Long Daisy Poems
Long Daisy Poems. Below are the most popular long Daisy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Daisy poems by poem length and keyword.
CHILDREN OF THE MIDSUMMER GARDEN
Dreamy midsummer comes to the garden
Leaving her perfume so intoxicating
Colors float up – bounce like a fountain
Autumn comes soon – a lady-in-waiting.
What can you say about fragrant Rose?
So beautiful her face wherever she grows –
Sometimes she climbs, or lives in gardens,
Her sharp thorns we will pardon.
Gallant Scarlet Pimpernel,
Grow anywhere far as we can tell,
Popping up in places unexpected
Yelling “Surprise!” He’s quite unaffected.
Baby’s Breath – so light, so airy –
No scent surrounds you, no perfume;
Delicate child of summer meadow –
A wreath of flowers comes in bloom.
Bright pink and purple, blue and soft white,
Pretty Petunia won’t hide from the light;
She likes the heat – humidity too –
Welcoming all dressed in her vibrant hues.
Shy Hydrangea loves the shade
Wearing a hat of tiny blossoms;
Hidden away in her secret garden
Thankfully never forgotten.
Larkspur blue conceals a pocket –
Hides her nectar there;
But only with cousin Delphinium
Her secret she readily shares.
Sweet Pea clambers up a trellis
Wearing flowers – pink, lavender or white;
Decorates brick walls or plain wooden fences
On delicate vines – a fragrant delight.
Flowering Stock known by so many names
But her spicy perfume to all the same;
Though she may go by many an alias,
Her true self we see in her flowers so various.
Bright Lobelia doesn’t care,
Sunny or shady, makes home anywhere;
Tiny flowers of lavender or blue –
Always smiling in any hue.
Simple flower, such an innocent face,
For children making Daisy chains;
Flower of friendship – predicting love –
“Loves me – loves me not,” a favorite game
Zinnia grows in so many places,
Loves to skip across dry prairie places;
Attracting hummingbirds and bright butterflies,
Always searching for sun in the sky.
Radiant Ranunculus shines like sunshine,
Lustrous face, dazzling smile;
In landscape borders or in bouquets,
Returns every year – so versatile.
Her name was Anarkali,
an eloquent carnival of legendary beauty.
a dancer in the court of Emperor Akbar.
Deep russet rouge blushed her red,
a silky smile on her rosy peach cheeks
rich, sensual and seductive...
With the sweet scent of jasmine, and
festal moonlight of crystal starred sky,
the damsel danced her way to Salim's heart.
A charmed Prince reverberated in her dreams
in rhythm of a daisy swaying in his breeze.
Entranced in her emollient ecstasy
Captured in the cage of her beautiful eyes.
Love blossomed like a dazzling wildfire.
But a sinister callous world, was eager to kill.
Passion handcuffed by shackled royal ego,
Anarkali was sentenced to be entombed alive.
Behind a wall of stones and prison bars,
Blood still throbbed her myriad unseen scars.
As vibrant colors of a sunset blurred,
An enslaved moth danced to flames of death.
As chimes of Ghungroo* muffled in mutenes,
An enslaved soul emancipated in darkness.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anarkali in Urdu means Pomegranate blossoms
*Ghungroo is an ornament of bells worn as anklets by dancers.
The love story of Prince Salim ( Mughal Emperor Jahangir) and Anarkali is legendary.
Anarkali, also known as Nadira Begum, was a courtesan from Lahore in modern-day Pakistan. According to one of the stories, Anarkali had a relationship with the Crown Prince Jahangir and the Mughal Emperor Akbar had her enclosed in a wall where she died.
4th July 2019
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest Name : Slave to love
Among all the lovely flowers that spring
makes bloom on warm mornings,
I chose the daisy for its daintiness
and bright color as the golden hair
of that first love at the age of seventeen!
Irene was realistic, unlikely me: a delusive dreamer;
we could have been great friends or even soulmates!
I dreamt of children and their loud laughter,
of joyful days spent in that meadow of daisies...
showing our affection as we played together!
You should have seen me picking up those yellow daisies
and putting them in her long, blonde hair,
as sunrays highlighted it with much radiance;
that image truly harmonized with Nature
in that meadow of daisies and it became almost sacred!
I went back there at the end of summer
to reminisce that lovely face so lit-up with joy,
but thoughts of nostalgia incited some tears;
beautiful one, reappear in that meadow of daisies...
beautiful one, let my kisses be your ecstasy!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
While lounging in my duster* watching news,
I have my morning coffee. When I'm through,
I wash my cup and saucer and admire
their elegance and pleasing shade of blue.
Like other lovely things I own--handbags,
Americana wreaths, and jewelry--
my dusters, cups, and saucers all came from
the popular Blue Daisy Company.
************************
Blue daisy plants don't flourish where I live;
and, even if they did, they wouldn't thrive
for me. I'm death to flowers! So I have
the artificial ones. They look alive!
Most of my rooms are graced with vases of
these blue silk beauties that appeal to my
calm, meditative side or to my sense
of whimsy. Then they make me smile and sigh.
