Long Bougainvilleas Poems
Long Bougainvilleas Poems. Below are the most popular long Bougainvilleas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bougainvilleas poems by poem length and keyword.
I took a hike
up passed the bougainvilleas
And up passed
This garden full of flowers I can’t name
And up near an area of flowers
That I can’t name
To find one flower by itself.
The vine or stem had crawled under a fence and scratched itself onto the blacktop road
Slowly
Giving petals time to unfurl into a flower
Before getting stepped on or hit by a car.
And it was enough time for an anxious bee
To get its ingredients.
Every time I watch my daughter put honey on her toast, I hope she’ll do it slowly and carefully by herself
Like that flower bloomed.
And I’m happy I know her name.
Sloan.
P e a c e is a language
spoken between
healing bougainvilleas
and bleeding begonias,
dripping dews of hope
through simple gestures~
like specks of sapphire dust
from stars sparkling
amidst bed-shaped clouds,
crawling through the horizon
many miles away,
stretching
beyond
the fogginess
that veils clarity,
stirring the
anchored odyssey
to sail through
twisted tides of turquoise,
facing the harshness of reality
like a mistress of
sky and sea~
u n b r e a k a b l e,
cloaked in opalescent shimmers…
Tonight, I feel the warmth of
inner light
rushing through
arteries swollen with angst,
for I am the dream
I’ve been chasing~
through the greyest of rays,
oblivious to the bluest blur
within violet haze,
lost in the coldness of
wicked waves
whistling woeful verses
to the sun that rests
in the arms of the marine nest.
Let me be the serenity
you inhale
when your heart
feels like a secluded vessel.
Let me be the solace
to midnight melancholy,
when darkness is
the comfort of a duvet
where
nightingales croon.
Let me float like
the softness of feathers
as I wish upon
unseen jewels of twilight,
for I will rise and soar
like a phoenix,
reborn in flames of fortitude,
allowing pain to be
the prompt
when ink suffocates in
a casket of
deceased dahlias
embalmed with
dulcet desires.....
I am the aura
of a waltzing wildflower,
rooted in the soul of your garden
blooming with graceful gladiolus
still soaked in the scent
of sun-kissed sands
homing everlasting evergreens...
and you
will f o r e v e r
be my 3 a.m. prose~
the peace I embrace in your absence,
when sleep is
a mere forgotten rhyme...
The
old house
from my memories
opens to a wide porch
adorned by mom with her
loving touch.Herbs,flowers
swayed to caressing breeze
Lilies in pink, roses in blue
and bougainvilleas that
blushed in lilac hues.
Green tulsi shrubs
tended with care.
Ah! leaves that
flavored
our tea.
They
were
laced
by a
fence
with a
sweet aroma
from tendrils
curling bluebells
intertwined in mesh.
The fragrant jasmine,
she sang to them
and put one in
her wavy hair.
Spring bloomed them to full moon. Monsoons brought a divine petrichor
that made us breathe the heavenly aroma of her love. She taught me
to care for them under the Mahogany tree that enveloped them from
raging heat. She worshipped her nursery like her own kids. Every
evening, dad used to share his stories watching the rosy blush.
On moonlit nights, we stargazed lying on the grassy bed and
listened to old songs on radio. I had built a corner of three
bricks to keep my favorite books to bloom and read them
on lazy noon with cuckoo's songs breathing intermingled
scents. When we left that house, the garden lived for
someone else. My mom had wished they would care
for it like she did. I packed my old books to move on.
Now years later, far from mom, when I miss my garden
of bliss, I unpack those books that still release scents of
roses and jasmine drenched and dancing, releasing soothing
petrichor. For a love so deep shall bless me now in my kitchen
garden, confined to few flowers. That love still blooms with those
books as I inhale the fragrance of those foregone days. Like I carry
my mother's essence in everything I am, the divine garden of that heaven
from my memories and the eternal fragrance of mother gleaming, lives on.
