Long Alyssum Poems
Long Alyssum Poems. Below are the most popular long Alyssum by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alyssum poems by poem length and keyword.
The Solar Spring is breathtaking sending out itself everywhere
a sense of renewal is arising, growing, budding, and blooming.
The groundbreaking is taxing the granules of rich earthen sod
as new life seeks out the world above and the waiting wonder.
Aurorean presence breaks dawn light relishing the early share
as morning spreads the atmosphere rummaging goes on below.
Snowdrops pierce a melting frost and Sweet Alyssum edges on
the blossoms of mostly white and hints of green drooping down
Further onwards the tiny flowerets of Alyssum's scent air swell
and in the rears just above ground in striking colors are pansies.
The grand boulevard of a bustling town a ways from the hey-day
as an array of color-filled flowers like Daffodils being light in color.
There are bold blue-colored Bluebonnet stems standing in rows
and immediate to them are purple Sunflowers, --they're purplish.
Scattered about is a display of different hues of tall Spider Lillies
on the whole, I'm impressed with our tiny town's achievements.
I can say that with a measure of certainty that memories serve of
Bath, Maine circa 1970 + a dog after a chicken + a town after a dog.
A faint perfume of lilac blooms has stirred the sleeping dawn
Bright sunlight weaves a golden loom with threads across the lawn
Crisp white-lipped Delphiniums tossed snowflakes to the hills, while
Daffodils and pink jonquils shake off the morning chill
Each violet of morning has left no stone deferred
Found growing near, a sprout appears from every seed interred!
Greeting me like candle flames, are poppies, gold and red
Hawthorne weaves a golden crown around the arbor's head!
I look long past the windowpane, and spring has bloomed anew,
just in time to see the sky revealed in shades of blue
knitting primroses in surprise! A sight long overdue!
Lost between the flagstones, alyssum, wild and free, has
mushroomed into puffs of white, competing with sweet peas!
New sprouts of cosmos spring alive in flowerbeds we've teased
On winter's lace a pansy face is smiling up at last!
Petunias in their pastel coats, are dressed like royalty
Queen of all in velvet robes, the iris crowns the grass!
Resplendent are the foxgloves…..and the dragons are a Snap!
Sweet Williams are such gentlemen, they make the morning grand
Tiger lilies brave the wind, stalking in the breeze
Under every shady tree, violas are reprieved, while
verdant shades of primrose lace wear green upon their sleeves
Wisteria's hysteria spreads levity with ease!
Xanadu is Statice "quo"……now, what more could it do?
Yarrow blooms tomorrow. I'll have to dry a few
Zinnias mean that spring has sprung, to share fresh air with you!
____________________________________________________
"Spring Is In The Air" Contest Form ..... A to Z (Abecedarian)
3/4/18
PATHS were bordered by boxwood hedges
softened with fern, surrounding GARDEN edges.
Light floral scents perfumed the morning air
and sweet alyssum lined walkways; pea graveled.
I strolled through the MAZE with a hint of despair
for I'd never been more confused and unraveled,
or in greater fear for my own welfare
than I did standing beside the boundary WALL
that towered to heights, confoundingly tall.
Endless TWISTING trails were quite unexpected.
I cringed with timid thoughts of becoming LOST.
Forlorn from many dead end routes I'd selected
and annoyed from each fork I'd already crossed,
escape seemed to be hopeless and I felt rejected...
like a wave crashing on a sea that's storm tossed.
Now, with sunlight TURNING its warm face away,
I dropped to my knees and fervently began to pray.
I was TRAPPED inside a PUZZLE, with no way out,
winding among SINUOUS beds that roses adorned.
My mind became clouded and plagued with doubt.
Then I heard a whisper, while my heart mourned,
"Do not lose faith, Daughter. You must remain devout.
Find the courage to try once again," it mildly scorned.
I stood as twilight started painting the Eastern sky
and plucked a white rose bud as my undaunted reply.
MAZE-10 Word Challenge
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Posted on June 28, 2020
It's another frigid morning
that February brings in howling;
I shiver more than the stripped branches
when a fierce wind makes me think of avalanches
sliding down mountains and ravage villages,
and yet I await spring that promises renewed joys.
Being melancholic is longing
for the water gurgling and bubbling
among the shining rocks restoring life
all around and sparkling with dim sunshine;
will the fair-haired boy send his paper boat
down this foaming river? Will his darling wait
for it and pull it out of the water with a thrill...
making distance shorter for an anxious gill?
There in the cottage with small opaque windows
above the rock garden of Sweet Alyssum and Amaryllis,
the little sweetheart is overcome by profound loneliness;
long is winter when counting days and months,
and cuddling her kitty with cobalt eyes and soft, white fur
Karen sets her glace on the snow flowers that gleam...
if her tears made them grow, then she can dream
and follow that thought although absence seems to demur!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Finally, as afternoon sun splayed
through the picture window
onto wood floor and last pieces of furniture,
I packed that summer on the lake
into a box, mitering indigo corners
between squares of bubble wrap,
ripples appliqued with lilac jacaranda blooms
blown on the water.
Kids would leave for college and grandparents died,
but that year bees hovered in marigolds and violet alyssum.
The moon's marshmallow singed umber, impaled on a hanger
over golden flames. Dawn's opalescence would flicker
in pale aquamarine, receding shadows uncovering
beads of cerulean icing and pink lemonade shimmering
on shamrock and juniper.
