Best Violets Poems
The path you walk I adore.
Seeds I’ll scatter around,
Then from earth, blooms will pour
to grace your precious ground.
A highway I shall lay for you.
Sweet violets I shall sow.
Where blossoms spring into view,
Darling, sweetly go!
Pretty heads will thickly spread.
A carpet it will seem
of amethyst you tread
as if inside a dream.
Among those flowers we shall meet.
We’ll lie on that soft path
with happiness replete,
reveling in love’s aftermath.
Written April 2, 2017
Roses are red, Violets are blue,
Birds are still chirping and clouds are askew;
The sun is still shining as the flowers renew.
Leaving me breathless reveling the view,
I leisurely watch as though I'm wanted too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roses are dry, violets are tilting,
Shadows gloom over the barren and wilting;
I sit there and watch, my happiness jilting.
What once was so vibrant was now turned to grey,
Slowly but surely withering away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roses are dead, as violets are too,
Everything in sight now an ungodly hue;
My once a happy life was swallowed by truth.
Wondering why after all this time I've succumb,
I silently apologized as my body went numb.
-Rebecca V.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Through my telescope I spy on you
But the idea was yours
Even the unlocked doors
Love thy neighbor is up for review
Feb 8, 2022
When crimsons are worn and winters mourn;
When time is not a clock, watch or real
And sunsets have lost their appeal -
Then I shall face my doom,
But wake me not before noon.
When you can stretch out your hand
And come with me to a nowhere land,
I will put violets in your hair.
When you can sigh with no despair,
Then I shall believe you rare.
When I stand alone and you go away
Do not dare come ask me to play.
When tomorrow is not neglected, and
finally arrives and someday is a day called now,
then you shall see relief in mine eyes.
When all words care and mountains rise higher,
When trees can breathe and apples are truly red,
Then I shall stop yelling above your head.
When flowers fail to bloom and seven years does
not mean locust, maybe then life shall focus.
When I can find my very own star
Without the need of looking far,
When I lose my urge to splurge and neglect
My search for a still burning torch,
What then .... if when?
Violets bring healing to the soul,
Colours care for the sick,
Like Florence Nightingale.
Her amethyst fragrance,
For the imagination,
Creativity, wisdom, dignity,
Pride and peace,
Spiritually calming emotions
Humbling in nature,
Brightening up rooms,
As the Lady with the lamp,
Nursed wounded soldiers,
Velvet scented petals!
Meditate her deep blue,
Serenity and tranquillity
Sanctuary for love,
White for innocence,
Pioneering blooms,
Velvet heart shaped leaves
Captivating and beautiful
Flowers,
Medication for life.
Wendy Jae
I've searched nearby hillocks and sand.
They've gone missing sooner than late:
no wildflowers to perk barren land,
gypsy flowers by garden gate.
Where are those tiny violets
that snuggled closely to the ground;
yellows that smiled to all they met,
iris-hued daisies always found?
Blossoms dipped in a sunset's peach
once caressed my garden's rock wall.
And, tangled beside, in their reach
trumpet vines, crimson-red and tall.
Drought escorted seasons' changing,
yet we missed blossoms' frantic call.
This summer passed rearranging
joy with no wildflowers at all.
August 10, 2022
*** Yes…Obscessed with Poetry! ***
As the moon was releasing finale beams
And the sun was dressing
For her later, post-solstice, winter rise…
I had not yet slept, kept
Awake by epiphanies of poetics —
My tireless pen scribbling
Down
the rushing lyrics to their
Rising
score.
Then, as the clouds refused to part
To reveal our sun’s well-warming
light at her mid-day height,
I was excitedly expounding
About the knowlege my night
with poetry had brought, revealing,
So i thought, some meaning
about the human psyche,
More than just matters of words.
But, beyond the import
Of Poetry growing a range of spring
Violets across my nigh clear pages,
An afternoon’s gust replete
With January hail,
Fell over me after
I exclaimed, “Amazing?”
and to hear in response:
“Look, you’re obscessed with poetry.
I’m not. And I was
just wondering how long
before quiet would —“
Eliminate the wondering…
As (justdays before Christmas), on
A cold afternoon, a storm passed through
The city with little warning.