~ To the garden where I wrote my first poem
Madness intervenes
Crazy words greet;
Rapture slips
~~~~~~~~~
Dawn arrives now
Cast of miracles;
Dance into dreams
~~~~~~~~~
Glow of warm cheer
Passion moves fest;
Worthwhile journey
~~~~~~~~~
Joy streams profound
Dawn of new grace;
Celebrate zest
~~~~~~~~~
Pregnant purpose
Birth of passion;
Bold agenda
~~~~~~~~~
Two squirrels
Racing around;
Zigzag patterns
~~~~~~~~~
Old tree
Silent sentinel;
Time tunnel
~~~~~~~~~
Bright colours
Bougainvilleas bloom;
Hot dry weather
~~~~~~~~~
Trip for two
Twin peaks;
Train ride view
~~~~~~~~~
Evening cascade
Bamboo leaves sway;
Prelude to rain
~~~~~~~~~
Keep looking,
Feel misty rain;
Ooze spreads change
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
17 May 2016
Singapore
Brief interlude
A dreamy passage;
Familiar faces
~~~~~~~~~
An old friend calls
From crowded room;
Smiles bridge gap
~~~~~~~~~
Mall crowd mingle
Browse through exhibits;
Branded watches
~~~~~~~~~
Poster art works
Modern mixed media;
Stuff and nonsense
~~~~~~~~~
Little boy lost
Parents in panic;
Mall PA blast
~~~~~~~~~
Sudden downpour
Shelter seekers dash;
Motley bus-stop
~~~~~~~~~
Fancy flings funny
Clowns on sidewalk;
Downtown escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Coffee cafe queue
Caffeine fix here;
Brown liquid buffet
~~~~~~~~~
Poise of voice
Shrill staccato;
Fat lady moans
~~~~~~~~~
Swinging playground
People soaking in;
Respite from stress
~~~~~~~~~
Bougainvilleas bloom
Sultry weather heats;
Humid accolades
~~~~~~~~~
Joy wears fond smiles
Glee runs madly;
Children congregate
~~~~~~~~~
Parents chit-chat
The usual stuff;
Complaints crowding
~~~~~~~~~
Not much time
Not much space;
Not much anything!
~~~~~~~~~
My old car
Long-time friend;
Symbiotic times
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
07 June 2016
Singapore
Festive party
Celebrate something;
Warm humanity
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
People walk pass;
Lonely man waits
~~~~~~~~~
Dog walking fast
Master in tow;
Barks fine command
~~~~~~~~~
Two sparrows
Practice on wood bench;
Gospel of birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Sea of faces
Hurry takes a break;
Crowded lift hijacks
~~~~~~~~~
Old shop houses
New paintwork shines;
Ancient looks new
~~~~~~~~~
River walk terrace
Rows of watering holes;
Tipsy aftermath
~~~~~~~~~
Financial centre lobby
Bust of The Thinker;
Auguste Rodin figures
~~~~~~~~~
Play primal proof
Watcher glimpses;
Stillness resonates
~~~~~~~~~
Sea waves bleach
Sand grains moist;
Salty gems sparkle
~~~~~~~~~
Telephone connects
Bridge distant spheres;
Familiar voices tint
~~~~~~~~~
Small little girl
Don't grow up;
Beauty is fleeting
~~~~~~~~~
Old hunchback lady
Lifetime of toil;
Time shows up
~~~~~~~~~
Moody man mumbles
Talks to a ghost;
Moving picture
~~~~~~~~~
Song of the sea
Windy ode unspoken;
Fleeting echoes
~~~~~~~~~
Morning psalm
Skyline hues delight;
God speaks in colours
~~~~~~~~~
Too quickly time fades
Moments on the wind;
Zen in bamboo
~~~~~~~~~
Do you hear
Whispers unseen;
Emergent rapture
~~~~~~~~~
Bougainvilleas here
Beauty in bounty;
Dazzling colours speak
~~~~~~~~~
Plumerias sparkle
Words cannot reach;
Soul wanders here
~~~~~~~~~
Tears in your eyes
Exquisite pain;
Etches new lines
~~~~~~~~~
Haunted house
Bizarre rumours taunt;
Unfinished business
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
24 May 2015
Singapore
Park bench encounter
Old man staring;
Faraway look
~~~~~~~~~
Financial district
Business downturn;
By this fringe
~~~~~~~~~
Stormy evening
Rain flows like oil;
Lightning dazzles
~~~~~~~~~
Lift landing
Blank faces congregate;
Alone together
~~~~~~~~~
Wind on my face
Rushing home;
Rain water wets
~~~~~~~~~
Somnolent interlude
Cricket musical;
Deep dark night
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
Bougainvilleas wither;
Floral carpet
~~~~~~~~~
Pre-war terrace house
Old time architecture;
Four bougainvillea pots
~~~~~~~~~
Bus stop crowd
Two others plus me;
A long wait
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese barbecue pit
Chinese roast meat shop;
Long customer queue
~~~~~~~~
Unique antiques
Old proprietor smiles;
Curious shop sign
~~~~~~~~~
Fashion parade
Glamour girls waltz;
Runway postures
~~~~~~~~~
Beer and buzz
Evening outing;
Boozy conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Parkway passage
Playground gossip;
Maids chatter
~~~~~~~~~
Hymn of morning
Birdsong choral;
Lost in translation
~~~~~~~~~
Huge ancient tree
Witness to change;
Silent sentinel
~~~~~~~~~
Humid overtures
Sun without wind;
Temperature runs riot
~~~~~~~~~
Chit-chat moment
Old lady neighbour;
Market trip
~~~~~~~~~
Weary legs struggle
Heavy load in tow;
Footsteps homeward
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
24 June 2016
Singapore
"It is quite possible to leave your home for a walk in the early morning air and return a different person - beguiled, enchanted."
