Honeysuckle Poems - Poems about Honeysuckle

honeysuckle tree

honeysuckle tree
blossoms rain on summers day
yellow parachutes

she grows renegade
her offshoots grow wild too
commandeer the yard

renegade honeysuckle trees

Honeysuckles commandeered my yard
Ten in a row, watching this old bard
They grow renegade, their roots are super deep.
Providing shade for my red ninety-eight Jeep.

ROSE AND HONEYSUCKLE MONTH

No need for long talk
Because the long talk 
Keeps you stuck 
That  sucks 
It's energy draining.

You can only unfold 
What you behold 
You're only powerful 
Over what you can control 
Be guided;
Diligence is the master key to life.

Welcome to the month 
Of Pride and Awareness 
June to be precise 
The sixth month of the

Jessamyn's Song

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

Honeysuckle

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

Steadfast Honeysuckle

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.

Sharon

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

Venus Flytrap

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

Rain Garden

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

Honeysuckle Heartbeat

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.

Honeysuckle Hope

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

Honeysuckle

proffering the scent
hummingbirds under window
add to the ardor

Honeysuckle Wandering

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)

Betwixt Us Honeysuckle

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 —
     

Bring Me Home

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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