Best Rockery Poems
When the season of splendor sprinkles
the scent of sprightliness,
when the koels and kingfishers sing hymns of hope
and merrily waltz their wings of chartreuse dreams, and
when from her day dream, my muse emerges in ecstasy,
I dip my quill in vivid shades of ebullient sacramento ink.
When in a gentle stroke, the first ray of the golden prince
caresses the myrtle terrain of earth - his beloved princess,
and she wakes up from her dark moss slumber
blushing and swinging in neon shades of love
in a moment of delight as she becomes
a pinnacle of rustic beauty
sparkling and swaying in shamrock hues, and
when the harmonious harp of the buzzing bees
wafts in the air as they suck sweet nectar
from the brilliant blooms adorning
my muse’s verdant malachite rockery
adding vivid lime vibrance to the hustle and bustle
of the grassy gorgeous flower beds dispensing
the aroma of exuberant pistachio thoughts of my reasoning -
and becomes a harbinger of hope for my creative quill,
I passionately let my avocado ink
to pen its inspiring pearls of perception.
When my muse ponders
on the fragility of life fraught with
hindrances and hiatuses for progress,
yet wonders on how life advances
and ascends in the rungs of optimism -
like buds finding way to bloom
even in a pit of rocky soil:
my ink blossoms in the tender glow
of my lilac dreams of love and peace.
Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.
No1.
Robin’s Thick Member
We wuz out huntin that day
Ah remembers as plain as can be
When a ansome buck came us way
Fust to shoot was me mate Unlucky
Now that buck he just looked in us faces
With an air of his royal decree
Displayin his arrogunt graces
At the arra there stuck in the tree
Ah says, “Robin, he won’t be best pleased
At missin his dinner agen
Your damn good at arrain trees
An pissin off his merry men”
If we goes back to camp with no meal
That maid, she will giv us sum stick
She’ll shove us sum manky old veal
An the merry men will all be sick”
Then Unlucky he says that he saw
Over there be-ind the rockery
A big ol boy of a boar
But his arra, yes, it foun a tree
Stood Marion with expectation
The night would be one great party
But after me grand explanation
We was whipped a foot up from the knee
Then Robin “Unlucky”, he says
“You’s a poor shot as all us can see
If that buck agen inter view strays
Just bloomin well aims fer the tree.
Coz averages seem to dictate
You could bag that buck if you tried
If only you’d concentrate
An wern’t so bloody cross eyed”
So Unlucky he thinks to his sen
I’ll show them a thing or two
That big head an his stinky men
Will be dinin on best red deer stew
Once more he foun his sen afore
That deer who was showin no fear
He watched as his arra did soar
Past that grinnin bucks twitchin left ear
But wait, that buck he was down
His hooves in the air on his back
The arra that just missed his crown
Had given him sheer heart attack
He was cheered when he got back to camp
An the night became one great party
With a bow he was proclaimed a champ
An no longer known as Unlucky.
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
My humble tribute to our dear poetess of Soup, Andrea Dietrich as she will be celebrating her birthday on September 5. I am posting this poem earlier, so that she gets more wishes on her birthday and that it be a memorable one.
A brilliant poetess of the Soup family,
Never does she fail to encourage new poets;
Diligent in doing her duties with zeal,
Relishes watching movies and writing reviews,
Enjoys cooking and eating healthy food.
At home, a loving wife, mom and gramma.
Dedicated in doing her job as a teacher.
Inspite of her busy schedule, I wonder when I see
Each day, a fresh exquisite flower of verse,
That blooms and adorns her poetic rockery;
Reaches out to all dear members of Soup,
Inspiring them with her genuine comments;
Cheerful, charming, lively and fun-loving:
Her upcoming birthday will be incomplete sans all your wishes friends
quilt in waves a rainbow ocean
etheric your ambrosia whiffs
whirling my waist
I wash dishes
rain swallowing chores, blood red hot
garden path waits your stoic tread
rockery longs for guitar thumbs
astral breath brushes rose petals
sun rises steady in fall sky ~
sorrow songs reaps benefit of time
your initials melded to mine in rhyme
astral skin blankets my chest
stormy waters
do not drown
your pauses
_____________________________
Placed 8th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : May 26
Ah, Spring my soul you do delight
and smells of the fresh greenery
with the tranquil sounds of the night.
