Sulfurous pipettes steamed the last omega-crystal, the sore branch leeches its last resplendence of the season, and bookish kept in the bow of the festoon of leaves, and simple guurlick fabled and abreeze, and so the fruit spins eons and greater fawning realizations. If it was given perchance a look that it does actually have like saphire light that is without blueish asks, lesser boughs keel and balk and besties look for the lowest mark, and coax when next the wicked wind, that throws this fruit from timid limbs and unfurls that one waxing pearl, the low hanging fruit artfully yearns.
She appeared in the middle of a snowflake
Most could not see her, but the fey always can
She flitted around the white snow sprinkling pixie dust
It began to glisten, as twinkly as fifties sequins
Where were her sisters? Had they not arrived yet?
They were along shortly, sprinkling around white glitter
When they were finished the snow had a blueish tint
It was sparkling as prettily as it ever could
The faeries were finished until the next snowfall
Into the depths of Haunted Woods
I warn you not to ever go.
Rumor has it some have seen
therein a strange and blueish glow.
Most hasten out – not venturing
to find the source of that strange gleam.
From those who dared to go to it
was heard a very frightened scream.
They screamed but once; then all was still,
and witnesses have this to say:
those souls so bold that ventured forth
have not been seen yet to this day.
But there’s a strange phenomenon.
When that odd light appears again
it’s bluer than it was before.
Observers feel a bit insane!
ZEPHYR
As the Greek God of the west wind
I am Zephyrus, my home is Thrace
Bringing life for the seasonal rebirth
With a neutral colour of blueish plum
I can blow hard but softer than some
Yet vital for growth across this earth
As wind, I’m air but without a trace
Into the East with whom I’m twinned
In moments of limerence my heart does long, for the haven of love where potions are strong. A land of passion and rosy dreams, purple roses and milky streams.
Where lovers are welcomed with open arms, and the trees of passion glitter with charm. In their blueish shades the virgins sing, and the fairy maidens hail their kings.
The pinky skies lovingly shower, silver leaves and golden flowers. In the distance you hear the buzzing bees, humming birds and the whispering breeze.
Where the milky streams softly ripple, caressing the banks and its rocky nipples. From marble fountains, lovers would drink, in crystal goblets with golden rings.
As lovers dance, to the beat of their hearts, their lovely rhythm had turned into art. While lovers flirt, and their minds rover, their hearts are drunk, but their minds are sober.
Saleh Ben Saleh
"Even in a small space you can mimic a magical flowering
woodland with stepping stones and a variety of wildflowers."
Quote by _Constance
Willow Amsonia (Blue-Dogbane) is a wildflower_
In sun with some shade it will flourish, the
lush green fountain-like foliage so pretty, it
looks great as a background plant in a garden.
Oh, the flower clusters are dainty and divine,
with sweet blueish-purple blooms like stars !
And bushy clumps could be yours in a few years, wild in
meadows, just growing happy and free, and also
so delightful in marshes where the soil is wet, delightful
on Fall days when the foliage turns a sublime yellow. They are
never, ever, never bothered by insects of any kind,
in Spring they bloom- remove the withered ones for more blooms_
A lovely addition to any wildflower garden, in my opinion !
________________________
May 31, 2023
Poetry/Acrostic/Willow Amsonia
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1551-052-31
All Rights Reserved, 2023,Constance La France
wind flower buttercup created by goddess Aphrodite
in blueish violet, white, pink, red, or yellow
growing wild, or as a hybrid, you are a beauty
Anemone, “daughter of the wind”
The morning sky is still blueish
While the festive air feels newish
The snowflakes are falling
Now that Christmas is calling
Such an odd time of year when you're Jewish
No one loves me
May life come upon us
an empty jar on the table, a blueish cheek
there is only confusion
there is only loss
Why?
No one loves me
May life come upon us
the shadow fades
an instant, a day
there is only illusion
Why?
No one loves me
Soul
a flash, a day
gone with the wind
there is only sorrow
gone with the wind
May the bottomless pit come upon us
No one loves me
Sigh!
12/12/2021
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Dear Casimir…
You brighten my day by your shiny little sweet face
You make me lose myself in your brown eyes of blueish shades
You bring bliss to me with your cheerful inquisitiveness
You create paradise for me with you innocent performances
Silky brown Curls of yours make me exultant
Innocent sweet babbles of yours make me vibrant
Tiny stumbling feet of yours walk with so much vigor
Sparkling, big eyes of yours look at everything with curious care
Very unique kind of an extrovert joy you taught me to feel
I forget myself in your presence by becoming a juvenile
Bell-shaped English Bluebells
Violet face of lilac landscape
Charming tints of scarlet
Exuberance of Maple Red
Red, white, upright Tulips
Preening of vibrant spring
Whistling breath of wind
Kisses swaying Daffodils
Laden droplets refracting
Gleam of rose-petal gems
Bluebird’s pine-needle nest
Home of blueish green eggs
Crocus purple flowers
Amethyst glory of jewels
Scented Lilly of the Valley
Blooming white charmers
Rainbow colors of Hyacinth
Jewels glinting window sills
Spicy fragrant Dianthus
Apex of prized decorum
July 4, 2020
Placed 1st: Strand Completely New Poetry (5) Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
bounty braces grumbled
humming hoisted hurdle
sassy syllables strained
cremating crumbling crane
rusty rebirth bewitched
rumbling reincarnation enriched
callous colour bruised
blueish orange blooms
dark dual drool
mystic moaning etched'n
punctured pruning crest
smiting succulent breast
voluptuous ordeals vying
taunt smothered smooches.
'20:04:20:19:38
Note: Of nocturnal nature. Inspired by a picture of the cloud I took this evening.
The blueish gray haze swirled thru out the mind
dizzying confusion, lapse of reason, lost and blind
body paralyzed, frozen like McKinley's heights
heart beats heavy soul stricken with benights
trails of tears red with pain follow decisions
choices made causing irreparable divisions
falling off destiny's trail fingers slip their grasp
darkness shrouds the eyes with one final gasp
uncontrollable sinking as sands of time swallow
internal screaming for salvation from Phoebus Apollo
deft ears hear not ,no notes lifting to reverence
only the looming doom of impending severance
i don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
faltering through the sudor of illness
my heart beating slower than time's hands
like a worthless clock on the wall needing replaced
ashen flesh bore his mark, a kiss against my blueish lips
somehow missing his quarry, while i awaited my wings
he still abides in the dumping ground of memories
with promises broken, love unspoken, and heartless liars
in a dashboard of broken dreams long abandoned
that stalk my existence, awaiting to be restored
to recommence through the pathways of my mind
as more than just unused rusted out frames of thoughts
that only resurface in the outburst of downcast eyes
when the shadows of sorrow grapple my emotions
as he purloins another from existence before me
I don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
the attrition of time has left me emotionless
unscathed by his touch yet numb beneath his kiss
through past's rear-views as i unwillingly await my wings
October 4, 2019
My Favorite Junkyard poetry contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
crystals of snowflakes
glistening a blueish white
magic of winter
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