Best Wildflower Poems
~ experience the life cycle - through hope,
perseverance and the beauty of nature ~
quote by poet
walk through the meadow
heaven is under your feet -
a soul that blossoms
Wildflowers color the day
it is both true and certain
Do not walk past ...
each flower a small seed from last year
The milk glass is filled
with flowers being picked
- of the admiration of many eyes
Accept life as it is
sprinkle some sugar on the lemons
The day is yours ... fill up the glasses
Forget the memories of the cold winter
Flowers are the smile of life
... that catches the attention of the heart
11/07/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Winter Wildflower
A billion snowflakes do collect upon a wasteland of neglect
The sky frigid no sun to reflect appears a dot lonely specked
A tear does fall melting snow as the speck staggers to grow
A wildflower starts to sough as the winter winds seek to blow
***
Amidst frozen fields lost in time, a wildflower begins her climb
Awaking beauty stretches sublime with petals strutting chime
Behold the wonder you see displaying love near a wounded tree
No one bothers with her plea standing around the white debris
***
Courage keeps her alive with recluse radiant colors to survive
With a calming chill, she will thrive awaiting the storms to arrive
And dreams now blurred that the fallacious frost has spurred
Her silent screams are heard carried by the malign mockingbird
***
Standing still before the dawn alone a wildflower winging spawn
Within her will, she must go on before slumbers of her next yawn
Secluded in her salient solitude she eagerly embarks to be renewed
Now a wildflower subdued all she wishes is to be virtuously viewed.
...dedicated to my Mom, May.16.1941~Oct.24.2017...and to all the Wildflowers here at the SoupBowl...they know who they are...
Oct.22.2018
SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL Poetry
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
N/A for contest
sun’s heat sunders sand
clustered lanced leaves green hug
widow’s tears collapse
Widow’s Tears is the common name for Commelina erecta var. angustifolia, they bloom on
Texas beaches in sand or clay, and have the characteristic of flowering early in the morning
and fading by noon. The bloom in all seasons but I chose spring to be more commonly
approachable. [1]
[1] Wildflowers and Other Plants of Texas Beaches and Islands, Alfred Richardson
Passionate nostalgia of our last embrace,
the way we fervently shaped to each other -
is as bittersweet
as the wildflower pressed between a love story’s pages.
Susan Ashley
May 26, 2019
~ First Place ~
Contest: Brevity Poetry Contest No More Than Six Lines
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
I saw it today, the first wildflower of the season,
It filled my heart with unending joy,
Finally after the barren winter, Life;
Life in the form of a vibrant Wildflower,
Yellow in color with petals seeking the sun,
Feeling it’s warmth after the long cold winter;
I saw in it Hope, hope that winter has ended,
No more snow, no more frigid cold,
No more cloudy and freezing days,
With the chilling wind that pierces your very soul,
Finally sun; and warmth and color;
Winter is so desolate and bare,
The lack of color depresses me;
I need sun, I need to feel it’s heat on my face,
And now I have hope that it’s here to stay,
Here for the next few seasons at least;
Bringing with it the roasting summer,
And days on the lake, oh how I missed them;
Stretched out on a beach towel,
Listening to the waves and the gulls;
In this one flower I find redemption…
It could have been you
Hiding behind the post
Stretching out your arms
Your tiny face upturned
To the early morning sun
Waving at me softly
While swaying with the breeze
It was only wishful thinking...
But you look so much the same
that I walked a little closer
and nearly called your name
A scent so very subtle
Drifted through the air
Reminding me of the last time
I tied a ribbon in your hair
I picked the wildflower for you
But you’re much too far away
Shall wilt before you see it
This one I picked today
Against the velvet petals
You won’t get to press your face
But together we will pick the one
That grows up in its place
I’ll save this in our special book
Pressed between the pages
And hide it in our secret place
We’ve known about for ages
The next time that you come again....
You’ll know right where to look!
Butterfly kisses on nape of neck
Make me feel warm soft blessed
Because you are my yellow happiness
My love like a dove that has flown the nest
Runaway love so red and free
The kind of passion like a fruit so sweet
For the old fashioned or newer generation
Love from above heaven sent celebration.
A walk through the meadow seems in order
The sun is peaking through some wispy cloud,
Coreopsis is in full bloom along the border
While verbena and cosmos are standing proud.
I make my way through the overgrown path
Pushing aside the wild carrot and floss flower,
Knowing I’ll have beggar’s lice as an aftermath
Causing my nosy neighbor to snicker and glower.
It’s a fine, fine day; butterflies are everywhere
And the mockingbird’s are tweetering melodies
As I get closer to the tree line a-way over there
Where the squirrels will jump between the trees.
I do not expect to see deer since I’m rather late
And they are generally feeding in early morn,
So they’ll have bedded down in hidden shade
They have long weaned their early spring born.
Surprisingly, I see an opossum trundling along
Three or four young’uns clinging to her back.
Picking a bouquet of flowers, I break into song,
And hear scuttling noises, I’ve disturbed a pack
Of nesting quail, fairly close, and off to my right,
Streaking in a flurry their white underbellies flay
I locate them just in time to see them take flight.
I’ll get on home to vase my wildflower bouquet.
Written August 6, 2022
~
What if I,
came rolling through your pasture
Touched your hair,
like summer whispers on the breeze
You are all,
of every wildflower
As you take your bloom,
beneath the cedar trees
What if life,
were singing through your petals
As you bend your stem,
to reach your song to me
I will always
look for greener pastures
And your beauty,
a wildflower growing free
~
Quite by chance
I saw a single, small, white wildflower
amid a crush of grass and weeds
along the roadside, its presence crowded out
by seed heads and space hungry leaves
of species honed for survival.
This wildflower occupied an area
no larger than my little finger
and even then was bumped and bullied
by weedy neighbors. It fed
on the leftover light filtered down
through the tall grass.
I would like to think that in this sometimes
bleak universe there is a caring
and benevolent force that tries to preserve
such fragile beauty from the rampant
excesses of survival and greed, nudges
the odds to favor such a humble flower,
nurtures its seed.
Can you recall seeing me on a country walk,
winding my tendrils tenderly on a rusty fence;
tendrils and spikes are my leaves with blooms of purple,
I crawl and sprawl all summer long . . .
I think that I am more beautiful than any red rose,
growing in a garden- for I am wild and free;
a country wildflower that touches your heart,
with my creeping and crawling in the sun.
__________________________
March 24, 2019
Poetry/Verse/A Country Wildflower
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1127-181-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Standard Contest 580
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
Glossy, heart-shaped leaves of galax
ringed ‘round the lingering lilacs
that played across the garden gate,
bent now – bowed from foliage’ weight.
Wild roses replace Venus et fleur
having a sweet natural alure.
Chicory and Madonna lily
grow here and there, and willy-nilly.
Bachelor buttons and blue bonnets
clothe the field with unsung sonnets.
Coreopsis and black-eyed Susans
frolic with their rambunctious cousins.
Of all the flowers God has wrought
I love the ones that were last thought.
Haphazard flair of wild flowers
bestow joy with dewy showers.
I saw a lone flower,
very delicate and pretty,
in a soft shade,
on a day windy,
it danced and swayed;
unaware . . . its friends had decayed.
I stopped my car and pulled some flowers up.
I circled the parking lot they grew around three times
to find the courage to gather them.
When did it get so hard to love beauty