No more does winter's cold us bite
making folks tug scarfs and scurry
Ah, Spring my soul you do delight.
The silvery moon shines so bright
setting alight the scenery
with the tranquil sounds of night.
Life reaffirms with buds so tight
and chicks with down so feathery
Ah, Spring my soul you do delight.
Flowers a most colourful sight
tumbling down the rockery
with the tranquil sounds of night.
Lambs frolicking with great delight
as magpies screech with mockery.
Ah, Spring my soul you do delight
with the tranquil sounds of night.
Floriography
Allamanda in April slowly open its trumpets around posts that look like
Buttercups of honey for bees to dive in to replenish their striped bellies
Crocus's yellow stigmas that flavour our food are a blessing by Hermes, but
Dead Nettle is hardly so dead with her fuschia coloured flowers on tall stalks
Early Star Of Bethlehem awaits for snow to melt and to be reborn to bless
Freesias that innocently rest atop wedding cakes with their snowy icing buds as
Glory Lily with reflexed pink petals look like a turkish cap in a showstopper
Hyacinth clusters ease tension while boasting off its colourful array of petals
Irises' three petals looking heavenwards and one downwards links us to gods
Jasmine's pristine beauty rests in my bun, leaving a trail of fragrance in morns
Knife Acacia's drooping yellow clusters add beauty to xeriscape landscaping
Larkspur's purple petals are like curtains displaying an open light heart while
Mountain Laurel in translucent white with pink accents are humbled before
Narcissus smiling from above the rockery at its reflected beauty in the pond below
Orchids, rare and royal, flourish in moss and add grandeur to pinned coats
Portulaca overhangs my flower pots on boundary walls in appeasing hues
Queen of nights likens to a creamy lotus on a cactus, blooms but once annually
Red Hot Poker's stand like tall red candies in clusters attracting children
Spring Snowflakes are reversed scalloped white cups dangling with breeze
Teddy dahlias in naughty bonniness wear the brightest sunny hoods
Ursinia fields wave in the spring breeze like floating islands in an orange sea
Virginia Bluebells ring in the spring, chiming in nooks till silenced by the rains
Wake Robin is stemless and sits on leaves with its fetid aroma to attract flies
Xeranthemum is purpled in royalty to favour love and changes its owner's life
Yellow Star of Bethlehem grows wildest in landscapes, yet aspiring to help
Zinnia blossom as space-flower in its debut aboard the NASA space station
April 26, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton
Abecedarian
PRUNING THE ROSES
Prune Roses here, Prune Roses there,
Dancing in my garden,
With Sweet William and Fred Astaire.
Wallflower there, Gardenia over here,
My Fuchsia’s looking bright,
I’m going to retire this year.
Working on the Rockery,
and making it a Dahlia routine.
The Hydrangea looks wonderful,
Magnolia’s standing supreme.
Perennials in here, Heather over there,
Talking to my Sunflower,
Petunia’s shrug and stare.
Slug pellets there, Slug pellets here,
Touch my French Marigolds,
and its salt on your tail my dear.
Love to spend the day, working in my garden,
Then relax in the evening sun.
Surveying creation all around me,
With a nice Cuppa and a Currant Bun.
Ten years ago I was bereft.
My garden began when you left.
Literally on my hands and knees,
clearing paths among surrounding trees.
Uncovered were the root of one tree,
winding it's way around the rockery.
Rusted gardening tools, a fire grate,
children's toys and a wrought iron gate.
The sweat on my brow healed my heart.
Then buying plants, I made a start.
From the smallest alpine to the tallest tree,
I now have two hundred and eighty three.
My garden brings me so much joy,
it feels as though it was my buoy.
To see such beauty lifts my heart.
Each bud unfolding playing it's part.
Now the children are up and gone,
in the peace I hear the birds' song.
