bodies cooled by boulder and breeze.
We'll pass an afternoon in the garden of God,
Stealing a slice of the halcyon world,
Before the Fallen Star's meddling lies.
We'll lie there, you and I,
Surrounded by the sweetest sounds, the choicest sights,
Time will be irrelevant, and the sun will be our clock.
And as the day ends,
We'll walk arm-in-arm back down the road,
Our warmth staving off the dusky chill,
As we return to the dead land of automata,
The grinding cycle of mammon,
And the vain, callous masses numb to nature's perfection.
So come with me then,
While the summer and our youth last,
Let's be prisoners no more.
No spot, no matter how ugly can be transformed,
into a place of beauty and delightful with flowers;
in spring I feel a rising sense of excitement,
oh, soon the winter damage will be full of color.
Primrose with tenacity thrive in the shade of a tree,
bluebell happily rise through the foliage of bleeding hearts;
and blooming tulips grow between clumps of lilies in the sun,
my garden of pleasure is so extravagant and fragrant.
Painted daisies and meadow rue cheerfully sing in harmony,
I am creating a quiet garden of peace;
peonies and roses choose to peak over a fence,
and purple phlox willowy gather in a sunny corner.
Oh, those wine lychnis pop up wherever they like,
creating color and havoc and magic;
I do love a white shasta daisy that reminds me of mom,
creeping thyme decorate a rock garden along with yarrow.
Yellow loose strife grows everywhere willy-nilly,
this year I am planning a water pond;
where a sea of lyme grass and a blur of mantle,
will tower over the blue water.
No spot, no matter how ugly can be transformed.
into a place of beauty and delightful with flowers.
______________________
March 30, 2017
Ode/Ode To Garden Flowers
Copyright Protected, ID 888526
Screwed XVII Contest
Rob Carmack
Fourth Place
_____________________
Ode to Flower(s) Contest
NA, Judged April 12, 2017
Garden Oasis
Amongst the bees and the hummingbirds, I find my peace in my garden oasis.
My thoughts become sorted, by the peaceful purpose of eliminating weeds
The enemies of my soul.
We all have our place in the harmony of this race.
The bees are doing their part.
The hummers provide a beauty that is unmatched with their fast-fluttering wings.
My purpose, to end destruction and the choking out of the beauty.
It is a race of time and space.
The weeds entangle and wrap around all that is beautiful and must be eliminated.
Control is a facade, in these beds of glory.
As I fervently yank the torturous weeds from their seemingly rightful existence
and toss them in a bucket.
They are tenacious and unrelenting.
I see glorious Clematis vines climbing higher and higher, reaching to the top with no limitation.
They spread high and wide on their trellis
Reaching as far as the heavens, without reserve.
Colours of purple and pink and scarlet are placed all around the fence
amongst their supportive greenery.
A delight to behold in harmony and balance
the strategic placement
to splash colour like an artist’s brush on the dull grey fence.
A beautiful shiny, yellow choir of angel flowers shine
as they are made to do, in all their brilliance.
The large, red petals of the hibiscus
fill the shades of green as they are being attacked and eaten by some unseen pest.
They are impossibly large and are the survivors and the thrivers of the garden.
The leaves and stems
of the beautiful daisies
So innocent and pure
A reminder of simplicity at its best
The Hosta’s and the rock garden seem to manage with very little love…
The shrubbery and perennials fulfill their mission.
Peaceful coexistence and of shining in their due time.
Their sole purpose; to give glory and feed
God’s creation!
I find my peace in all of this, on a glorious July day!
I wage my war amongst the weeds,
Finding serenity for my soul.
Connection to the one who made it all possible!
Written by Grace Daub March 11, dreaming of summer gardening
Entered in Garden Inspirations
Contest BJ Legros Kelley
UNSUPPORTED CODE Thanksgiving
How can so few have so much -
so many have so little?
I am rich beyond belief
yet am not considered rich.
I count my riches daily:
the warmth of heart and
home, the patchy grass,
faded paint, rock garden
(each stone rolled by
my hands). The heart,
she waves to me each morning
as I leave for work,
greets me on returning.
Other hearts, now scattered,
not too far away yet never
near enough, have left their
emptiness to fill the rooms.
I sit, well clothed, warm, and
free. I am ever grateful for
this freedom, freedom to be,
freedom to be me, to love,
to sing, to speak my mind,
to write with passion of
passion. And yet I ache for
those who know not freedom,
nor peace, nor joy, nor a
day of Thanksgiving. I cry for
children who will not be
fed, nor cared for - not because
there is lack of caring - but
because the caring lacks
the backbone of freedom,
the hand of compassion,
the hope - of Thanksgiving.
John G. Lawless
11/28/2013 UNSUPPORTED CODE