Honeysuckle Poems - Poems about Honeysuckle

Jessamyn's Song (circa age 14-16) by Michael R. Burch 16 There are meadows heathered with thoughts of you, where the honeysuckle winds in fragrant, tangled vines down to the water's edge. Through the wind-bent grass I watch time pass slow with the dying day on its lolling, rolling way And I know you’ll soon be mine. 17 There are oak trees haggard and gnarled by Time where the shrewd...

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Sweet scent on the breeze, Golden bells hanging so low, Summer's gentle kiss....

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They fell in love, through the doorway of the eyes, as their souls communed. Silently, they speak in the language of soul and spirit. Glimpses of this cadence, seen and heard in the plaintive hum and lamentation of bow pulled across strings, then pushed across to ground us in this world again. ...

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Sharon by Michael R. Burch, circa age 15 apologies to Byron I. Flamingo-minted, pink, pink cheeks, dark hair streaked with a lisp of dawnlight; I have seen your shadow creep through eerie webs spun out of twilight... And I have longed to kiss your lips, as sweet as the honeysuckle blooms, and to hold your pale albescent body, more curvaceous than the moon... II. Black-haired beauty, like the...

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Every little word, It used to attract me like honeysuckle in a mid-summers bloom. The nectar that dripped from the flower smelt sweet, the beautiful yellow pollen that left a trace on everything it touched. Every. Little. Word. As the seasons changed, I got used to you finding a new place to bloom and leave your mark there, I'm fine sharing...

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Standing brown barefoot In the summer springlike rain Feeling the coolness slide down my skin Like a bird bath for my soul Refreshing me inside and out Each raindrop anoints My every joint with hazel hope Amber buttery thoughts melt And I plant my seeds All those cares will be Carried away to life The garden I plant In the rain will thrive The muddy...

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You bloomed in heartbeats of cream daisy, longing to be born like breaths of gold honeysuckle petals, but, when fate smeared silence on twinkling throbs of innocence, life sighed in crisp embers of faith as your feet basked in peace above earth. Weaving shine with a pearly smile, you swirled in a snow-white lily's soul when heaven melted in moonstruck sight; I'll miss you, beyond love, my flower. ...

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out my glass window sways the silenced sunflower facing herbs of gold and silver-winged butterflies glazed in honeysuckle hope But in this darkness I knit lyrical tankas; Ink that unchains gate to glistening moon gardens where I'll flee from heartless ghosts So if tomorrow there's no poetry or prose remember these words as these are suppressed daydreams of a caged blue nightingale...

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proffering the scent hummingbirds under window add to the ardor...

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Amazing how smells attach to a memory More vivid than eyesight hearing or touch They wait deep inside us to capture the moment When all other senses —have started to rust (Dreamsleep: June, 2022)...

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he recalls childhood — betwixt us honeysuckle chest high chain link fence scent lingers within the boundary of neighbors — heart’s swoon carries it could i be that bird that flutters its wings of time — ...

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I'd like to give you an ounce of perfume that I borrowed from honeysuckle vine. This scent is old, more lovely, one presumes than French perfume always made by design. This scent leads me back to my childhood days, I hear ringing echoes of our voices, running barefoot over hidden pathways-- days before we had to make life's choices. Carefree days of locust...

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When being little was your super power adored by grandparents who had gifts of love always asking do you want more food more money whatever could not be baked or made was whisked away to buy from the store Honeysuckle bushes sweeten the southern breeze playing in the dirt under apple and pecan trees so fun baking my skin just right for...

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I was in constant competition with the bees Vying for orange honeysuckle from the trees Bulbs of orange waiting on a cue Warm and sweating, we kids were a few Squeezing pure sweet nectar down our throats The last drops with eyes closed is what we knew We were the collectors of sweet nectar That belonged to the bees I guess...

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Scents of sweet honeysuckle swell up through the lush Over-grown path to the old cemetery at Spy Rock Hill, there, Fresh-cut flowers have decayed like piles of dead tree brush. Scents of sweet honeysuckle swell up through the lush As children, we played around the grand old tombs lying flush With each other, engraved flat stones, on Memorial Day...

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