*housedress
written June 18, 2017, and entered in Mystic Rose's Blue Daisy Contest
Beauty all around
As I amble through the meadow
The breeze of daybreak, oh so inviting
Whispering unfathomable secrets
Into my ears. The mist yonder suspends
In the air. A thing of wonder, a light
Passing through a prism
This meadow, akin to a forsaken garden
Punctuated with colorful weeds
Sunflowers and dandelions glow as bright
As fireflies; smiling and blowing kisses
In unison with the morning sun
Autumn woods dazzle with color
Blades of grass bending in the breeze
Ripples on a stream, and they dance
With devil-may-care abandon. As carefree
As aspen leaves moving in the slightest wind
This meadow, alive with creatures of nature. Somewhere...
A grasshopper is leaping to and fro
A butterfly is fluttering every which way
A hummingbird is hovering over a bloomed flower
A bumblebee is bothering a daisy
Birds perched in trees sing
Nature's love songs. A nightingale...
drips honey into my ears! Fallen leaves sigh
Birds seize the turquoise blue morning sky
Could this be nature at it's best?
Beauty all around
As I amble through the meadow
I need to find me again
Lost since way back when
To change the color of a thought
Find myself that I forgot
Scorching red, darkest burning black
Needing brightest pastels brought back
Pale purple will become a written flower
Only vibrant colors hold that power
Pink, orange & yellow bloom a sunset rose
Purely pearl white only a daisy knows
Greens & browns are natural hues
Lighten my soul with sky & baby blues
Uplifting my spirits along with my mind
Imagining a bouquet with flowers of every kind
Picking bouquets makes everything better
Add some grasses, unique sticks, a feather
It's working better than I thought it would
Ways my imagination can do me good
who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering smoldering, and stewing
long festering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.
No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart
she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,
when young gallivanting
purported vestal virgin ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious phallic proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.
Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
fella and living persons purely coincidental.
He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.
As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
I reject
in the face
of it all
Aestheticism
true beauty
is found in the
ugliness of it all
peaking out
under coverlets
of mud
throwing
spit balls
of pulchitrude
wrapped up
time bombs
that stick
to the banal
unexpected beauty …
of it all,
ambitious
edges and curves
open and inviting
accompanied by caveats
there will be
splendid over-ripe
gardens of Eden
followed teasingly
in close pursuit, by the
madhatters’ tea parties
and Hugos' balls
rooms too large,
and rooms too small
it’s all
rather
simple
underneath
the dirt
of it all
precious
and most expensive
jewels are found
smudged kisses
mascara stained
cheeks of Cinderellas
holding spaces
for roses are red
and violets are blue
daisy chains
of love me
love me knots
tightly
tied
small victories
virtues held
and lost, conquests
stroking glass slippers
drinking in the gins
and espousing
their 3 wishes
looking for
long lost Kings
failing that,
settling for
paupers, not
princes
their crystal balls
over brave and
missing the mark
shattering
then later
lying unclaimed
under the sun
melting
through the
flaws
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
escapist
artist
tourist
minimalist
extremist
illusionist
fatalist
but never
realist
escape artist
mud wrestling naked
in poetic jello, at the
Cabaret Voltaire
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Dadaist.
In the original garden, before the lines were drawn,
where everything bloomed without permission or pretense,
I found my place—
not in the quiet conformity of red petals and sharp thorns,
not lined up in immaculate, predictable rows of classic roses,
but standing tall, unbothered, turning my face directly to the sun.
I am a sunflower in a garden built for velvet.
Broad-leafed and wild, holding the gold of noon in my chest,
a radiant, unyielding burst of yellow
shattering the polite coolness of the shade.
I bring warmth into cold rooms.
Where air has turned heavy and still,
where conversations freeze and frost settles on the glass,
I am the sudden, unexpected heat,
the hearth fire in human form,
melting the edges of frozen spaces just by walking in.
I am the breeze across a vast lavender farm,
a gentle, invisible hand moving through purple fields,
catching the quiet scents that sit hidden in the leaves
and lifting them, carrying them outward,
sweeping sweet tranquility across the open air,
stirring what was still, setting fragrance in motion.
And when the sun sets and the day grows quiet,
I am a sweet, unassuming daisy tucked in the grass,
simple, pure, and patient,
waiting softly in the morning dew
to be picked and placed tenderly into the hands
of the world’s most beautiful princess.
I belong to the whole untamed earth—
the fire of the sun, the spirit of the wind,
the comfort of the hearth, and the sweetness of the bloom.
In every version of Paradise,
I am living light, moving freely, completely myself.
Imagine yourself as a raindrop
Sharing space in a cloud
Will I be part of a morning shower
Or the member of an angry crowd
Will I fall to earth on a gentle breeze
Or ride the currents of a storm
Will I be cool or refreshing
or steamy muggy and warm
Will I bounce upon some rooftop
Or touch the leaf of a tree
Rising along a storm surged tide
Seeking some way to be free
Will I kiss the petals of a daisy
And glisten in the sun
Or fall into a lazy pond
That has no where to run
Will I gently touch the soft brown earth
Searching to find my roots
Attach myself to a passerby
Who is wearing rubber boots
Will I find myself in a glass
as part of a lemonade
Or settled in a sheltered ditch
As a puddle in the shade
A raindrop's life is ongoing
Like the angels tears Caressing the earth
Rising once again into the sky
Clouds symbolize rebirth
Just imagine it for a moment
And think of the rainbow in flight
A raindrop divided into colors
Bathed in heavenly light