Bonnets Poems | Examples

the doll stare

There are forty-eight dolls in this guest room
I see them staring at me
Many wear porcelain bonnets
They are statues with accusing faces
I wonder if they came from Salem
I feel they have come for me

Blue Bonnets

Blue Bonnets 
Purple Flowers 
Velvet Clouds 
Lupinus Collective 
March 7, 1901 
Texas state flower 
Pioneer on open fields 
Blue-Bonnets reflects Beautification 
Fields of blue as for as you can see 
Some patches along the high-way 
During spring break 
Family pictures 
Family traditions 
Capture The moment 
Blue-Bonnets fly by on the open road 
Diligence like a blue feather 
Beautiful blue flowers painted like a picture 
Just traveling through  
Fields of Lavender 
Never in someone's front yard 
Always miles apart 
The wind moves the moment 
Time flyers by in Velvet

Forlorn Oranges

Why won’t poets write about us?
Is rhyming with orange that troubling?
Don’t we, like other fruits need thus:
To be showered with praises all bubbling?

We have stunning looks and great taste
But where are the poems and sonnets?
We are saddened that no one makes haste
To promote us on shirts or bonnets.

We hate to complain about this,
But it’s awful and gone on too long!
It has come to a state of injustice
And us oranges can’t “move on.”

Will someone pen us a platitude,
Or wax about orange’s great name?
Or will cowards offer no gratitude
And we linger on, having no fame.

The next time you savor our juice
Or peel our remarkable skins,
We will pardon the years of abuse,
If poets will pick up their pens!

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles – 3-14-25 Dedicated to my Grandmother Pickel and her famous pickles.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blue Cheese and Old Pickles

Forgotten in a tapestry of shadows
Woven in long twilights and long rows
Of blue cheeses, tomatoes, daisies and flying salmon
Shelves, birthing dust bunnies,
Give up the last jar of her pickles
Sealed in clear mason glass
Still smelling of dill and garlic and her hands.

Her handiwork still looks
As fresh as crisp cucumbers
Gathered in fields wearing sunflower bonnets	
And the scent of new earth readied
To grow round again 
With new seeds
Not to forget the children she gave into angel’s hands.

Brought into the light, her love shimmers
Through the artistry of her hands
A rhapsody, sealed and sung across decades,
Plays as I ladle jam and new pickles into her jars,
Savoring my harvest with gorgonzola on toast
And raspberry sherbet on a waffle cone.

Come in to the Coil

     On spewing wave, our departing ride
     Crazed currents crack, an azure slide
     Freedom mingles in sea foam seethe
     Cobra throat coast gulps river relieve
     Estuary entry rests, rushing ruthless 
     Canoe oar dip downtempo soothe us


     Convulsing closing, seen from stern
     To mayhem mouth we shan’t return 
     Silver silt filters salt, lake lap littoral
     Ranges ahead etch graduating blues
     Drift beside reeds, bird pews hymnal 


     Harp strum seraphim strike chords
     Nacreous nematodes writhe towards 
     Tiny sun centre lace tutus feverfew 
     Pirouette pirogue wet on dawn dew 


     Papery apron snapdragon bonnets 
     Bloom ten a stem syllable sonnets
     Cut log capsule covets its heritage

     Forested foothills fix ship wreckage
     Fir hands welcome hung hammock 

     Cosy ocean recoil, mountains titanic 

    

 
         Sixth of November 
            - upstream -

Mother Earth, the Sage

In the depth of the night, a concerto commenced,
With drums of thunder and a melody of rain.

Wind flutes played loud sniveling notes,
Carrying pulsating tunes in blustery tones.

Streaks of lightening, with their baton of light,
Led the blasting orchestra with dynamic might.

Trees swayed wildly, leaves scattered with force,
Rain soaked the paths, shattering dense shadows.

As dawn tiptoed, with the sun’s gentle caress,
Melodic whistles, cheeps and croaks took the stage.

Blue bonnets danced, greeting butterflies and bees,
Jays and cardinals capered under the radiant trees.

Hummingbirds frolicked around the buds of paintbrush, 
Grackles called out in an enthusiastic rush.

Scissor-tailed flycatchers hovered, tails unfurled,
Charmed their mates with their squeaks and chirrs.

Pinkladies and Firewheels in their spectacular array,
Welcomed the day, luring pollinators their way.

The storm disappeared, giving way to a tranquil zephyr,
Joyfulness prevailed, in awe of Mother Earth’s endeavor.