Flashed lightning twice over
The sky, and sounding but once,
Thunder struck us dumb.
Quiet?
I hear inner gusts
Smack my tears against the windows’ panes.
My amusement is drowned within the room.
Quiet?
While I could scream — Yes!
Yes! I am obscessed
With poetry
With God
With my beloved, and our pups
With drawing, dance and music, too…
But, foremost, I am obscessed —
To say and stay so,
With living
With surviving
in blessed Hope —
on past the trials of ailments
and the hard gales of age —
While
Thankful to poetry — perhaps
anong the least of most of these,
For its patiently waiting ways —
Within the All and everyone one of us —
So we hold images in our dreams of seeing
Violet buds spring their heads
Above a layer of January snow,
And we might hear the poems’ rise
In its brilliance
From each opening purple petal.
—————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally you g eslinger 1/ /2023
Thanks be to God…
seeking elusive violets
in shadowy patches
beneath jacaranda trees
a window of sunlight fell upon you
desiring your favor
despite rapidly descending sky mists
our eyes connected momentarily
my caramel riveted to your mountain pine
misted veil dropping quickly
my carnal plans subverted
by humidity’s mood
rendering song
unto that which moves air
eddies, curls and swirls
soon swept the fog like curtain afar
gathering buttercream yellow anemones
coupled with heather thick ferns and leaves
a bouquet of forest wealth gathered for you
requesting you spend the season’s breath
with me
we summered and beyond
a petite blushing hand held mine
swimming lost in your windswept sea
blood in my veins surged
at a savory full smile
chest leaping when your lips
formed the name I carry
meadow green vision sipping of my affections
greedy for every pearl of my wine
Majesty of color, so rich, my words are still
I gaze upon their beauty, their promise to fulfill
To elevate the senses, to make one lose the will
To forfeit captivation by the violets on the hill
In regal blue and purple vein, to echo lover’s thrill
The whites and pinks of innocence in symbiotic drill
In scarlet reds, a theatre of nature’s palette, twill
I think I'll know forever, the violets on the hill
I washed your face
so gently;
Combed your hair
the way you wanted it,
arranged your hair there
on the grass...
Followed the stare of your
eyes to the sky with that
merciless sun.
Your small arms and legs;
I knew them so well.
A soft cotton blanket
with daisies as white
as your small face,
sprinkled the grass,
growing midst purple
violets, with soft yellow
loving hearts, just as
once your heart
was, exactly the same.
***
April 19, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
I am ready for some violets, the sun,
Dewdrops, wet grass, tulips, and daffodils
Marigolds, geraniums and warm, sultry weather.
My socks are cold and wet, soggy even.
I slipped on the ice twice yesterday.
My grandchildren live in this tundra.
We can make igloos out of what winter is delivering.
What about moving south? Sure, where none of my grandchildren are.
Or are ever going to be living. No thanks.
I will wait until the violets and the chrysanthemums are ready.
In their own time, delighting me greatly when they arrive at last.
Delighting in the grass, springing back into pretty greenness.
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
this flower bed,
is just for you.
Among the stone,
and in the mud,
a flower shone,
a beautiful bud.
It grew so tall,
proud and strong,
it learned all,
right and wrong.
Giving it water,
and warm sun,
your only daughter,
learned about fun.
Mommy come see,
look what I did,
now I can be,
a grownup kid.
This flower bed,
is just for you,
with roses, red,
and violets, blue.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
Violets in blue
you say they match my two eyes
blue eyes are crying
I wish you were here with me
a card is all I can hold
Date Written: 2/8/2022
2 Place
Roses are Red, Violets are Blue -
a Valentine Challenge in one of five ways Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Soup: Syllable Counter~ 5, 7, 5, 7, 7
Roses are red
Violets are blue
But I have no clue
How I bring them to you
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
ROSES ARE RED,
VIOLETS ARE BLUE,
THE ROSES HAVE BLED,
THE VIOLETS ARE DEAD,
YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A PAIN,
FORGET IT YOU’LL NEVER GAIN.