Time to reflect and sip some wine.
Gosh, I'm glad this garden's mine.
09/06/2020
Garden Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Lay to rest the spiritless low spirit
In the catacomb of 'Auld Lang Syne'
Cultivate the rockery of life with
The beautiful seeds of blessed wisdom shine
That will awaken the growth that thou hast
Hoping brightly blossoms awakening
When each, without fail, true to faithfulness
Shall find his reward in true believing
Spray seeds of knowledge with self-confidence
O' embrace for the rightful harvest reap
Exercise the time to sow heartfulness
For the powers of pure wisdom shine deep
Thus goodness, Alas! To the rightful man
Tis' of your new creativity plan
I have another passion apart from poetry.
It's my garden, left by the gardener.
In a state of wilderness.
Two years later, with tools in hand.
I've made it into a wonderland.
Take my tea out each morning at eight.
Feed Pushcat from a plate.
Peace and contentment always come to me,
as soon as I am sitting under a tree.
With a book and a beer, or a glass of wine.
Breathing slows down, lose track of time.`
In front of the house, six raised beds.
Pebbled paths with weeds poking through.
It's back breaking work getting rid of all you.
Behind is the rockery.
Summer seats dotted here and there.
A home made swing from a little arm chair.
Peaking out or on full display,
sculptors and statues.
Gnomes with fairies trapped under glass.
Busts and torsos, with breasts to look at.
Above it all, my little den.
Buddha at the entrance, it's all so Zen.
Where I go to relax and hide.
From children and noise and the world outside.
With all the pomp and viscosity
The spectres flooding out a sepia
Screen of childish scribbles
Bleached into the paintwork
Autograph collections full of
Unknown people who achieve
Little seldom of and incomplete
Thereof from another Kings' Cross
Day passes with slurry flood
A thick crude oil slick settling
On the fester where love is love
But life always gets cat called trapped
Between a rockery and a conservatory
Greenhouse blossom stuck
Never growing, wilting into
Shoes and stirrups, the Valkyrie
Tide of blonde candlesticks burning
An empathetic subtitle in the
Bunting of promenade pretence
The man child turns to jump
Into canvas blues of money under pillow
Hark the skylark sings o'er meadow.
Sings or fights to let rivals know;
the robin claiming territory.
Sings his claim, his sincerity.
A blackbird cock sings his claim so.
The rooks in yonder rookery.
Caw, peck and claw in mockery.
To let their life mate, their proud beau.
Hark the skylark sings.
To pursue an act, thievery.
A double act of mockery.
South, a copse borders the meadow.
Come the noon, it's all in shadow.
West, east, north, dry stone rockery.
Hark the skylark sings.
Birds to watch r' alotta fun
In the garden while they play
Alongside weeds and shrubs overrun
They flock to the open outdoor spray
Which cools them off when they come
To scrabble and sachet for airplay
Hummingbirds to watch r' alotta fun
Their long, narrow beaks survey
Pollinating flowers, while scattering seeds in the sun
Flying through the fine mist, open air spray
Searching on flower dung
For nectar from blossoms display
Butterflies to watch r alotta fun
Drinking from shallow puddle lots
Hang on flat flowers as they sun
And on dim, draggy, ho hum, rocks, sunny spots
To themselves to warm their wings some
Perched on a sunny branch, grass stem lots
Tis' all shelter, breeding places, nesting sites
For O' beloved winged creatures n' rockery orchard delights
Horticulture? truly awesome!
Granddaddy’s timeless illusion -
one giant synthetic blossom
swirling midst rustic seclusion.
Fascinated by back-crossing,
Pop experimented in silence.
Sleep was spent turning and tossing
weird ideas, odd incidents.
His gigantic bogus blossom
would emanate from these night-swings.
He had heard that you could cross some
old parent plants with their off-springs.
Such horticultural incest
troubled Pop’s moral conviction.
Botanic genes lost his interest,
guilt became an affliction.
He took up artistic venture
creating flowers of pottery.
The last one he made, the clencher,
shines in his orchard's rockery.