Columbines Poems | Examples

A Missouri Way To Live

Walking along a path through forest’s green,
a clear running stream where I can fish.
A porch swing to sit and watch nature’s scene,
that is the heart of my Missouri wish.

Strolling through a tinted meadow at dawn,
the smell of wildflowers tickling my nose.
Black-eyed Susan, Blue Stem, Prairie Clover,
bright Coneflowers, Columbines, and Primrose.

Filling my lungs with the syrup of life,
spying the sun glinting between swaying leaves.
Hearing the melody of a robin’s song,
as it drifts upon a soft summer’s breeze.

Feel the glory of a morning’s sunrise,
as it fills the sky with a promised day.
Wonder at the beauty of sunset’s glow,
sleep sound and dream as worries drift away.

Stand in silence atop a grassy hill,
soaking in all that nature has to give.
Gaze across the beauty of God’s workshop,
knowing this is the Missouri way to live.

The Day We Met

I recollect the day we met, my dear
When the air was wintry warm and clear.
The garden was a paradise of perfume,
And many flowers were in bloom.

Daylilies and columbines flourished around the pond
And tall sedge grew here and there and beyond.
Littered everywhere were lovely lotus flowers,
Beneath goldfish and calico swam together for hours.

A small wooden bridge took us to a small bench,
So soothing I heard a waterfall drifting down a trench.
We talked and talked and knew love was there.
I promised I will always be true for I really did care.

Haku 6 - Hummingbird

hummingbird hovers
on columbines with nectar -
the art of new plants

Simple Scribbles and Rambling Lines

I write upon mountains from whence I view the sea
soothed by the rhythmic motion of the tide
my muse goes into overdrive
Soon my pretty notebook
is bursting with simple scribbles and rambling lines
as I watch a heron stalking its prey

I’ve a picnic to eat as I go on my way 
and I’ll sketch vivid purple columbines,
then re read the scrawled notes I took
in my notebook archive
Initial thoughts are edited and modified 
guess I’m striving for perfection you see

Nature’s beauty inspires me to pen poetry
and I love strolling in the countryside
I'll watch kingfishers as they dive
into a babbling brook,
cool water glistening as the golden sun shines;
outdoors in the fresh air I long to stay

12 10 8 6 12 10 0 12 10 8 6 12 10 0 12 10 8 6 12 10 checked with HMS

My Invented Form - I Write Upon Poetry Contest

Sponsored by Constance La France

01/30/21

Garden Hummer Conundrum

Poor Ruby Hummer looks confused,
searching for her favorite feeder.
It was right there when it last was used,
in September, in the cedar.

Above the Bee-balm and Lobelia,
in my pollinator garden,
so sorry, Ruby, yes I feel ya,
and I truly beg your pardon.

I’m late this May, you came so soon
from your Yucatan vacation.
2000 miles from your lagoon,
a miraculous migration.

500 miles without a stop
o’er the Gulf, you must be famished.
A marvel that you didn’t drop,
and now your feeder’s vanished!

‘twas just last week we had some snow,
a freakish mid-Spring specter.
Please be patient, please don’t go,
I’ll brew you up some nectar.

Meanwhile, check the Columbines
while I go and fetch the feeder.
And don’t forget your Trumpet Vines
that grow behind the cedar.

Come grace my garden, cheer my heart,
you’re my favorite garden guest.
It’s time to fatten up and start
to build the family nest.

Nest materials, soft and pliable,
give shelter from the storms.
Next Spring I will be more reliable,
I’ll institute reforms.

June 2020
Garden Contest sponsored by Constance La France

Letters Stories Tell

typewriter keys strike hard and fast
	sharp black marks slightly moist
on crisp clean papers so snowy white
	lines of symbols that have no form

black and white does colors show
	golds and silvers and blues and greens
black darkness of night and golden light of day
	snow capped peaks in sky’s of blue

sports cars quickly race and motorcycles curve
	asphalt black and hard and auburn curls in the breeze
motors loudly roar and soft leaps flutter
	wind it rushes by with a scent of flowers

sharp clean lines corners form
	flowing curves both soft and firm
clean angles sharp and some obtuse
	shows us things we cannot see

painting landscapes within the mind
	tall green trees fluttering leaves
orchids roses and columbines
	bees that hum and birds that fly

tell timeless stories of girls and boys
	of young love and its joys
of picnics in the summer sun
	harsh cold beaches when it’s done

sharp clean pictures in the mind
	music sweet in all its forms
of each emotion known to man
	from black letters on paper white

Mountain

The spoils of war and the comfort of your home all locked up in a web of spiders silk and dusty blue Columbines. A mid-winter sky raging brilliant white electricity while I dig my fingernails into my palms. Open heart, shattered core, and a vibrant pain pulsing, silently underneath. Cover me. As I rise and fade and then rise again. Seperate a corner of the earth to hold me on and carve out an uneven foundation. I cannot be made to hold steady, unbalanced all over my life. Gripping the fear as it shoots thru my spine, equidistant from my shoulder blades, and I don't know what to do once I'm holding onto it. Each day is a mess of these laser lines flying thru my self, tangible and unreal. If I could just work my way back to the beginning. The very first shock of mental anguish, maybe I'd untangle some of my self. And maybe I'd just magnify the creaking, rotten cabin I've been building to hide inside. But it sure would be something to see. All my selfish turmoil laid out and choreographed. Placed precariously over bones full of bullet holes. 
So leave me with the sky. With no tourism in my head. I'm counting star patterns. I'm not afraid right now.

