Long Celandine Poems
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Written: January 26, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
Quote by Geoffrey Chaucer "Time and tide wait for no man,"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time, a poltergeist whisper
slipping through the cracks
Moments shimmer
akin to Petunia petals aloft,
a hypnotic dance —
ephemeral yet priceless.
Time waits for no one;
haven't you felt its rush?
Time waits for no one —
It simply drifts away.
With each tick, clocks transform
into the fabric of history—
you seize fleeting seconds
as if they could stretch forever.
Wilted Orchids echo
forgotten dreams,
pulled by unseen forces
upon a canvas of memories.
Each speck of time,
a mason's chipped work.
Harmonic motions dim
in the palms of eternity;
calming breezes frown
upon autumn’s sunlit glow.
No one halts time—it surges on!
It speeds faster than a blink.
Nostalgia weaves itself
around crystal vessels,
while moonflower garlands
bloom amid hazy dreams.
Tattletale smiles escape
into hollow nights—
a foggy embrace
filled with haunting whispers and grins.
Tulips muted bluish—gray
etch their tale in time’s shore.
Embrace winter’s trudge
and find solace unvexed:
surf through waves of magic
knowing love beams bright.
Galumph through life
daring despite harsh fates:
vagabond dreams vaudeville
within flummoxed hearts;
a rainbow palette spreads
beneath a hammock sky.
No matter what, it lies ahead.
After passing, it's futile to cling on.
Desolation puckers beneath
the glistening dew decline,
an abyss where bleeding
wrists are fodder for worms.
A sycophantic squire crafts
kismet kernels stripped—
flesh ripped by careless slips,
losing grip on whispers;
breaths juggle surly skies,
sharp as bleak thorns.
From cradle to grave,
We've learned —
that time is wealth
we must cherish.
Darkness veils endless roads,
plummeting in twilight throes.
tangled fears mimic
Dionysus amphetamine highs—
brimstone offers esoteric solace
that straddles the magnetic edge.
Whispers eviscerate as they swirl,
amber kisses across fallen stars.
Crocuses bloom in purple
while goldfinch trill
yellow celandine riddles.
Employ your edge before it fades.
Everyone longs for plenty of time.
You can't carry time with you
money cannot reclaim lost time.
Birdman
Bold Dewi Jones would leave his home
first thing every morning,
and trot him down to Towy Wood
just as day was dawning,
and there he filled his Tesco bag,
five pence from any store,
with chickweed celandine and seed
and other weeds galore.
Then he fed them to his finches
to peck at in the cage,
while he ate his Kellog Cornflakes
and read the sporting page.
When Dewi was a kid at school
he hadn’t many toys,
and on the farm out in the sticks
there were no other boys,
so the woods became his playground,
a bird his childhood friend,
and he played a game with finches
he prayed would never end.
Their songs were short machinegun bursts
that echoed through the wood,
and Dewi, in green camouflage,
would stalk like Robin Hood.
A grown-up now, he made a frame
that lay beneath a net,
and then with trails of wild bird seed
a crafty trap he set.
That’s how he caught his lovely birds,
cunning if not clever,
and neighbours came along to praise
Dewi-boys endeavour.
Yet we all Knew that in the wood,
birds sang like heaven’s choir,
while, in the confines of the cage,
finches were much shyer.
Now Dewi’s wife, religious was,
chapel every morning,
in Aberystwyth born and bred,
should have been a warning.
Though pleasant to the roving eye,
pretty as a flower,
like milk upon a summer’s day
she curdled and went sour.
“It’s wings God gave,” his wife would scream,
“so birds can rise and fly;
and nature gave them songs to praise
the wonders of the sky.”
One day while on his morning rounds
bold-Dewi had a stroke.
“An awful thing,” the village said,
“for such a lovely bloke.”
No muscle could the birdman move,
eyelids would not flutter.
The voice that once trilled, “Sosban Fach,”
not a word could utter.
We don’t know why God struck him down,
spite – or was it pleasure?
What e’er the Lord was dishing out,
Dewi got full measure.
Now Dewi’s sitting in a chair,
just staring into space,
and carers who come twice a day,
pour soup into his face.
His wife just up and left him,
no fuss or angry words,
just said, “I hate to see you there,
caged up like your birds.”
There are no months as beautiful as early summer months wild flowers make the headlines,
Leaning heavy on my old worn hazel wood stick walking to a wooded meadow out of breath,
Clusters of Primrose and large patches of Blue Bells chat with clumps of Spring Violets,
As I stand wheezing the wonderful smells the dampness of wood and flowers give me air.
Lesser Celandine flowers between March and May heart shaped leaves a glistening yellow,
Now feeling a little better my head lifts the top of some large trees seem so far away,
The Cuckoo flower has leaves deeply toothed with spear stems, shows off all its beauty.
The kindle under my gentle walking cracks loudly so the meadow and trees know I am here.
There is a second spring in the forest wooded meadow Snowy Mespilas with white flowers,
It reminds me of winter snow I once enjoyed these days my legs are not what they were,
The tree of heaven spreads climbing sixty feet and the Alder with soft purple catkins,
Leaning on a tree happy to be here with warm sun finding its way through high branches.
