Long Buttercup Poems
Long Buttercup Poems. Below are the most popular long Buttercup by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buttercup poems by poem length and keyword.
Potato chip, I love you up,
my darling little buttercup.
A cup! A Reese’s chocolate one
with peanut butter. Oh, what fun!
What fun is time with nacho chips;
delightful cheese to tease my lips.
My lips around a hamburger,
with onion rings my heart to stir.
Stir the chili in the pot.
Add Tabasco; cook it hot.
Hot, that snack I love so well,
is buttered popcorn that I smell.
Smell the pasta fantasy-
sauce and parmesan for me.
Me and cheesecake, cherries atop.
Once I start, I cannot stop.
Stop for ice cream; what I wish-
a sundae sitting in a dish.
Dish me up some southern fried
with mashed potatoes on the side.
A side of bacon, crispy fat.
I see nothing wrong in that!
That’s a spicy hot tamale.
Enchiladas make me jolly.
Jolly Christmas; candies sweet,
turkey, ham; so much to eat.
Eat a pizza. It’s the best.
Now I’ve gotta take a rest.
A child walks a path, gathering buttercup and daisies,
goldenrod and tall Queen Anne's lace,
along with other things of red, white, and purple.
The child joyfully gives to the grown-up, this gift –
the display of color, which is beautiful to the eyes.
This token of love is accepted, and the child does not know a weed.
So, what makes something a weed, or how is a weed defined?
What do we want to grow to display, and to whom does it matter?
A weed is something that invades, and chokes out the wanted plant.
What is in my own garden bed, that I have let invade?
I must ask myself, has something taken over like morning glory?
If I should present my bouquet to a child, what would they see?
After all, I should not be as ignorant as I was as a child.
Is my garden a display of wild rose,
or are there shrubs that bear fruit like the berry?
From what I might give, is there something that nourishes the soul?
Have I learned to know the difference, or am I simply only a show?
Fragile flower, buttercup
Swaying to and fro, dancing like
Inspiration, swallowing up the dark
With its rhythm, gentle and soft
Caressing the breathless moments
With hope, kindness and grace
Feelings that remind the spirit to hope
For the whisper of love’s embrace
Delicate petals, buttercup
Blowing in the wind, softly rocking
Filling the heart with beautiful,
Convincing the soul to believe in the end,
Swinging silent, soothing the dreams
Awakening the promises within,
Who reveal the music, the invincible story –
Hesitating to breath hues of praise
Gentle stems, buttercup
Milky blonde rumors reflecting
The brilliance of a fantasy, stirring
Up laughter inside the smile,
Remembering to twirl through the
Sweet by and by, waltzing like
The guarantee that love is alive,
Pouring out its benefits on those who
Believe and open hearts to receive
Frail flower, peaceful and kind
Erasing the doubts, the fears and tears
Releasing the music, in rhythms of faith
Soaring like the moon in the darkest
Skies, where glistening wet dew
Drizzles through space, accompanied by
Starlight, dustings of the light
Trembling with life, expressing
The joy found beyond the sunrise,
Through the summer, into the autumn
Where our dreams blend with prayers
For everlasting – eternity – always…
Breathing through the concepts, the cares
Into the lasting promise, the soundless
Waves of serenity healing hearts,
Protecting yearnings and stirring souls to feel
The melody of God’s best blessings,
His presence…
Lasting throughout the forever
Where smiles and pleasure result in satisfaction
That only comes to those who know
The soul is more beautiful, more sure, more
Because He is with us, beyond the sigh of death,
Into the eternal where we can rest in the knowledge
That, wherever He is – that is where there is hope
Faith and love, more joy than I’ve ever known,
The peace that is eternal… the peace the touches
Those who believe…
Like that beautiful buttercup, shedding its petals –
Peeling away the past, discarding its robe,
Silencing the spectral pose
There is hope beyond this world, hope that can see…
He is everything the soul will ever need!
Bluebird…pretty little bluebird, see
all the budding Spring…beautiful
chiming of melody and spruced up
leaves, shiny and thriving, dewdrop
tingling. Bluebird, come and see -
give us a sweet twiddle dee dee.
It’s Spring so alive with canopy skies
and the happiness thriving with seeds
springing up - buttercup daffodils,
roses, posies, forsythia and black-eyed
susans, crocus, hyacinth and phlox.
