Herbage Poems | Examples

List of Member Poems

Premium Member Spellbound By Sunlight

free spirit of summer: a new foliage
wraps the air; vagabond daybreak spilling
colored tones on mounds of rosebuds
 dripping of citrine sensation...
how beautiful they are, 
enough to widen hundreds of a maiden's smiles...
and while swags of August cuddle
gemmed blossoms and herbage ,

a plump view shapes morning into a spray
of mountain petals, spreading sheer
rapture on long, lavish fields---

 spellbound by sunlight of auroral tint,
 flowers burst more daring than
 the red, orange and pink of early beam,
 as trinket of bulbs surfs along garden beds 
waving their flamenco hands to greet tangled wet weeds. ...
and much like the sun they were born from, 
florets thrust their tanned arms radiant. rare. robust...

here, a parade of garlands dressed in
satin hues prances on the first touch of light:
that finally, earth's flesh is decked
 in summer rays, in softened prayer... 
sun - up waltzing   pivoting 
in dawn's sweet, effervescent glow!

Moonlight in a Bowl

In the green fields of Punjab,
A dark creature stands—
A breathing mountain of dusk,
Yet gentle as a dove.
Through the long silence of day,
On weeds and dry, ordinary grass,
She gathers the unnoticed,
And turns it into a quiet miracle.
Between veins of red and brown,
A pale river begins to move—
Drawn from the dust of herbage,
A secret the earth cannot speak.
Where no light enters,
Something stirs without a sound;
Foliage becomes a silver flow,
Clay ripens into white gold.
Like moonlight poured into a bowl,
Like mercy falling unseen,
It arrives—pure, unannounced—
A gift no eye can fully hold.
What hand shapes this hidden alchemy?
What silence writes this tender law?
The buffalo knows, yet does not speak—
She stands, humble in her giving,
While man forgets the miracle,
And grows loud.

Premium Member The Lonely Weed

A meadow awaits its  springtime march 
where my feet wander  along
like one holy pilgrimage: a nettle drifts
without blame or sense of pity,
leaves lingering on trunks reddened
by the kiss of clay glossy
in a mad desire to wake, wake
dawn flowing with  herbage.

I trace how flaming in amber this weed 
crawls in wild, unbridled streaks
of lightened mud, part ground, part wind :
Twilight sings the break of newborn day
where this nettle crawls alone, not lonely;
its slithering frame posed to rule over blooms
a nymph perhaps trailblazing in abandon--

that being in this ethereal space rouses
both pleasure and piety  within my bones…

while the soil's womb bears more weeds.


Premium Member Boston Ivy

POTD~

In the misery of a paler grey nightfall
she blinks like citrine glazed along walls,
Ivy of Boston flaunts her shimmer without guilt
as palette of amber claims her lustrous glides 
slithering with her bohemian lift,
rosette flesh blushing in chilled breeze.

Social climber this paramour, whirling
among plants wanton wild ,
trickles of mist freckle palms of curled leaves-
stem for stem-- translating the language of time,
of how branches relish herbage flow
as my wet hands paddle my dusky breaths
through mid-evening's freeze.

How her alchemy draws gasping sighs
more red than red could ever tease,
and that gypsy's heat...leaving mortals
in awe-...that her fluid pose seems to jut out
from a glass frame to rush forth with all
her womanly senses gushing, snaking,
writhing in the middle of ghastly, boney winter

meant to return on the edge of wild abandon,
enticing men with her faceted charm

never ever the same each time.

Heaven

I can often (sometimes) almost
feel it.
It’s not a place, not anywhere,
not heaven sent or given.

Sometimes it’s a soft sticky fig,
on the back of the tongue
or a color that should be painted
but nobody has yet.

It’s like the thought of home,
a wide ribbon of encircling rings
each of them a trick of the light,
but you know that light,
you know that presence,
it’s the smoky herbage of a love
beyond the desiring of it.

Then again it’s the soft smell
of autumnal woods
or simply just some noodle soup
she makes for you
when you’re tired and sick.

Premium Member December Scene

the scotch pine looks white
herbage seem to poke at him ---
snow nostalgia



08 December 2022
Winter Nature Themed Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin


Premium Member Maze

I found a chateau lawn once, teeming with charm
A  MAZE it was,  growing cluttered yet it had an air
Of much lushness TURNING the space into a hued mantle;
Where PATHS of herbage, bluebells, camellias sashayed
Like a vintage GARDEN set on cobblestone and ivy WALL.
Touches of grass here... firs, and jasmines there bloomed
Like  shabby elegance which was never designed--

