Long Bonsai Poems
Long Bonsai Poems. Below are the most popular long Bonsai by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bonsai poems by poem length and keyword.
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
On wings of twilight her hopes flew away
As day eagerly swam into night
Simply had not been a wonderful day
Stars in the sky were a glorious sight
Filling ethereal heavens completely
Showing her optimism so sweetly
Feelings of pure love were in the air
Could she forgive herself? Would she dare?
Evil doubts within her soul began to ring.
Her emotions were not easy to share
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
She sat by river on the south side bay
Figuring out how to make angry thoughts right
Gentle ideas escaping for sighs far away
Glowing in her dendrites, bits but so bright.
Plugging in gaps ever so casual and neatly,
In a manner as to not defeat thee,
Yes she had been betrayed, flayed full bare.
Could she release this anger now? Could she dare?
She had been the victim of a masochist’s fling
This humiliation she was not ready to share.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Gathered sorrowful ideas in a unique new way.
Determined to obliterate the blight.
Exploded with truth, mighty pen had its say.
She wrote down sad feelings into the night.
Enjoying her perch down by the sea,
And shade of a tiny bonsai tree,
Self feelings smiled, she remembered to care.
She had been lured to an evil one’s lair.
Feelings of worthlessness began to sing.
Forgiveness of self is now parading in air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Joined momentarily by a fat hopping blue jay,
She knew what she had penned was amazingly right.
She reveled in daylight sun’s prettiest ray.
Watching the jay ‘til he flew out of sight.
Feeling this instant she was at long last free.
Absolved of blame by God’s glorious sea.
As she wrote it down and began to share,
Her heart was lifted by daybreak’s hopeful air.
Doubts flung out by a David’s giant sling,
Writing was cathartic, easy to bear.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
With a hidey ho and a hey, hey, hey,
She followed her bliss with all of its might.
Her words of truth were now in full display.
She knew she would sleep better that night.
Feelings of relief had overcome thee.
She recovered her soul life down by the sea.
The rest of her life seemed more than a bit fair.
For herself, she again started to truly care.
Warm heart full of hope began to sing.
Possibility of true love now in the air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
>>1111>>WORDS<<1111<<
Time for WORDS to get together,
Energy through my pen whenever,
Understanding they hold great power forever,
Dexterous infectious combinations so very clever,
Hard to comprehend? Nevertheless, I charge on,
Vocabulary getting stronger, no longer no one,
Fun circuiting, rewiring firing cells really well and filed,
With ill style, goal to have WORDS dialed.
Piled up and never stopping as I’m rhyming,
Yeah, got the keys to open up my subconscious mind……… with WORDS…..
Reads and rereads when conscious time is heard playing out,
Without them, throughout a consciously aware life, would bring about bugs,
WORDS.......... a drug to my senses,
In seconds, in sequence form sentences,
Are my words only from physical experiences?
Nah they’re heard in answers in glances as I ask,
Questions, for explanations before the process of dissection,
As comprehension advances WORDS start to dance,
Enhanced and financed by WORDS in circumstances when confronted by WORDS,
They disturb everyone and deceive those who run from them,
Lemons, sour within their own Kingdom, unclean concept of life attempt,
Dreamt dreams and dreams, saved in the deep plains of my hard drive,
Surprised all the time as I weep knowing as I’m trying, what remains is in disguise,
Questioned WORDS using WORDS as WORDS comprehended make me wise,
WORDS unconditioned, I write these down because I’m bound, straight up no lies,
I have ties with letters forming visible underground bait! Here to vitalize,
Not to be idolized because I realized something, WORDS are to be crowned King,
So rise, create new life that’s alive, and fill your kingdom with WORDS at this very instance!
WORDS are like an amusing substance, tearing down untrue, false perception and this is why,
Subliminal weapons of deception wanting us all to die,
Words used in disguise saying they are from the sky, straight up denied!!
By the unified WORDS my mind flies through space and time,
With WORDS using my third eye I groom myself like my bonsai.
Quincy Mac
date written: 30.11.2015
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
Moon's midriff chequered with light blue letterboxes and legos
Carbon-dating the museums of our miniature hands riding the nightingale jukeboxes,
Contoured in concertos of glacier nightgowns and batmobiles...
A topcoat of my father's snickerdoodle smiles sowed and watered beneath the morning's stale smile
With a pretty loud "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !", with mumbles meandering with magpies in and out.
He laces lifetimes out of the first the letter of his name, in macrames of my mother's myrrh murmurs,
Secretly setting up the kitchen table, for the upcoming date night to be stencilled forehead to forehead.
He laces lifetimes from roasting the ristretto beans in an open fire,
From sketching the summer sunbursts and the sunglasses in permafrost pitter patters,
From crocheting dad jokes in matchbox-built bus rides emptying the crimson clouds of January.
Plucking promenades outlined in scarlet raindrops playing leapfrog under saccharine sunbeams,
Watching over me as I give climbing the bonsai trees higher than the neighborhood kids a first try.
Untwining anadems of one semicolon, instead of drawing a line of full stops stomping at the soles of our shoes,
Remodelling the lifeless bits of "Life On Mars".
I guess he would love to know what life on Mars would taste like...
