Long Canna Poems
Long Canna Poems. Below are the most popular long Canna by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canna poems by poem length and keyword.
In Murano's heart, where fire takes its hold,
Molten glass awakens, a story untold.
The maestro, a sculptor with breath as his tool,
Shapes molten dreams, breaking the fiery rule.
From the furnace's depths, a fiery bloom,
Gathers on the canna, dispelling the gloom.
Blown with practiced breath, a form takes its birth,
A chandelier's frame cradled on this Earth.
Frit dances within, a symphony bright,
Millefiori's whispers, a floral delight.
Enamel's caress, a touch of jewelled grace,
Each hue a whispered secret, on the glass's face.
Punti's gentle bite, a curve takes its form,
Twists and points emerge, defying the norm.
Reheated and refined, in a fiery embrace,
The glass yields to the maestro, leaving no trace.
Of imperfections past, a masterpiece nears,
Lamp-worked blooms blossom, dispelling all fears.
Metal whispers support, a hidden embrace,
A dance of light and shadow, in this ethereal space.
Then, in the lehr's slumber, a slow, cooling sleep,
Brittle dreams are tempered, secrets they keep.
Assembled with care, each piece finds its place,
A constellation of glass, a radiant embrace.
Polished to brilliance, a symphony gleams,
Murano's magic, a world in its beams.
A fiery creation, a legacy bold,
This chandelier's story forever unfolds.
THE WELL DRESSED MAN my first ever poem written in 2005
One night I came to Tea Rooms
I came along bare feet
The owner looked at me and said
Shoes!!!!! or ye canna have a seat
I looked at him and said,
My face, my arms, my legs
my bare and hairy chest
Why there's even women here
who show a bit of breast
But he was determined
that I should be well dressed
Bare feet are not acceptable
and he was not impressed
So out I went and fossicked
in my yellow kombi van
Until I found a pair of thongs
I'm now a well dressed man
The thongs they covered up my soles
enough to gain me entry
To take my place and sit among
the shod Maleny gentry
And as I ponder 'bout these feet
that are so much maligned
I've never put them on the table
anywhere I've dined
But rules are rules as we all know
regardless of the logic
But my lovely little bare feet
are seen as bloody toxic
No matter that there's sweaty jocks
or shoes that carry grit
The way we dress is how we're seen
as sartorially unfit
Footnote: Not another poem until July 2025
Orange cosmos flowers inside a circle
along with the canna indica flowers;
A big smile of welcome at the front entrance. Followed by Pink, red and yellow ixoras,
the fully bloomed harlequin wonders;
Enthrall butterflies and sun birds
Violet, Red and new comer pink Balsums
are the evergreen shrub
The nonpareil Marvels
Night blooming jasmine flowers
adorn the sideways of the garden;
Meant to engross the moths
The bright yellow alamanda,
the heroine of our garden.
Made us fall in love with yellow
Glittering stars in the morning,
blaze like the diamonds in red and yellow;
The spectacular magic of sun plants
The black night shade plants
bear the inky purple sun berries;
Food for the red vented bulbuls
The Red hibiscus at the corner
attracts everyone's sights
by its innocent grin
The 4'o clock mandharai flowers
unfurl attractive perfumes
and embellish our garden in the evening
Grass green climber braces,
trumpet shaped madevillas,
The small stabs on flowers,
connote attendances of sun birds
Cutest creepers I've ever seen,
amidst the tall green grass;
The metallic blue Verbena
Sometimes our old friends Asian Koels
and our migrating friends Brahminy starlings
visit for their breakfast.
Mynas sing like parrots
and sometimes imitate Koels;
Mimicry Experts they're
Some plants are hostplants
of the common mormons, jezebels,
praying mantis and the signature spiders
Yellow billed blabbers,
the king of our garden;
The faithful defender of our home,
none can step in without their consent.
Squirrels scamper here and there,
and elegant butterflies in the air
proliferate happiness everywhere
Have you ever seen a place like this anywhere?
To embrace glee, you no need to be a Billionare.
Just Visit our garden, you will feel the real bliss, I swear!
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
Remembering how the sweet scented garden stood
Straight stemmed Canna Lilies with pale yellow blooms
Follow the Fluer de Lis Iris spring's passion understood
Before Iris' purple, a host of Daffodils' sweet perfume
Then the saliferous warrior sprayed Roundup fumes
Now only weeds are plentiful in my sweet garden
Looking through the window to enjoy a sweet view
This heart toward the piquant warrior became harden
Knowing a sweet garden is gone~ only weeds spew
Age says to just give it a sweet kiss adieu
Sponsor:Andrea Dietrich
Contest: Sweet Or Salty
Written October 25, 2013
The semi dessert place of the beaten track,
a little oasis of orchards in the dirt cul de sac.
Where no one can find that man anymore,
stone walls full of herbs in bloom adore.
Walk through overgrown Granadilla,
Canna lilies in red, yellow and Lila.
The enchanter of life between the spinach,
long white hair and beard fits the image.
Ancestors evolution in body and mind,
heavens exile through natures law combined.
He speaks of Serbian symbols by habit,
natural life is the living as to grab it.
Showing admiration by respect,
given in love beyond all values detect.
The phenomenon at every moment clear,
Moon references stating the path so dear.
The bread and wine of the soul,
clean conscience as life wisdom whole.
Then all that produces longing,
depriving the heart of its freedom.
Possibilities is the nature of free will,
virtue that can stand all vices still.
If one probe the depths of a character need,
it becomes life’s ideal and greatest seed.