Long Dogwood Poems
Long Dogwood Poems. Below are the most popular long Dogwood by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dogwood poems by poem length and keyword.
Moist rain continues to fall
through the whisper of the feeble wind,
it continues to drip from the dogwood tree
and the purple lilies below...
leaving the last raindrops of sorrow
on this face without glee!
My hope won't be bleak...
if no clouds gather for a thunderstorm,
and all the flower keep their petals
that attract lovers looking sleek;
too distant are those meadows
one can sit on and watch butterflies swarm
upon them, hoping to catch one for keeps,
being careful not to damage their wings!
After sunset dusk comes swiftly,
and saying goodbye to sunlight
only increases sadness inside;
let prayer be your comfort
to hush in a restful sleep...
be strong enough not to weep,
dream of Heaven and dream of harmony:
angels will float around and won't hide!
My hope won't be bleak...
until I have found what I seek;
I may seem completely hopeless and weak,
but it's faith that keeps me strong and meek!
Spring green decorates the hills
Down in the hollow where the creek flows
Wild azaleas and mountain laurel appeal
As spring a masterpiece gently shows
Once I was in my spring of life
Born, grew, developed, lived, love flowed
Years passed into summer being a wife
Then fall came, how my life slowed
Those autumn leaves swiftly fell flowing down
Their beautiful colors slowly turned into gold
Then so many shades and colors of trees' crown
What a story their descent to earth told
Bare skeletal oaks, poplar, sweet gum and dogwood
Each shape decorated the drab countryside
A longing once again for spring to come if it would
But alas the last spring has come, and can no longer abide
Amid colorful roses, and lovely dahlias, within a garden,
I found my space in a corner, a wildflower bred by no one,
Though my mistress wished to uproot me as a weed, I was firmly grounded.
My roots so tangled didn’t come off easy, and I refused to budge an inch.
So, I was allowed to be there amid the other plants.
When she watered her garden, I absorbed some aqua molecules like a sponge.
When she manured her plants, I drew nourishment like a famished child.
When butterflies befriended lovely flowers, I stayed silent,
with a secret craving for an amorous moment.
When the season came, I burst into bloom, outshining all other flowers.
Yes, I am an Anemone resembling close to Poppy or Dogwood.
On my delicate stem, I am cradled by the lullaby of the wind.
Now I stay so confident, smile so easily, and laugh without care.
I can grow where I like, you cannot tame me, I am a wildflower…!
Our spring delivers magic every year-
the time when we applaud its wake-up sign,
as overnight new buds seem to appear!
The days turn longer, warmer- and it's clear
Forsythia splash gold upon the vine!
Our spring delivers magic every year.
Soon, yellow Daffodils bring us more cheer;
sway in the breeze- so graceful by design-
as overnight new buds seem to appear!
The Violets, on lawns both far and near,
in clusters form- with clover they combine.
Our spring delivers magic every year.
And, Dogwood trees stage for a new premiere;
with blossoms- pink or white, look so divine-
as overnight new buds seem to appear.
The spring landscape becomes a new frontier,
when winter passes, gives up to consign-
our spring delivers magic every year-
as overnight new buds seem to appear.
April 12, 2022
Contest: Springtime Villanelle
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Dogwood,jasmine,marram grass
In flower ,as pressure fills the barometer glass;
Evening primrose in scented bloom
Fill Autumn with pungent perfume.
Sycamore seeds twirl and twist
Onto a fairy-ring fungus tryst;
Stink horn capped with slime,
As carrion beetles pass the time.
Bramblings feast on bountiful mast ,
As the Autumnal harvest dwindles fast;
Yellowed leaves drift and decompose
Into next year's cellulose.
Winter migrants with welcome calls
As the Indian Summer falters,and falls;
Nature's tempo tarries,then slows
As all creation begins to doze.
&fog forms ,at the close of day.
It was a mistake
for me to bring Ben.
Eleven-year-old boys
and birds don’t go well
together.
I took two pairs
of binoculars
in the hopes that he
would bother to look
in a pair.
The sky was tumbling
it’s full gray clouds
in a frantic tussle
over our little wet
heads and peering eyes
that scoured the trees
for anything singing.
“There is no bid
fallout!” Ben complained
with his arms pulled
inside his tee shirt sleeves.
He looked cold
and cranky.
“Did you hear the goldfinch?”
“They all sound the same.
Can we go home now?
The same birds are in
our backyard.”
The rain dripped
unevenly off
the thousand petals
of a dogwood tree.
Is anyone other than me
seeing what I see
right now?
Cats aren't little sweeties,
when they catch butterflies
flying low on dogwood trees.
Mary and James chase
after them stepping on flowers,
and falling down in their haste.
Mother and dad come out,
and start to yell to call them back,
and they still run past the hut.
Dogs bark at frogs with an unsteady leap,
when they stare at their puppies
huddled in their deep sleep.
Spring, summer and fall
are true delights in the North,
where the weather is never too dull.
Every afternoon, Jim and Derick
climb the fir thirty feet tall,
they stop halfway and vomit.
Dogs and cats quarrel and get wild,
kids gather around to support their team,
betting nickles on this harmless fight.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Sing, Birds Sing
Sun
Smiling
Gleefully
Blushes blue dawn
While robin's musing
Pink-dogwood dreams
Rejoicing
Blooming
Spring
Where
Playful
Cardinal
Hops, hops, and sits
Then curves a sharp spin
Flying up high
Savoring
Freedom
Flight
Lone
Sparrow
Sitting on
Red maple tree
Whistles and dances
Reveling in
Lilacs and
Lilies
White
Sing
Birds sing
Exalting
Season's beauty
Warbling, frolicking
Serenading
Cheerfully
Sing birds
Sing
Sing
Of joy
Of prairies
Of giggling streams
Of butterflies, bees
Flowering trees
Sing of hearts
Sing of
Love
February 20, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand Formed Contest
Placed 3rd: Springtime Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1
Sunlight smiles
Through morning’s song
As birds, robin and wren,
Flutter near the dogwood
Awakening the moments
To a day of grace and wonder
A day for the Lord to shower
Hearts with favor, mercy
All the goodness of His grace
Roses reflect the dewdrops
As the trickle down a petal
Reminding the heart of the joy
Felt when His love embraces
Kissing away every fear, each tear
With a kindness that resembles
Peace and tranquility, the feeling
Brought alive by the love inside
Love inspired by His spirit
Creating His abode, within me
Gentle breezes silence the pain
Praising the Lord with their thanks
For the silent songs, the distant
Hopes who fall like rain pouring out
From the heavens, rays of joy
Feelings filled with a soft knowing
His light shines from the heavens
Coloring souls in spiritual enthusiasm
Igniting passions of prayer and praise
Assuring hearts that His love is forever
An eternal beauty leaving in its path….
The fruits of the spirit - love, joy, peace. longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and temperance.
Galatians 5:22-23 (KJV) 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, 23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes
There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells
We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest
Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time