Tiers of skinned knees and runny noses now framed
by cardboard and plastic were stacked like red velvet cake
atop a knotty pine picnic table as terns called in the distance,
then sealed with oak and concrete of our final day as we cannon-balled
off dock's end like it was the last thing we'd ever do.
Around me, a trellis, with a bounty of thorns
adorned with lush roses, and I feel I'm reborn
Awake, or a dreamland, I cannot be sure...
There are blue skies, above me, and a caress of the sun
It's as if I'm transparent, and my mind is a blur,
vague pictures, old memories, which I cannot secure
They confuse me, yet free me, from winters within
I'm out of the darkness, from the clouds of despair
The admirable beauty, impossibly soars
with a staircase of alyssum , sweet mosses, and more...
trilliums, wild ginger, sweet violets, adorned
garlands of daisies, and lavender floors
The sky is a blue sea, I want to explore
Birds sailing along, and I envy their wings
But with my eyes closed, I am flying and free!!
Wake me not, if I'm dreaming, I will rest on a star
And dream of the roses, that climb to the clouds
The voice of an angel, tells me I am allowed
to sleep with the knowledge, I can fly in my dreams
and escape to the place, where worry's not found
Around me, a trellis, with a bounty of thorns
adorned with lush roses, and I feel I'm reborn
___________________________________________________________
Rosey, had a rose of course
And Dan had Dandelions.
Sonny sought out Sunflowers
And Pete perfumed Petunias.
Maisey dreams of Daisys,
Cyrus clings to Iris.
Pops loves Poppys everywhere and
Viola vies for Violets.
Amy loves the Amaryllis
While Dolly dallies Dahlias.
Don’t miss Miss Chrysanthemum or
Aly’s awsome Alyssum.
James with Jasmine ran and
Percy picks the Jersey Lily.
Casey cares for Camelia and
Phyllis leaps through Lilies.
Angie’s all “Angelica” while
Bob boasts of Blossums.
Fiona’s Flora flies and
Abe craves more Azalea.
Beatrice bathes in Begonias and
Cassie crafts with Calia.
Goodness, 300 flowers or more!?
Oh distain, I’m out of names!
No more room for blooms
I’ll stop meddling, and “petal” on.
I will weep when you whither.
Soft, purple petals dried to ash in august sun,
Sweet nectar plucked away before I can smell your honey.
Before I can taste your grace,
Hold you to my face and pour my love into your cup like affirmations
Do I hold you close to my chest as you die?
Or turn away, I dither,
Are you worth it? A life so lost, a life just begin.
My sweet alyssum,
You grow through the cracks of a rocky shore.
His sweet relief,
Soft leaves coat sharp edges of what was once a chore,
My sweet alyssum,
The smell of ocean’s on the air.
His sweet relief,
Will he let you go, or will he tend and care?
Gentle hands scrape at earth
They spread soil, catch light
Yet despite their care each year you die.
My hands are not gentle,
They break roots, sever stems.
Would I only hurt more if I dared to try?
My sweet alyssum
So new in a garden, perennial and right.
Could you bloom again
If we somehow learned how to catch light?
Raven orchids drape the night,
fraying in the high petals
of swooning fronds.
I sit beneath a daffodil porch light,
a blood moon blushing tangerine
in a field of white alyssum
as I smell the nascent lilt
of a voodoo rose.
The giggling breeze
that flirted with my lashes
suddenly becomes a gust,
stinging my eyes.
Voodoo thorns rip my shirt
in a netherworld of absent flesh
as silhouettes of unbridled marigolds
woo their willing beds.
In my daffodil haze
I lift black narcissus
in an absent glass
to toast forbidden love,
the feral moon and I
beneath the breathless echo
of wild star light.
Posted 11/25/22
Helen's brick house
was built by her grandpa James
with a specific design in mind:
the front black cross-windows
riminded one of Christ's sorrows;
when the off-white roll shades opened
the neighboors saw Helen wearing a rosette
on her blouse she herself had created
on a foot paddle sewing machine...
copying it off a Cosmopolitan magazine.
The porch's wood was cracked and faded
not a perfect dispay for begonias,
amaryllis, hydrangeas and roses
that Helen watered on drought days
to perserve them, never to be whitered
by a lack of rain when the grass yellowed.
A staircase led to her bedroom kind of mystique,
the queen bed was covered with macabre art linen sheets
and had a wrought-iron bedframe almost an antique;
often Helen heard whipers of folks who had lived
there, and she wondered if it was her imagination or dread:
" Dead people are harmelss, only living people harm others! "
No garden in that neighbohood was prittier than hers,
sweet Alyssum, purple Ageratum, white Alemone growing
under Japanese maples and strawberry trees so tempting
made it so harmonious and so lively that amazed others;
would it been complete without the merry warblings
of the canaries,of the mockingbirds and of the wrens?
The roof shingles needed replacement, they often fell down on piled logs,
and Helen stocked them up neately in a corner to save money later on;
her income was kind of low and expensive utility bills kept on coming in,
the pension her husband left her was spent on food, not on luxury goods.
When rain fell the front lawn and garden became fens able to transform
their loveliness, hundreds of leaves were left by the last tropical storm;
and Helen was saddened staring at the devastation of the lovely grass,
only the day before she got rid of those ugly weeds hiding the wild violets
and the crimson clove along the fence where birds built their nests...
I can imagine how helpless she felt seeing such devastation in minutes!
The faded timber door fought severe winters and they lasted night-long,
spring brought pleasant days, it stood open to greet their fragrance;
no thief invaded a house protected by good spirits and benevolence,
God was there and that made Helen feel at home where she belonged.