woodlands wait by the edge
where sassafras' three-lobed foliage flares up
like mittens in striking papaya and gold
tiger butterflies, squirrels, and birds flock
beguiled by the pendulous clusters of berries
Unique
Elite swimmer
brown, tailless, Pied-billed Grebes
can float, dive or simply submerge
graceful
dark eyes
cinnamon tone
heard but not often seen
rear end feet, lobed toes, poor flier
gawky
small bird
solitary
widespread, but rarely seen
dramatic silent crash-diver
decent
patient
near to nest bowl
I hide in marsh water
to capture still clear reflection
I wait
In the calabash of life,
a profound journey unfolds
as the space
gracefully passes the baton
in the art of apprenticeship.
Success resonates like a fine chant,
akin to the resonance of the four-lobed kola nut
the water that flows,
immersing its feet
into gin and tradition.
The apprentice,
the Soldier's seed,
navigates the delicate balance
between the sun's dreams
and the moon's ways.
Hips sway
after the clover of the stars,
creating a dance
that echoes the celestial rhythm,
Taking nature in the fashion it is.
Within energy’s forte,
the apprentice remains steadfast,
untouched
by the mystic's contagion.
Breeze gently gives life to the air,
ensuring that peace
never topples over,
while the living
is meticulously scripted
in the sealed scroll of existence
The Apprentice knew anew.
In the scroll
where life is inscribed,
the celestial and clay beings converge.
The earth walks ways
where water was weaned
before birth,
guiding life in eleven directions —
light, lead, love, logic, luxury,
and power
flavored on six sticks of nature.
Ridged, broad and corky wings.
Translucent—your yellow
Iris sits behind the morning veil.
Short season of striking
color. Greed spurs you, or hope
Huddled against the bursting
Of a cursed idea. It will
Spread like children, carried
By the breeze that tickles
Your lobed capsules. They catch
Like sails. You would unfurl and fly
Instead, dragging your webbed feet
In the face of becoming, pallid
Bolts of cloth ensconce you. A virgin
Steadfast and shaking checks the hem
For stains on her
pure white
wedding dress.
Spring is a time of rebirth and rejuvenation,
A vernal season of whimsical invigoration.
Admiration is conveyed through this way,
It relishes a bit like freshly fallen rain spray.
A scent of lemon, aloe, and sieved steaming,
Like ambrosial rosebuds blooming in spring.
A glass of polished ruby bears serenity,
It's saffron on silk with a resolute divinity.
Colorful gown of yellow, green, and blue,
Shimmering in harlequin-inspired hue.
It divinely glides over meadow and field,
Where silky lobed rugs swarm with their yield.
3RD PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 27, 2022
Spring Rhyme - 8-12 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
great buy.
bcmgva.0rg
Purchase Date:
May 1, 2021
Payment to:
Brunswick County Master Gardener Volunteer Association
[email protected] Payment from:
Jill Horn
[email protected]
Quantity: 2
Item: Mountain Mint
ID Number:
Price: $6.00 USD
_
Quantity: 2
Item: Three-lobed Coneflower
ID Number:
Price: $5.00 USD
_
Quantity: 1
Item: Smooth Viburnum
ID Number:
Price: $8.00 USD
_
Subtotal $30.00 USD
Tax $2.03 USD
Total $32.03 US
Dancing trees blossom
Every day from March till May
Before next autumn
White light daffodils
Flourish the grasses so dull
Like colourful frills.
Lobed petalled poppies
Kiss the warm navy blue sky
With red spirits high
Date written: 21/04/2021
Contest: Spring Haiku Chain Poetry
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
December did not call him out
to the creek,
it was a prod from a walking god
whose legs had grown stiff.
The softening stream is smoky,
a recuperating sun is unlocking the frozen,
slivers and floes jostle to be one
with the melt and miasma.
He watched water rats playing tag
with each other’s tails.
He had argued with her
and was kicking around a grievance.
Peevishly he lobed small stones
at the rats;
they dived into the banks for cover
but soon come out again
to enjoy the spate of the stream.
Water rats seem immune to
prolonged caution and fear,
maybe they are as forgetful as goldfish
or simply habituated to risk.
It was then that he knew
that he had to go home and apologize,
mend what was broken, hold her close
until she melted and flowed again.
I slither and climb amogst the highest of canopy
Winding, circling, selfishly stalking all heights for him
A slender, lascivious woman searching for a vee
Strangling my host, endangering its very life and limb
My rough shedding skin leaves all, top to bottom, enrobed
My teethy scales of greenery are heart shaped and lobed
Pursued by many, my wild grapes make the best homemade wine
Not only on riverbanks as my common name would imply
Most of the forest is littered with my dark hanging vine
I must forewarn all, for me to live, other plants will die
9/17/17
apricots bygone
a peachy sun geezerhood
silver lobed Ginkgo
Drawn To Their Own Conclusion
Before the grenades were launched
Lobed at the angry crowds
Women gathered bullets in their pockets
Found on the silent street
As they looked down the loaded barrel
About to be emptied into them
A kiss in the night to say good-bye when fired
You could have heard a pin drop when it started
Curses never turn out good
That was no book or toy coming at them
No good comes from violence
What is that in the air
Is it love carried on the wind
Shots ring out in the heat of passion
Heard on every lonely corner
Riots always begin in darkness
In silence like sin festering within
Triggers squeezed
Bullets ring out
Drawn to their own conclusion
Down to the tomb where nothing moves
so the poem goes
along the nose
a proboscis bridging
along the ridge in
alphabets of aromas
mouthing wordy stomas
with stanza's scents
to write recompense
right between the eyes
seeing to a surprise
fleshing cheeky meter
poetic phrasing sweeter
'til lobed on ear and
lips whispered near in
recognizing expressions
facially i reckon
© Goode Guy 2012-01-25
Intro:
To be a writer such as he, there are none
His work outlasts the best, I’m sure…
…~William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601-
“to hold, as t’ were, the mirror up to nature…”
BROKEN OAK
~*Rispetto/ Miranda Lambert ©*~
Contest: “The Tree”
Written: 04/20/2011
Nestled on scaly plates, known as the White Oak
Pennetly lobed leaves, twiddled between my fingers
While the morning dew, the summer sun did soak
As the aura of this native wood lingers
In the “Y” shaped branches, only I could fit
And hour or two I stay, as luck would have it
Ghastly winds blow my hair, my branch starts to sway
We both come tumbling down, dwindling away
Ancient relic your stock declare
Blanched, burnished cloak but meager fare
Your precious pulp carefully lay bare
Crescent, lobed leaves bleed a fathom or share
Nutty residual, fleeting equity you'll readily spare
Sylvan fortress; natural haven
Artfully sculpted; gratuitously graven
Fertile proprietor whose bounty is raven
Perennial bulwark; temporal sanctuary to the craven
Vaulted repository tapped by every enterprising maven
Your wavy blades insect's armored chair
Your peeling canvas terminators doth pare
Your fawning tentacles avionic lair
Your brigand hull leased for wear
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.