On the aisle, a SINUOUS bend led me to a wishing well
Creating a playful mood for birdsongs' rhythmic trills,
While dragonflies wheeled in pirouetted flight
That I, LOST in this finery recalled springtime glee
When my cousins' roguish play of hide-and-seek,
Mirrored their frolic, TWISTING reeling among weeds:
O reminisces  gushed of  colored florets TRAPPED
Within their  scratched arms made me dream again,
About a youth's lawn which held me enthralled...
This wondrous PUZZLE of discovery I now keep, on my mind!


````````````````
Maze--19 Word Challenge Contest 
Sponsored by Dear Heart
6/28/2020

Premium Member Summer's Soliloquies

Sun's flames burn through hazy, midday heat
Raising fierce winds -- dusty, choking ...
Fiery orb descending toward horizon's lair
  ~ Ghostly white moon rises, painted on low-ceilinged sky

Bare, brown patches spread, invading once-proud green mantles
Parched blades wither, yielding to ceaseless daily inroads
Of blighted blotches, rank weeds, strangling lush herbage
  ~ Signs of fading Summer's sad soliloquies  

Flowers vanish, decapitated stick figures
Barren, beheaded stalks, twisting, turning
On their ghastly way, headless horsemen of the day
  ~ Sere petals grinning, decked out in obsolescence

Moist green leaves prematurely crinkle brown
Unmoored from twig or branch, breeze by
Face up, now capricious, flip over, nurse Earth's bosom
  ~ Signs of fading Summer's sad soliloquies

Crickets' symphonies screech endlessly
Fireflies lanterns flicker on-off, on-off, on-off
Abrupt descent of Humidity's airless curtain
  ~  Summer soliloquies' soundless denouement

Skying An Oar

Long time ago, in lonesome youth shine
In a wonder state of boykind
Making paper pontoons
Skying an oar, in a creek lagoon
On a yummy, afternoon
In swampy, draconian, water spittoon

The artsy-crafty, paper tub boat
I heedlessly, knacked, to float
Voraciously, rocked and rolled
Swiftly, into wet slimy herbage
Between crying, wet, musty edges
Cruising, murmuring, delicate, breezes

While under perpetual, shiny, sky
With a calming, breeze, high
My desolate vessel going bye-bye
Sailing, sailing away
Like the days, that passed 
When once, a young spirited sass

Premium Member Harvest of a Season

Sweet the bounty imbuing the meadow
With ripened fruits, herbage, and oats,
And children raise their baskets under lush trees
To  pick  pluck nectar of mid-autumn’s  regale...
While older folks round up for  a grateful song
Delighting in tokens from the horn of plenty,
Where scent of crops brews on lit abodes
Until breaths deepen warmly upon fertile yield,
Relishing the heap from nature's soil.

~
Then reeling unto  sunset's fest
Dusk imparts joyful revelry
As landscape blooms , a starlit crest
While Harvest  moon enlivens earth.

~
In this rich season …
voices whisper, “ Oh praise be, 
dear blessed heaven!”



For Kim Rodrigues' Cornucopia Contest
11/18/2017

Lost In Dark Silent

Lost In Dark Silent

When I look back the silent darkness
I had left in the deep woods
a long ago
where I had planted few seeds
of my memories to grow
but I found those seeds grown
with thorns of exasperation and annoyance
when I fondled those plants
I felt the prick of thorns
my broken heart felt shock
that chimes of buds missing
chink of leaves of oak
and alpine disappearing
rustle of gust of winds fading away
susurration of herbage die down
tinkle of poplar branches falling silent
now I am back in the woods
to get lost into silent darkness
and invite 
chimes of buds to titillate my cheeks
chink of leaves of oak and alpine 
to tickle my lips
rustle of gust of winds '
to pamper my poetic feelings
susurration of herbage
to croon me a lullaby
and wish that I were lost 
in the golden memories of 
olden days in the silent darkness again

(Kishan Negi)

Bones Lay

Back age of brute creation 'n herbage beholders
Hominoids have stayed for bodiless years 
Jumbled brains on battered shoulders 
With rash of lacking space frontiers
On brief planet lay all the bone souvenirs

For countless, covered bodies in shallow earth tomb 
Whilst' sun winks like the star  
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust gloom
In an overcast front of sky afar
Protected in the bosom of Spirit’s immortal reservoir

The Burrow

My heart lays within the burrow. 

In the stillness of this place there is beauty, its envelopes the terrain. 

Softness is embodied in the rich colors of both shade and hue. 

Lush emerald herbage, grass swaying within the current that embraces you. 

Twilight, a glistening blanket ensnared within the ebony backdrop. 

There is an abundance of life, it thrives in the meadow. 

To the wolves who bay. 

To the coyotes that cackle. 

There is life within the burrow. 

May you play in the evergreen for an eternity, your mind privy to time. 

Chase the swiftness of the jack rabbit, paw at passing fireflies. 

Nestle yourself among the comforts of the vegetation, embrace both warmth and wonder. 

Incarnate is this place. 

For my heart lays within the burrow and as do you, as do you

Bamboo Tree

Bamboo Tree

26 February 2012


Evergreen tree-like green herbage
Abounding woody stems travelling upwards
In a flick, moments-of-memory refuse to cede
At the sound of rustling leaves, pay off a reverie

Pliant in face of neither storms nor monsoons
It just sways and bends but never lose its elegance
Misty outside and leafing out to commune
Submissive to nature’s onrush by its restless dance

As the wind blows in every direction
Unmindful are we to disregard nature’s course
God’s invitation to see and listen into its perfection
On how each sight and sound heal one’s scarce

Bamboo nodes strengthen its stem
Each step is a faint for its humble growth
Interaction – a never dying language for ecosystem
Find comfort to its shadows as a token of troth

Not built for eternity but new shoots will replace
To repeat its vow to shed green leaves to procreate
An inseparable companion to give refuge and embrace
For all passing guests finding a way to relate


Noel N. Villarosa

Lawnmower Blues

Hollow herbage grows.
Lifting spear shaped blades skyward.
Trim necessity!

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