Whirl of Blue Blossoms

Whimsical love-in-a-mist
Himalayan blue poppy
Elegant lily of the Nile
Graceful columbines
Playful balls of hydrangea
Ravishing blue daisy
Humble globe thistle
Delicate flax blooms
Sublime forget-me-nots
Breathtaking cornflower
Exquisite blue anemone
Blooms of every shade of blue
Paradise for me and you



AP: 1st place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025

Posted on February 18, 2019

Reawakening - a Dizain

The waxing sun of April shines
Where once the woods of winter pined;
Now trilliums and columbines
Exult; where snow once lay, now find
Sweet-scented honeysuckle twined.

Where rime ran rife, where cold was keen,	
Unfurling ferns of freshest green
Now burst beneath the budding trees,
And fragrant flowers of eglantine
Are bending in the brimming breeze.

The Mountains Are Calling

From pine-scented forests, past boulders and streams,
To clear lakes encircled by murals and dreams
Where bright clouds emblazon a warm azure sky,
A trail through the mountains is one I must try.

When bluebells stop blooming and nighttime grows cold,
The breeze makes the aspen trees shimmer with gold.
The chirp of the pika is scarce to be heard;
The eerie elk-bugle is now the watchword.

The sounds and their season soon snuffed out by snow,
The silky white peaks wear a pink, sensual glow
At sunrise when raw arctic blasts turn serene,
Inviting to view how they’ve sculpted the scene.

As ice turns to water and lush green arrives,
The crags reappear and new wildlife thrives.
Soon streamlets will gurgle and columbines grow;
The mountains are calling and I must go.

Mountain Meditation

I am walking in silence,
listen to water and wind,
notice
the frost on the leaves in the shade,
the fivefold symmetry of the columbines,
the pica scurrying across the scree.

My feet follow
the rhythm of my breath 
which, in turn, is molded
on the contour of the mountain.
My thoughts are 
of breathing and walking,
breathing and walking
until I reach the summit
and realize
I spent the morning
in meditation,
every step 
a prayer.

July 2, 2018

Eden

Eden
 
Early bloom the yellows of spring,
ending the gray of winter’s bane;
entwined vines of columbines cling,
enthralled by silver drops of rain.

Enrobed in colors fresh and green,
ensconced in nature’s arms serene…
Eden hums as nightingales sing. 




06-06-2018

Contest:     Pleiades Poetry Contest
Sponsor:    Joseph May
Placement:  2nd

Used To

I used to walk
By the side of the beach
And feel the wind on my face
And the waves lapping at my feet
And the sunset in all its splendour
Pinks and reds and oranges and yellows
The strokes of the Creator's paintbrush
Swept across the sky's canvas
With the white sprinkles of twinkling stars
And the priceless glowing sphere of gold
Sinking over the horizon

I used to walk
Through the gardens of old
And hear the slight rustle of bushes
And the chirping of birds
And feel peace of heart and mind
And see the bliss combinations of flowers
Roses and Violets and Marygolds
Carnations and columbines
And breathe in the scent of purified joy

I used to do so many things
Go so many places
Not anymore
Now I wait
And wait
And wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Waiting
For the rest of my life

Bethnal Green 1850

It is a Sunday morning in spring the bright sun shines in Bethnal-green,
Wander along a path between the church, the railway towards Whitechapel,
For one day there are beautiful flowering gardens thrown open to anybody
And at their gates there are beautiful plants and flower-roots for sale.

There is every flower imaginable radiant under the English morning sun,
Old flowers to take you back childhood and your grandparents childhood,
There are lads loves, sweet williams, daisies, pinks to warm your heart,
Wallflowers, polyanthuses, thrifts, tufts of sweet-peas, with daisies

Tufts of larkspurs, violets with columbines all for sale at one penny,
For one penny the poor can stock a small plot by a door, or corner tub,
Or it could be a pot in the window, where these poor plants will fade,
Under the admiring eyes of those who are older and fading themselves.

Out of the alleys and courts and unknown streets many people come to see,
And those pale and sickly weavers are streaming along to feast their eyes,
Different from stenches and factory grime, miserable times over the years,
magical, beautiful and delicate, for a moment their grim lives forgotten.

Columbines Castles In the Sky

What words be there spoken that have yet to be questioned.... 

Soliloquy; and why do I waste anothers time trying to awaken the dusk 

As it holds tightly unto armadas, amissive dawn; and how long this mirrors 

Death lay upon tomorrows bed waiting for a yesterday that has come and gone???

With shadowed silhouettes tearing pages from a book; never was it written....

Crying amid the caverns of times illusive silence such as a ghost 

Trapped about their columbine castles which fell from the sky to shatter 

Abstract dreams that washed from these eyes and why do they wait a dawn 

Betwixt tears that shall only shackle tomorrow as though it were not....

And what words be there spoken that have yet to be questioned in arcanes

Inane; why do I waste anothers time trying to awaken this dusk aneath

Shadowed silhouettes tearing pages from a book, never to be written 

In illusives dreams; as death lay upon tomorrows bed waiting for a yesterdays.... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...."Ghost, Amid Their Castles of The Sky” *

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