#fly
I'm looking so fly
even groovy she says
in threads
from the retro store
#embrace #nonet
Let the night enfold our sacred bond
where shadows softly play for us,
suspending time in moments
of our blissful wishes
and tomorrow dreams~
why must daylight
then arrive
and love
end?
#visit
bumblebee
in the lobelia
a late lunch
#reminisce
tiger lillies can't
reminisce when there's no one
worth talking to
~'O Tiger-lily,' said Alice... 'I wish you could talk!' 'We can talk,' said the Tiger-lily: 'when there's anybody worth talking to." ~Lewis Carroll
#share
she's lived her fair share~
comedy and tragedy
the balance of life
#cherish
oh! fireflies ...
that memory of you
here then gone
#prank
sunflowers
following the sun
until clouds pop up
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
My soul yearns to wander in a poetic garden,
not to remain hidden under overgrown weeds.. (the poet)
Rumi says; "It is rain that grows flowers not thunder."
Some bloom like roses, some like poppies_
spreading verdant, vibrant and diverse colours..
Sunflowers reach for the sky,
whilst lobelia droop towards the ground...
Yet, nothing blossoms forever ~
we wither, perishing like premature petals..
Those who sowed nostalgic memories,
flourish through generations -
others are forgotten like wildflowers.
In a fairy garden magic grows
amid creeping vines and velvet moss.
Impatiens red
Lobelia blue
Tiny houses peep out from leaves
where Spring bulbs sleep there deep beneath
At twilight -- sparks of light rise up
fairies of fireflys' ?
I 'll let you guess
the secret of my happiness.
Poor Ruby Hummer looks confused,
searching for her favorite feeder.
It was right there when it last was used,
in September, in the cedar.
Above the Bee-balm and Lobelia,
in my pollinator garden,
so sorry, Ruby, yes I feel ya,
and I truly beg your pardon.
I’m late this May, you came so soon
from your Yucatan vacation.
2000 miles from your lagoon,
a miraculous migration.
500 miles without a stop
o’er the Gulf, you must be famished.
A marvel that you didn’t drop,
and now your feeder’s vanished!
Just last week we had some snow,
a freakish mid-May specter.
Please be patient, please don’t go,
I’ll brew you up some nectar.
Meanwhile, check the Columbines
while I go and fetch the feeder.
And don’t forget your Trumpet Vines
that wind behind the cedar.
Come grace my garden, cheer my heart,
you’re my favorite garden guest.
It’s time to fatten up and start
to build the family nest.
Here nest materials, soft and pliable,
give shelter from the storms.
Next Spring I will be more reliable,
I’ll institute reforms.
June 2020
Garden Contest sponsored by Constance La France
Oh let me leave
Everyday life
And just dream
Of my garden
Beneath the snow
Oh the yellow
Flowers growing
Vibrant blues
Inspirational
Winter dreaming
Such beauty
Considerations
To different shapes
And textures
Planting colors
Mass harmony
Bright red
Tulips and pansies
Phlox- dusty miller
Woven together
Waves of color
Verbena trailing
Lobelia purple
Different heights
Wild as nature
Red primrose
Blue daisies
Yellow marigold
Just winter dreams
Of my garden
_________________________
January 4, 2016
Poetry/Anacreontic Verse/Winter Dreaming
Copyright Protected, ID 16-741-375-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Anacreontic Verse 2
Sponsor, Edward Ebbs
Second Place
TIME FOR A VACATION
It is my wife’s lifelong dream, a fairytale place a magic land :
The small village of Rye in Sussex , in southern England.
This is the heart of England, its bosom -
Filled with peaceful smells of blossom :
Like a Dickens scene on christmas cards -
Steep streets with cobblestones - no cars.
Smoking chimneys, bow windows, roofs with thatches,
Hanging baskets of alyssum and lobelia in batches -
Her favorite colours white and dark blue:
I wanted to make her dream come true.
Tea and hot crumpets and warm butter oozing
By the fire in the sitting room with grandad snoozing
At four o’ clock by the chimes of the grandfather
Clock which fascinates - it’s like theatre to her.
Soft beds you sink into deeper and deeper;
Little bedrooms with floral wallpaper
She’s only seen in movies about Sherlock Holmes;
And small windows recalling our childhood homes.
We feel at ease, content like birds flown home to their loft.
View to cherry orchard trees in blossom soft
And to France on the distant sea horizon:
She gazes and thinks and daydreams on and on.
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.