Long Flower child Poems
Long Flower child Poems. Below are the most popular long Flower child by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flower child poems by poem length and keyword.
I didn't know the blithe Flower Child.
Whose singing, dancing others said wild
One with flowers and love in her song.
She was a wildflower all along.
Wildflowers bloomed for miles and miles.
We looked at them and broke out in smiles.
They borrowed their tints from rainbow's hues
Then traded sips of light-falling dew.
The flower child was eager to share
her home with those painting art in air.
Sampling exotics and leaves unnamed
In tie-dyed shirts, ponytails untamed.
Wildflowers that grew spontaneously
Nature designed to live wild and free.
To feel summer's breeze blowing their blooms.
Growing askew, we knew, faeries groomed.
Flower child had a message, you see.
Altho said psychedelically.
She wanted a world in peace at last,
her Heart ached for young souls passed
The wildflowers had a message, too:
If you want flowers, trees and a view,
Our voices cry we can't go alone
Someday, rivers will dry up like stone.
Flower Child but a memory now.
Her message of peace was lost somehow.
Blossoms have died, love no longer shared.
Looking back now, I wish more had cared.
Seasons changed, rain comes seldomly now;
Or, torrents come, flooding earth and bough.
Wildflower patches have grown so small,
Soon there'll be no wildflowers at all.
(Dedicated to all those who have died alone.)
They cannot fit, they cannot go along,
and the reasons are wide: pride, fear,
even love never tempered by time,
illness of the heart or mind, or simply
bad, bad luck: life throws them away
until they throw life away....
She was one of the gentle ones,
the unlucky ones-- a flower child
who missed her time, an era she
might have thrived in, free, alive,
unencumbered by family ties....
If she had come age in the 60's,
she might have lived into her 90's.
But lost and afraid in a cold world
not of her making, with her bird-
like heart breaking, she ate her
last hoarded apple, then lay down
to sleep and sleep and sleep until
she awakened safe in heaven's lap.
--judged NA in 'Will to survive' contest, 10/15/20--
[The poem was based on a true incident whereby a young woman suffering severe depression and paranoia was released from a psych ward without anyone informing her family; she stayed alone for weeks in an empty, unheated house in winter subsisting only on half-rotten apples she had picked up from the ground in the back yard.]
I'm a child of the '60's,
not quite a flower child,
never really a hippie
(though my ponytail
drove my uncle nuts!)
but still I ate the ever
crunchy Beatles for
breakfast, lunch, dinner
and roasted the Stones
whenever a lady came by.
I was free then or so
I told myself, free
to travel the world,
free to love and
then, inevitably,
always leave--
free to dream and
free to fail it seemed.
I owned only myself
but I owed no one--
both big mistakes
illusions really, for
we own nothing
save our souls,
we owe everything
to everyone, most
of all we owe God,
be we Baptist or
Hindu, Catholic or
Jew, Muslim or
atheist:we owe.
Most young ones
learn in time--
we are not free,
we are not strong,
we are not whole.
We hunger for
more than food,
we thirst for
more than water,
we need more
than money, and
we need more
than our minds.
We are the animal
never sated, never
full, never replete.
We are the animal
ever restless, sooo
easily bored, even
of life sometimes.
Is that why we argue
and fight, commit
pointless crimes,
end long marriages,
spurn our friends,
chase youth when
youth has become
less than a dream?
Is that really why
nations go to war,
because of boredom?
We do we always
feel we are missing
out on something?
Now that I am old,
I have no answers.
I thought I would
by now, I thought
I'd understand
myself, you, well,
everyone! And I
would know just
why I was so dumb
when I was young,
but I don't even
know why I am
so foolish old....
[written and posted 11/14/20]
I only be looking down now, looking inside myself now,
not head set in defeat but reflection, not the thoughts but the actual events that happened, wild flower child, yea right boom boy im a power plant, a quater-back serving audibles, wide-receivers run em in slants, run deep, swapping the rythym up, call it skill or pronounce them fiery darts of the devil, replay read a lot of fake words, deploy nothing but truths that carry troops, dead-zone drop-off swing wide scrape the danger, winged right there then, repairs upmost respected like I have a strong command of the english langauge, a strong sense of honor, PoW's plenty of wise men, plenty that u couldnt challenge on the battlefield, u better be ready to die when you walk in their battallion, Feel the valance the stealth, feel nothing feel what you feel wether its false politics American Goverment, I dont condemn my country, American people be the damn blindest, conditionally unseasoned , refutedly would he die in that war man? Well im a black speck in his eyes dying where ever it dont make a ****, you think a soldier gives a damn about being remembered, nah its about fighting your hardest, living longer, having your friends back, perfecting that last love letter, asking God for guidance, as waiting for it, Command given stretch the ammunition, permissions only to use your intuition, now i put a disatant on that idea's be balanced if you spot it u got it, six strikes 3 terrible battle plans, instructions be on a good heart. we life size- we realize it. we competition cams with a lope pulling deeper compression, true intentions blow up in your mind like mushroom clouds, like the repurcussion was a blast to the laws broken in an accident, cheap shells cheap never be Blaine c cheap s sweetlies b bashing breaking *****es, bullstrong. balls with the brillance, beautiful blows, brainstorming, bulls of bashan beaware the wheel of furtune turns quick ask me I slip out simple vibes I be on top soon. blanks broken hollypoints I keep one jax in the chamber, Bang baby I still hit hard with the power, bang *****es blaine me, can u blame me? Straight and narrow , not like in a false form, warfront back on a warhorse, back on the foremost thoughts of a man with a decision to make..