He would kill to be in those batmobile treks and those glacier concertos wearing nightgowns,
And most definitely he would give defying gravity another try beneath those bonsai trees alongside with me.
I would kill to look almost like him, to sound like him and to be like him.
I would kill to try saying his favorite catchphrase over and over again "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !"
I would kill to try his beret on, look at the skies and wonder "Hey there Dad would you stay forever young ?"
Mighty years vanished,dinosaurs diminished,
Himalayas cried out,tsunamis screamed out,
clouds hid out tears in pain, trees fade out in vain
'A Girl' truly static, in the world of highly ma tic
When she born she said" I will grow wild,
I will reach the heights of my father sky,
I will hon our with blossom my mother earth,
I will face the battle with invincible wind,
I will run my roots as long as they unravaged,
I will get tickled of cool breeze,
I will enjoy the warm breath of the sun."
But her arms nibbled away,
her roots nipped away,
her hopes chilled out,
her dreams faded away,
she was decayed wise,
she was pruned Bonsai.
She said "I'm born to grow wild.
but I'm made to grow mild."
they said" You're carved beautifully.
You,re cared wonderfully.
You're valued thousand fully.
You're respected awesomely.
You're worshiped heart fully."
she said"I'm carved, I'm carved
I'm carved ingeniously,craftily,
socially,legally,morally
And finally into a Deadwood."
Mighty years vanished,dinosaurs diminished,
Himalayas cried out,tsunami screamed out,
clouds hid out tears in pain, trees fade out in vain,
'A Girl' truly static, in the world of highly matic
Come along with me as I journey East
where fragile cherry blossoms flutter
before raining down from cloudless skies.
Let's climb majestic mountains whose crests
are always laced with crowns of snow.
Here, the scent of jasmine is caught in a breeze.
Bonsai forests hold ancient secrets of long past civilizations.
We will see dragons who seem to soar beyond the moon,
then take the shape of koi with the rising sun.
Listen as bamboo chimes sing in windswept percussion.
Their hollow voices reach across Tokachi River.
Legend says it was etched by the flowing tears
of a young Geisha who cried all night
when she saw her red-budded lips mirrored in a lake.
It's now a sacred place where lovers often meet
when the hint of a sanguine sunset fills the sky.
Their whispered words of passion's promises
are drowned in roars of towering waterfalls.
Say you'll come and we'll fly amid flocks of crane,
across paddies and valleys of lush green,
then feast upon crispy roasted duck
before we lick our fingers clean of Hoisin.
Sleep will find us beneath a blanket of willows,
and we'll gaze in awed wonder when we wake,
at the most exotic land of splendors we've ever seen.
We'll surrender promises that one day we will return,
for this is where our hearts now wish to dwell.
Give us brushes and canvas; paints of boldest oils
to capture the Oriental beauty, naked before our eyes.
July 1st, 2017
Exotic Places
by Debbie Guzzi
I wanted to age graciously,
Serene, ladylike and wise,
But I get confused and muddled
And I've come to realise
Things happen to me,
That takes me by surprise
Everything unravels before
My fading eyes.
I cannot enter a room,
Without tripping at the door
With a feeling of doom
I lay spread eagle on the floor.
Everyone stops talking
And stares at me
I wish they would stop gawking
At the blood oozing from my knee.
Then someone stirred
And tried to drag me to my feet
I did not utter a word
As I scrambled toward a seat.
Serenity and calm
Vanished into thin air
As for wisdom and charm
It was lost, beyond repair.
Someone applied some cream
And placed a bandage on my knee
I felt like it was all a dream
How unladylike can a person be,
With shaking hands, I tried
To drink the welcome cup of tea
Then I dropped the cup
It spilled all over a Bonsai tree
I was not at home,
I was at my best friend's house
I went alone
There were several more visitors
Including my friend's spouse
My friend was devoted
To her Bonsai trees
She stunted their growth
To a size that pleased.
She entered them in contests
And very often won,
I had ruined her chances
With the damage, I had done.
I was feeling depleted
Hot and sweaty too
I was utterly defeated
And wish I could start anew
I know this won't happen
I've tried many times before
Because I fell into some bracken
As I waved goodbye at their front door.
I watered my plants as was my custom
Late at night in my garden
My sanctuary from the cares of the day
Humming gently to my bonsai
Clearing up fallen petals and leaves
I paused to observe with quiet pride
My new three tiered plant display
On which are my brightest pots and flowers
I reached to pick up a slender stem
Next to a pink pot on the top step
I tugged but the leaf would not budge
In the fleeting moonlight a strange outline emerged
Beads of sweat ran down my brow
Heart thumping I retreated indoors
Next early morning in the cold light
My fears of the night proved right
A young mouse lay in rigor mortis
Its tail extended, little paws in the air
A pained expression on its face
A smear of blood across its whiskers
My fear gave way to pity
A mystery however ensued
It had landed so neatly upon my stand
As if dropped from a plane
By a skydiving cat
Perhaps my strange neighbour tossed it over
The fence was right next to the crime scene
I googled ‘how to dispose of a dead mouse’
No fancy equipment was required
Just gloves and a ziplock bag
Little dead mouse was safely disposed
In my wheelie bin but the mystery was unsolved
I wondered as I watched my neighbour’s shadow
In the flickering blue light of her telly
Through her net curtains that night....