Hedgerows dress in the same vernal-looking hue and a Chipmunk darts across a small field,
The Chipmunk runs up the side of a nearby tree if he new me well he would not run away,
Thick scented heather lives on the moorlands side by side with an evergreen Bog Rosemary,
A furry little face high up on a branch is watching me in the same way I am watching him.
A Judas tree with round leaves clusters of magenta, pea like flowers greet me this day,
I wonder why it is called the Judas tree is it the one Judas hung from with silver coins,
Cornelian Cherry flowers at the end of winter, followed by richest bright orange fruits,
A Japanese Quince shows splashes of color they are so white, or salmon or very very pink.
Weigela a beautiful shrub will bell like flowers and a deep red rose brighten the woods,
Times getting on now and I am tired but standing in this beautiful meadow I feel so alive,
Doesn't matter how old or how well a person maybe that same natural beauty is seen by all,
So leaning heavily on my companion the hazel stick I walk back to my home it's a great day.
Apple blossoms derived from the Wild crab
Birds of paradise resemble a brightly colored bird in flight
Cosmos flowers are very popular among gardeners for its beauty
Dogwood is a symbol of Christianity
Eastern redbud known as spice wood tree
Freesia flowers undeniably the “individualists” of the plant world
Ghost flowers depicted a ghostly translucent with reddish-purple spot
Hawthorn flowers heal the broken heart
Iris flowers symbolize as goddess of the rainbow
Jasmine known for its sweet, exotic fragrance for thousands of years
Kangaroo paw noted for their unique bird attracting flowers
Lesser celandine has a hairless perennial in the buttercup family
Mountain laurel known as mountain-laurel or spoon wood
Naked lady known for her scientific name amaryllis or “sparkling”
Orchids also known for its ‘testicles’ – shape roots as Greek meaning
Pussy willow fancied likeness to tiny cats or “pussies”
Quercus prinus a scientific name which means Chestnut oak
Ranunculus also known as St. Anthony’s turnip.
Spring snowflake known for its scientific meaning as ‘spring white violet’
Tiger lily stands for wealth and prosperity
Ursinia is named in honor of German scholar Johannes Ursinus
Viburnum also known as cranberry bush
Winter aconite is a genus of eight species of flowering plants
Xylosteum a scientific name which means European fly honeysuckle
Yellow anemone known for its other name as buttercup anemone
Zinnia symbolizes as lasting affection and goodness
04/28/16
9th placer in a contest
given by Broken Wings
11th placer in a contest
by Eve Roper
She was the coolest chick I never knew,
with hair of black and eyes of blue;
like, I'd watch her as the sun set down,
she held the breath of the whole damn town.
Now, incarcerated, I know the shadows are fast comin' down,
and I can see the strip lights growin' dim;
the fact she split, I cannot get my head around,
or the fact the winter nights are drawin' in.
All I seem to do is smoke and dream of wine,
or sit around clingin' to relics, servin' my time;
I cannot shut down the thoughts rattlin' thru' my mind:
those ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine.
It's not as though she much looked my way
or that I could think of a single word to say to her;
all I did was watch her walkin', cool as jazz, in the street;
her smiles, her gigs, were never for me, yet they blew me off my feet, man.
So, one day, anyhow, she just upped and moved away from town;
I cannot forget, or believe, how much I missed her, how it broke me down.
She never knew I existed, I guess, never gave me a first, let alone a second glance;
in her world, in her eyes, losers like me don't stand a chance.
I celebrated my love for her that night in a drunken shotgun roar;
high on T. Bird, low on brains, I hit the local liquor store.
So why now do I smoke these murderin' cigarettes and dream of lousy, bitter wine?
Why do I sit like some burned-out zombie, servin' my time?
And why, after all these years, am I still haunted by the ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine.
They say it's better to have loved and lost…
I say,
drop dead, 'cos
you know nothin'.
Form:
Written: January 24, 2025 For contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the galumph of morning breath
a chandelier of dew,
Barely inching through the cobwebs
dreams hammock in gleaming light
A jaded heart finds solace
in this tangled respite,
Lummox magpies whisper tales
crisp with truth renewed.
Magic twilight dolphins
swim through esoteric skies,
Flummoxed by the palette hues
purple crocus and yellow celandine,
Surly winds sweep through vastness
where shadows intertwine
Trapped beneath a cloak of darkness
spying on sighs.
Brambled paths lead to riddles
a sharp needle piercing skin,
Bleak wilderness unfolds its wings
reckless thoughts bear flight,
In abyssal thrall to katabatic winds
that howl at night,
Fodder for desolation grip
where slithy worms start.
A reckoning draft reasons
in cosmic dust and glowing flame,
Juggling shadows and whispers
with each breath eternity bestows,
Bright brambling duets waltzing
where sapphire waters flow,
Obsession's echoes in an alder
tarn untamed by shame.