Form:
He isn’t easy on the eyes and in fact
He rejects common pronouns of gender
So perhaps out of respect I’ll refer
To this beautiful soul as Earth Angel.
There is a lot of wisdom in Earth Angel’s words
It is as if God painted a plain black vessel
And allowed it to be filled with green grace
With every trial this soul’s heart is lifted
Unlike most who fall into the pity party
Earth Angel is accepting even thankful
For the opportunity to grow despite dilemma
Even when people and life are unkind
Earth Angel was abandoned at birth
And grew up in foster homes in the early sixties
A flower child at heart this soul is free spirited
Earth Angel believes in the third gender
Opening one’s heart to a suffering soul
Can be painful but humbling
Earth Angel never meets a stranger
Despite his childhood Earth Angel is cultured
So how can a brown cow
Eat green grass
And produce white milk
Earth Angel would jest
A hearty laugh always followed
No matter who or how it was answered
Earth Angel always laughed
As time moves on so does this soul
Never married and not sure it was a desire
Earth Angel left this world due to COVID
Final wishes to go to heavenly home were granted
To a former ward of the court but a beautiful soul
Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In far out psychedelic rhymes
Take a ride beside the blacklight
On the Velvet Underground
Wake me up with the Strawberry Alarm Clock
Serving incense and peppermints in bed
Fixing a hole where the rain gets in
As the 60's flood my head
Walk with me through Asbury
With a flower child in hand
Listening to the groovy tunes
Of Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band
Hang out with the hippies
Before Monterey goes pop
As they fly like butterflies
At the moment the acid drops
Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In the innocence of peace and love
Back then we all had our share
But is there ever really enough?
TEMPTED TO MADNESS
Running away from insanity.
Going crazy with reality.
The Coronavirus staying around,
unmasked people getting out of hand,
ongoing protests all over
police brutality over and over.
I just want to run
to have my freedom.
Freedom to be care free,
not minding anybody.
Even for a brief moment
of peace and contentment.
All I want to do
to make it through
is to run free and wild
for I’m going out of my mind.
Like a wild flower child
making whoopee in the wild
under the sky full of stars
or in the back seat of a car.
In a pick up short/long bed
or on the bushes shades.
Ah… Bless my soul
trying to stay whole.
In this troubled time
trying to stay calm
by imagining I’m running free
and wild to keep my sanity.
All I want to do
to make it through
is to run free and wild
for I’m going out of my mind.
8/27/20 Tempted To Madness Edward Ibeh
She was conceived of Springtime’s grace. Flower- child molded from the freshness and a burst of indescribable hues. Like Sabbath delicacy and freckled tints of June morning; this woman became the melody of dawn and solace of midnight. Until, grey winter blinded her eyes so almond. Cycles of discoveries slipped between dark and glitter. Oh, but her spirit remained undaunted--- more daring and quite misunderstood. Grandma listened to a glowing sky, instead; and fondled avian drawings through her chest. Her passion for life was full just the same.
through a roused breeze
image flares, tracing colors...
muted in darkness
Nonetheless, she tended leaves evergreen. More trails of seasons arose and departed; and in between, her words laced the Braille with wonder. Grandma held the moon that spiked her hunger for more flowers. She decorated her own thoughts without need for remorse; imagination came with her own sunsets, endless. And her fire for life was full just the same.
as leaves cluttered
moonlight swathes blossoms...
opening new roots
Haibun Form Contest, Broken Wings
9.30.2013
I have been called a hippy dippy;
Transient, I travel when I can,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
Traveling from city to city,
that flower child who lives in a van;
I have been called a hippy dippy;
My spirit’s always been a gypsy;
With a tie dyed hand sign it began,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
Cliche’ but I’m known to hug a tree,
nature is my hallucinogen;
I have been called a hippy dippy;
On the water I drift dreamily
aboard a laid back catamaran,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
So chill unrefined far out at sea;
Ya dig? I’m all about peace man;
I have been called a hippy dippy,
to me mellow flow is so groovy.
It was a cultural revolution, while a world jumped to conclusions
Of mini-skirts, and go-go boots, and psychedelic tensions
The flower child, would smile and sprout communal peaceful versions
about a war, and called it wrong, and marched to have it end.
Mary, Peter, Paul, would sing,... Pete Seeger wrote his songs
While somewhere soldiers fought the throng of distant Viet Cong
The wonder years, had rendered us to march in protest parades
Invading rights, the south would fight against the Ku Klux Klan
Rosa Parks would take a seat and fight for rights of men
her bravery would light the world. .. and sparked a light within
The Beatles sang of "Yesterday", and everything between
"Imagine" if you can at all,.......what peace could ever bring
The evening brewed the Cronkite news, and we believed in him
On distant shores the scores of dead, the dreaded war ensued
A bullet broke the heart of man...
and we would watch a child salute
the father that he loved and knew
struck down beneath,
a Texas sky one cloudy afternoon ...
His uncle too, ...then, Dr. King.....succumbed to hate, such fate would come, as well
The dates we keep with lock and key, and still,....our throats will swell
Yet through the clouds, into the sky....one step for all mankind
Would light the world, again with hope.....and take us to the moon
_____________________________________________________
For Kelly's Contest: Decades
3/4/15