Bluebird in layers of colorless feathers,
who would know, the magic wand
of light twinkles about and catches
our eyes, whether blue, black, brown
green or blue — all weather hues.
Bluebird…pretty little bluebird…see!
3/28/2022
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.
The blue girl in blue arrived in the cold
For her paint, this late day in June,
With stealth and shade she quietly browsed,
Then walked straight into my room,
And when I went in, I stopped, I froze,
Naked, she stood up from the bed,
I reached my hand out, "Please stop, get dressed",
Were the only words that I said,
Why did she do it, I was so blind,
How could I not see this that day,
But worst of all was returning to work,
Not knowing what she would say,
"Buttercup, don't be silly, nothing happened OK",
I know she knows I said "No",
But from that day on she had planted the seed,
In quicksand for rumours to grow.
“Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair...”
~ Susan Polis Schutz
It always seems like a magical moment when Spring yields
blooms of flaxen color across verdant meadows and fields
There, on stems waving in the air on a warm gentle breeze
buttercups, ebb and flow like restless tides on rolling seas
A wildflower, petals so delicate, I can trace its fragile veins
They grow quickly, nourished by the sun and gentle rains
In profusion they flourish as the gift of Mother Nature,
inspiring pastoral artists to paint their likeness in portraiture
I remember many soft Spring days when I was just a child
traipsing lightly through them, I was charmed and beguiled
I danced with them in my hair; glorious sun-kissed flowers
and laughed when clouds drenched me with sudden showers
When I wandered, mother didn't wonder where I'd strayed
She knew she would find me in the golden buttercup glade
Petal laced, are these comely wildflowers with sweet center
welcoming bees, birds and butterflies; inviting them to enter
March 12, 2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Having not done the things I wanted to do
and the things I've done not being what I wanted to do
I sit here looking at lichen on the north side of trees.
Black-capped chickadees
cheerful and truthful expression
grouped in platoons, sharing the point.
The tribes travel together
first finches, then chickadees
following the squirrels every morning.
What luxury, abundance! Handful after handful
of grass seed thrown, into wind.
The corn ripe and the rye with it.
The other main families: pines, roses, peas,
lilies, daisies, heath, birch and oak.
Maple, honeysuckle, pink, mustard, cypress, mint, olive, buckwheat,
primrose, willow, buttercup, saxifrage, snapdragon, cactus.
Truth may be ascertained by considering
the truth we feel, the truth we're told,
the truth we reason, and the truth we've seen.
It is so good to be a chickadee.
To tell the truth cheerfully and joyfully
in a way that makes others want to live.
rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
a blanket white unfolds with pure hope and love
melting snowflakes on such a clear blue ocean
lying on the edge of a world that’s very scared
while inside this mindset unfolds a radiant light
sun shining buttercup of such special rare beauty
in every little thing and precious detail which ever
so sweetly draws me to you my love, my darling
even the sound of your soft voice echoes on
inside with such mellifluous golden whispers
sweetly enhancing the very music you sing
to me which plays magic tricks so enchanting
and hypnotizing my very soul while stealing
my heart away and bringing me under your
spell and the softness of your wonder and love
both so overwhelming and intoxicating so fully
with this our mutual joy and love so deep and
so rare makes our time together seem so endless
my love for you are so special and so right that I
must pinch myself at times to see if all this is real
and so, rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
our mutual spirits, souls, and emotions are now ONE
my very special enchantress since fate and love have
put us ONE on the edge of a world that’s very scared
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
December 20, 2014 (Free Verse)
No eyes could see dominions of rainbows filling the skies.
Stars flew, floated, and fluttered around in a stunned surprise.
Did anyone see the skies blossom and a child appear?
He rested between Joseph and Mary with charm and cheer.
On rough racks, they dwelt, as there was no place in human hearts.
Cows, bulls, and sheep stood as though forgetting how breathing starts.
Mystic music concerts were heard like thunder and earthquakes.
The Almighty's graces seemed to surround them like ice flakes.
Those who were sleeping dreamed about the birth of a saviour.
They missed God's favour like a beggar missing a treasure.
Though they felt a thud, did they not feel the need to wake up?
Each smiling face of the shepherds bloomed like a buttercup.
Did the manger ease you more than a deluxe princely bed?
Did you freely breathe the breeze of the meek in a cowshed?