~ Mary Ellen Chase
We enjoy the whistling wind as we walk,
The cool morning breeze calms and charms us,
A peacock is perched on a peepal tree,
Its fine feathers flowing fascinatingly,
Its sound of squawking seems sophisticated,
Like mystical music to its magnificent mate;
The butterscotch-orange ball blooms in the blue,
A snake slithers silently in the sewer nearby,
Songbirds tweet tantalizingly in the tall trees,
Vehicles plying on the highway are a vision to view,
Blushing bougainvilleas have blossomed in bunches,
Numerous neem trees line the narrow footpath,
A squirrel squeezes through a small, square hole,
And we uncover God's wonders as He unveils a new day.
My garden is an art of splendour,
I behold her with all my gaiety,
A garden of flowers and hope blossoming alike,
With all its beauty.
The buds splutter,
The mystic mystery unfolds with its glory,
Giving way to the symphony,
A harmony of colours and sounds so deep.
The soft petals dances to the melodious hues,
Spellbinding the onlookers,
A riot of colours it is!
Pink, purple, red, yellow, green, orange, scarlet and many more.
The butterflies waver through the unending haze,
The bees buzz adding to the tunes of melody,
The chirping birds twitter incessantly,
It's a confluence of colours and melodies so sweet,
The master conductor is the wind,
It directs every soul in the garden,
To break into the euphoria.
The wind chimes tingle with delight,
As if to thank me for their site,
Along the trails I hung them so dearly from the lamp post and trees.
Amidst all the extravaganza,
A happy me!
Hopping and tapping on the stepping stones,
Twisting and turning through the garden coves,
Here and there a nest erupts
among the shrubs and trees,
To signal a new dawn.
What more can I wish for?
As I wander and ponder
Through the poppies, pansies, poinsettia and phloxes,
Salvias, sweet william, succulents and shrubs,
The over powering Gulmohar and magnolia,
Atop the jasmines and the bougainvilleas.
They are all there in my garden,
There is colour, there is sound, there is life, there is hope,
My piece of haven I call it,
A colourful heaven in all its right,
And a peaceful eternity in all its might.
July 29th, 2020
2nd position
Contest: Petal, Buds, Blossoms, Bees, Birds, Butterflies poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
In the yard next to my house,
I often spy a small strange pretty woman
watering her bougainvilleas.
Trails of rosy pink and white intermingle
along one side of her ancient house,
where they drift down to the green
of dewy grass.
Cascading like delicate ballerinas,
with thorns not showing from afar,
they lend a semblance of grace and cheer
to this old house.
Unlike the flowers though,
the thorns inside the house do not stay hidden -
particularly when night arrives.
Sometimes I have seen the woman
snipping the stems of her pretty flowers.
She lowers her face, telling me, when I greet her,
“No speak English.”
Though she tries to disguise it,
I know from the bruises I see on her arms
what must be hiding behind the large sunglasses she wears.
I imagine she gathers her bougainvilleas
to brighten the sadness of her situation.
I picture the flowers in a vase sitting on the rustic table
of a dining room I have never seen,
but a room which must be as immaculate
as the flower garden she keeps behind her house.
Nightly the thorns of the house manifest themselves
in the form of monstrous shouting from the brute who lives within.
Today I walk over to the strange neighbor lady’s bougainvilleas.
They are wilting, and I realize I have not seen her watering them
since several days ago.
The hideous screams from the house, as I recall,
have also recently ceased.
I peer over the fence of that couple’s house
and notice a plot of freshly dug dirt.
Has the little lady planted a new flower bed?
As I contemplate this,
a new thought – much darker than bright bougainvilleas -
pricks my mind.
April 7, 2019