Long Crape Poems
Long Crape Poems. Below are the most popular long Crape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crape poems by poem length and keyword.
Summer speaks to me by waking me up early
Playing tunes of beautiful song bird melodies
Blowing cool breezes in early mornings
Creating chimes of rustling tree leaves
She speaks to me through marvels of elaborate spider webs
Through various trees’ dazzling green shades
Through fascinating designs on butterfly wings
Through flutters of humming birds and dances of dragonflies
She speaks to me by offering plums, peaches and numerous berries
And various melons, figs and delicious cherries
Growing scrumptious tomatoes in the garden for my luxury
Exhibiting vivacious blooms on rose bushes and crape myrtle trees
She speaks to me shining bright through brilliance of sunlight
Warming the afternoons and dehydrating grasses on hillsides
Crafting radiant sunsets and captivating afterglows of twilight skies
Generating buzzing mosquitoes in stillness of evenings’ dim lights
She speaks to me through an astonishing sight of a skunk mama and her adorable babies
Showing a watchful face of a raccoon sitting in an oak tree
Displaying an occasional slithering of a rattler or a snake native
Birthing numerous insects and active lizard progenies
Through magnificence of marvelous starry nights
Through frog croaks and cricket lullabies
Through precious waters of the lake
Summer speaks to me and I listen with gratitude in my heart……
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
Good morning, Spring.
I saw you yesterday for the first time in 2024.
I did not know how long you had been standing
there. My wife saw you sometime before I did
but failed to inform me.
Honestly, Spring, although it is unseasonably
warm where we live, I did not expect to see
you in February.
Anyway, you are always beautiful and so full
of life, and yesterday was no exception. You
were pretty and pink in the peach tree, and
greenish with a tiny bit of white in the plum
trees, but the pear and pecan trees as well
as the crape myrtle trees were not ready for
your touch of Spring.
Oh, Spring, I hope you don't get hit this year
with a late spring freeze. That could change
everything.
It was great seeing you, my friend. I look forward
to many more of your great displays and beautiful
scenery. Until then, my dear Spring friend.
022824PS.
Looking at the backyard down through a window
Brought a smile on my lips watching the scene below
A squirrel was sniffing around some bushes
Another one was scurrying up and down on oak tree branches
A humming bird was drinking nectar from lantana flowers
A purple colored dragonfly was hovering around purple blossoms of crape myrtle
Pairs of house finches were chirping loudly in great excitement
A nuthatch and a titmouse also joined the melody with their own distinctiveness
A thought came to my mind of mindfulness
Isn’t it just taking time to observe the present moment with awareness?
No prettier flowers match the ones
Lynn nurtures with immense care;
all her fantasies seem to adhere...
as if they were evocative lyrics!
Crape myrtle trees are blooming early,
they beautify the lively garden below;
blossoms make a soft and cozy pillow
to lay down gently and dream sweetly!
No windfall scatters them around with blows,
their stems can withstand upcoming storms;
their petals dazzle and make tearful Flora smile...
whenever she's anxiously waits to be a bride!
All the vivid colors of this suburban garden
invite everybody to stare at them gleefully,
Giancarlo offers a bouquet to a lonely lady;
her thankfulness pleases the kind gentleman!
If only spring could last all yearlong, southbound
Marlins, Canaries and Puffs would come around often;
their astonishing, cheery melodies will surely astound:
stop by and admire the loveliness of Lynn's garden!
Daffodil dimples
Crape myrtle blooms form
the entrance now leading
Into the garden of
dreams that we share
Rose buds and hyacinths
tickle our senses
Blending their fragrance
so sweet with the air
Lantana flowers in
yellows of lemon
Paint summer sunrises
along the wall
Hibiscus petals are
raining so softly
Before our eyes as
their beauty does fall
Daffodil dimples now
show as they're smiling
Watching the two of us
greeting the day
Now hand in hand
as we wander this garden
So much in love
midst this wondrous display
Good morning Soupers
By the time it's officially Summer,
Without a doubt, they will be arresting me.
Presently, they are budding under the crape myrtle, which also will be stunning by summer.
Most assuredly, all of our plantings will be most pleasing to our eyes, and will cast their spell on me.
They will dare me to ignore them in the slightest.
Indeed, I will have been captured by their beauty.
My neighbor might even take a picture of them
As they stand tall between the cactus and roses.
I tell you; those beauties will render me dizzy, dazed
and dazzled, standing in attention like a patriotic soldier.
I must remind myself to thin out the cactus plant.
I wouldn't have to cut them if they were mature enough.
In time my cactus will burst force with yellow blossoms.
God gives my flowers plenty of water, and I weed them well.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
O, beauty, blooming late under summer sun,
unrestrained crape myrtle, indeed you are one
species I will allow blest freedom to run
in wild abandonment.
You alone grace my deck with expanse and height.
As the soft winds bid you to dance, I might
join beneath your limbs by chance and take flight,
floating to Shangri-La.
I sense your trunk trembles when I take my shears
to prune your wint’ry skeleton. What appears
to be cruel, strengthens you throughout the years -
a blessing in disguise.
Your August glory magnifies my whole world
as your gorgeous, rosy pink blossoms unfurl
into a parasol. Your magical whirl
hints of Mary Poppins.
written April 6, 2017
The bark peels back like old skin—
Mine, yours, the cinnamon scrolls
Of what we shed to live. August
Bleaches the world to bone, the bark’s faint spice
Rising in the noon glare,
Heat tasting of salt and sand. And still this Crape crowns
Itself with Myrtle fire. Still—
I cannot explain what breaks in me. Still I press my cheek
Against its flaking flesh, feel
The pulse beneath—magenta,
White, pink, the deep red
Of what I've never
Bled for anyone.
Each blossom a small fist
Opening with the muted pop
Of summer rain on dry earth. Each petal, tissue-thin
As the lies I've told myself
About enduring. The Eastern Shore sun
Has made this tree what survival
Looks like: stubborn—
Beautiful, built for the burning
Seasons that strip us
To what we are. Winter comes,
And I am learning
How to be naked—
These mottled limbs
My teachers, conductors' hands
Mid-gesture, never finished
With their fierce music
Of staying alive. Of reaching
Up through the killing
Cold, brittle air ringing
With the clink of frozen twigs toward something
Green promises I cannot fathom—yet still I know
Lives in the light returning.