Thunder

"Be still my heart!" 
The thunder, the splatter, 
all the drenching liquid matter -- 

then the storm passes, 
and out come beautiful lasses,  
clipping roses for bonnets, 
choosing beaus for dearer sonnets -- it's really about love --

pretend it's a poem

as chopsticks for soup 
like a monkey eating scotch bonnets
you have to want it 
 
good luck is a myth
thin as a Theban cookie 
as your skin if you don't get it
 
checked-off triggers in academia
fired as a porcelain finger up
kilned in an undertone of glazing
 
grace is a saying and a Name
tweaked as an ego or a jacket
potato is a hashing at 3 a.m. 
 
iHopper lingering is a tension
getting to the hearth of it
another homer hit past time's fence
 
foe knocking at your big teeth in front
like a door to your cheeks 
puffed with a nut-angle oblique 
 
playing a game of mother elephant
a recess abbreviated by a bad pronunciation
intonation of inspiration at the bell
 
wrung and swung along a well-tread trail
as dirty as a thurible

Long Way Home For Sunflowers

A regiment of sunflower golden disks
Turns heads
Assembled all summer for the daily
Love ambush
Upon the five o’clock rush
At the I-496 interchange

Home
Of pizza joints hotels and gas pumps

Who had the last laugh?
To plant in the highway construction zone with public money
This patch of bumblebee bonnets?
Whoever you are you restored my faith

Now

Under the October sky that’s held no sun
Not even for a single day
A type of autumn jewelry robbery

The crumpled sunflowers
Give up and fall face-first into the mud
Get back on one knee
With a wonder if any soul ever did see
Their trance upon the shining orb’s
Coming and going?

Yes, yes I did! Every exhausting end of the day!

I want to park my car on the ecliptic ramp
Fall from my tires and bend with the dying flowers
Faceless all of us

Reassure ourselves
Light is still up there somewhere traveling
Hidden as it is

Like another light perpetually cycling
From root to heart to crown
Earth to forest seas to heaven

The sun abound again and again.

Wildflower Gardens

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.

Let There Be Limericks: To All You Wannabe Poets

I
To all you wannabe poets,
Here's a word of advice ere you start:
If you want folks to love it,
Keep your ego out of it,
When you write always write from the heart.

II
It's great fun to write haiku and sonnets
About rainbows and gay Easter bonnets,
But if you find them too terse,
You can flesh out your verse,
And festoon it with quatrains and nonets.

III
Poets come, and poets go, and poets coincide.
Some rhyme time and time again, others "free verse" with pride.
But those who let their egos reign
Oft fade and never scribe again.
They succumb to the literary sin of authorcide.

IV
Writing is for me both pain and pleasure,
The time I spend with pad and pen I treasure.
I must confess, though,
Sometimes I stress so,
When syllables I choose to use refuse to measure.

Happy Easter

Happy Easter to everyone on Poetry Soup
  (except those of you not in the 'Christian group') 

I hope that you all enjoy the holiday
   and that the Easter Bunny comes your kids' way

Of course, there's a lot more to Easter than bunnies and bonnets
   but I'll 'Pass Over' that ~ let theologians ruminate on it



           ~ Happy Easter to One and All! ~

Easter Blooms

bunnies and baskets
bonnets with ribbons and frills
easter blooms with smiles

Easter

Easter isn't about a bunny
Who brings baskets filled with sweets.
Nor is it about the colored eggs we hide,
Though for kids it is a treat.

Easter is not about new frilly dresses,
Bonnets or new suits for little boys.
Although it's nice to have such things,
Easter's not about sweets, clothes or toys.

No, Easter isn't about a bunny,
And it's not about new clothes.
It's all about the Lamb of God,
Who was slain and then arose.

Easter is about our Savior,
Who paid sin's awful price,
A debt we could have never paid -
Only His blood would suffice.

On Easter we celebrate Jesus.
He is risen, our Savior lives!
He left behind an empty tomb,
Let us rejoice in the hope He gives.

4/14/22

Chicks Strut Their Easter Bonnets

The chicks strutted their Easter bonnets all over the barnyard.
Their mother the hen was proud; she loved every second.
Their father did not claim them, they were so puffed up.
Everyone had an opinion.
Some good, some bad.

Too confident. Too cocky. Too self-assured.
These were the observations of the male chicks.
Exciting! Pretty! Lovely! Marvelous! Wonderful!
This was the oldest hen’s observation.
Let’s call her Grandma.

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