Straddling the edge precariously
puckered lips exhale pure art,
the trickster stalks among obsidian trees
weaving lucid dreams unraveled tight;
a goldfinch’s trill alchemizes
into hope’s flickering candlelight -
each note dissolving petulance
from placid hearts
in these moments as I wander through
the glistening morning hue
surmounting plummet throes
where orchids boost
raw life on a hopeless slope.
Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, and the Equinox, Spring 2017
Can you feel her in the blood
The turning tides, the shifting of the skies
Or hear her on the wind, or in the cries
Of gulls that wheel above the drying mud
Come rise...
Can you sense her in the urge
Of flames that lick the furze and lambs that leap
Of sap that rushes sudden from the deep
In swirls of sacred water in the surge
Come rise...
Can you feel her in the stone
The ancient fire, the spark of energy
The force that flows through river, rock, and tree
The movement of the marrow in the bone
Come rise...
Can you taste her on the lips
The heady scents of grass and honey wine
Of sun warmed earth and rain on celandine
Upon the tongue, upon the fingertips
Come rise...
Can you feel her in the beat
Of wing on air, of drum, of run of deer
Or see her colours on the hill appear
All blazing bright, alive with pulsing heat
Come rise...
What are you, man, but water through her hand
The winter’s ashes and the summer’s dust
A flick of life and then a flare of lust
Then back into the earth on which you stand
Come rise...
Be still, and feel her raw and naked power
Come forth as lightening, set the trees alight
Set hares to run and horses to take flight
Through alder grove and furrowed field in flower
Come rise...
© Gail Foster 18th March 2017
Written: January 26, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the pale autumn sun,
a radiant shimmer thrives,
A solitary strand,
a seascape draped in misty gray.
The sand speaks of endless days,
Where waves roll unfazed
by the arrival of winter’s chill.
I trudge through remnants
of slithering worms stripped of flesh,
Barely finding magic
in the comforting shade.
Galumphing creatures
in the glade,
While rainbows blend
on nature's fresh palette.
From dreams,
we drift to hammock swings,
Crisp leaves whisper
tales of desolation streaks.
Bleeding wrists find bleak solace,
Glistening dew on
the tumbling decline beckons.
A chasm stretches wide,
where sharp truths pierce,
the careless stumble of losing
grip on the damp ground.
Echoes of forever
cram the night air,
juggling stormy clouds
with an enveloping shroud.
Wandering among orchids
mimics twilight’s flame,
as paths are carved, straddling
the colossal vastness of darkness
Buzzing, zooming, whispers aside,
and candles illuminate life’s
esoteric game.
Singing goldfinches chirp
from their yellow celandine perch.
Purple crocuses shimmer
beneath the magenta sky.
Riddles dance
upon the sapphire sea tides.
[The Cypress Is In Bloom]
The cypress is in bloom
I see the evil, the efflorescence of decadent doom
Eloigning, with thy clandestines of the Dead September's reign
My belovéd Penelope, abscond from the coven so deep, the glades of misery
We must face her in the grove, for arcany, the path we must take
She's in my mind, vaporously,
Lauding with my, dangers and fears
Lie, with ephermelcy's broken truths
Leading me go Cypress, Marigold
Immortally, willows, forevermore
Forevermore
[To Question; To Know]
My argentine silence, your only condonicy
Ends with such eath
The Mockingbird in me--died
Resting in one ounce, an abundance of shame
With an infinity of joy
Exiled, by the ones, who give all, names
My breath starves for only more
The façade, the veil, the austerity dims with Aquarianlore
She falls to her knees, why for?
Celandine she will be
Celandine is she
[Bead]
The lair within, free from their causalities of their sins
Shadowy primroses begin to grow, the season will never end
In there I dream to be like you, violet blue, White Flower of Lisieux,
La Fleur Blanche du Lisieux,
So Celandine are you
Celandine are you
[Draconian]
Draconian--Reach for the shadows within
Draconian--Break from The Fallen's Sin
Draconian--Their Empirical lies, only die
Draconian--Reach The Shadows Within
As March sets in people are eager to work in their rural gardens and fields,
The earth turns up fresh and mellow and there is beauty in its very blackness,
Flowers are fast springing in the boarders, delicate and beautifully poetic,
Familiar friends the alpine violet, the dog tooth violet, daffodils and squills.
The little snowdrop peaks out of the soil to see how many of his friends wait,
The snowdrop sees the Almond trees blossom beautiful while others are leafless,
Bends his little white head to the tacamahac, smiling he waves at the catkins,
He casts his eyes at the mezereon with clustered blooms, a China rose unfolds.
The trees in the woods feel the warmer weather and wild wood flowers sprout up,
The snowdrop nods to his friends the Coltsfoot and cardamine in older fallows,
And in this magical setting the star of Bethlehem beams across the grey trees,
A kingcup waves to the celandine showing off their fine deep and golden lustre.
Then who does the snowdrop see, can it be his friend the daisy growing on turf,
The crocus spreads like a purple flood that has beautified meadows for all time
But for today the violets, white or purple takes its lodgings under our hedges,
They move along the moist banks which is well remembered from a sweet childhood.