My porch will be lush with colored hues,
of white, pinks, purple and blues.
So lovely in the early dawn hush,
with colored hues- oh, my porch will be lush.
Green herbs will tumble from brown clay pots,
and creeping jenny will be in knots.
Bright wild blooms grow in a jumble,
from brown clay pots the green herbs will tumble.
I will grow wheat grass for my kitty cat,
a nice place to sit with friends for a chat.
And often to go there to compose,
for my kitty cat will love the oat grass that grows.
Vines will curl and unfurl here and there,
people often looking up to stare.
Oh, such a serene place for this girl,
here and there, vines curl and unfurl.
___________________________
March 15, 2022 (Inspired by an old Poem)
Poetry/Couplet/Dreaming of Summer
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1440-062-15
All Rights Protected, 2022, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A BRIAN STRAND FORMAL
sponsor, Brian Strand, 03/16/2022
First Place
My porch is lush with colored hues,
I have white, pinks, purple and blues;
love it in the early dawn hush,
with colored hues, my porch is lush.
Green herbs tumble from brown clay pots,
my creeping jenny is in knots;
bright wild blooms grow in a jumble,
from brown clay pots, green herbs tumble.
Oat grass grows for my kitty cat,
nice to sit with friends for a chat;
and often go there to compose,
for my kitty cat, oat grass grows.
Vines curl and unfurl here and there,
people often look up and stare;
such a serene place for this girl
here and there, vines curl and unfurl.
________________________
June 8, 2020
Poetry/Quatrain/My Porch Garden
Copyright Protected, ID 20- 1259-087-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest Swap The Verse
sponsor, Joseph May
First Place
Mabel Vera Cone
1893-1911
No one knew I existed.
No one knew I died.
No one, not even my family,
Knew I lived in the back,
Out back, way behind the small white house
On shady Canobie Street.
No one cared one iota.
No one wondered where I was
Or where I was going.
If loneliness were a flower,
I would be the faded one,
Growing and struggling reluctantly
Amidst the devouring weeds,
Out back, way beyond and hidden there,
Amidst the consuming burdock
And the golden creeping jenny there.
When I died that day,
The last Saturday in moody June,
I was alone and afraid.
No one knew I existed.
No one, not even my family,
Knew I was dying.
Dying in the darkness,
Dying of inescapable isolation,
The disease of misery and melancholia,
Out back, way beyond and hidden there,
Behind the small white house,
On shady Canobie Street.
FLIGHTS OF FANCY PHRASIS 2
Lady’s mantle with butcher’s broom
dwarf cornel cotton grass so thin,
yellow travellers joy,with buttercup
on sunspurged ,petty whin.
Creeping jenny over silverweed
groundsel& cudweed,balm,rockrose
and agromony with thistle prickly green.
Good King Henry,goose fat red and a full
fat hen,in moschatel with mistletoe
and eyebright mustard so white.Thyme
&teasel so tamarisk in water-peppered bogbean;
grape hyacinth with forget-me-not in a
sea of lavender blue-green.Honesty
cuckoo flower,flax fumitory & fleabane;
musk marsh marigold&daffodil
in scentless mayweed.Yarrow ramson scabious
feverless,&plantain true with pepperwort,
cress seabeat burr buttered blue.
From Flights of Fancy 2003
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
Green Creeping Jenny
Growing from hanging basket
Clinging porch rail
Hanging on for dear
Life knowning winter is near
Will you survive year
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