Long Gardened Poems
Long Gardened Poems. Below are the most popular long Gardened by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gardened poems by poem length and keyword.
three flowers ...
of extraordinary bloom
seeds and earth, spun together in chaos
soil of arable value, some more or less ... firm,
but challenge not the care of the tenders - their loving ambitions
they gardened and provided with nurturing hands
far-from-perfect, the aliment entrusted ...
not always in accord, but consistently full hearts for the task
oh, those blossoms were, as any, pressed by the elements
for life is as much the storms, as it is the fair and fine
but the roots were strong and reaching
what they sprung, hearty and bright and graceful -
as imperfectly perfect as childhood dreams
now, I stand back and watch them gather light and wings
drink rain, bend in the wind, fold their petals in twilight ...
seeding new buds and blooms of their own
for that is the way of flowers ...
their beauty, blessing.
Submitted on June 3, 2020
To the "Brian's Select 3, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Sponsor.
Holy EarthSpirit
is our seed bearer.
Our blue celestial universe
could lack nothing
In meadows of green sweetgrass
She enlightens repose.
Into living waters of recomposure
She bears then leads us;
There S/He revives Earth's compassioned soul.
She guides me
by polypaths of virtue
not forsaking Her sense-rooted story.
Though we pass through this gloom
doom river valley,
I fear no mountainous trauma;
Within me
your rooted integrity
and your well-seeded womb are here,
to hearten and enlighten us.
You prepare a wealth gardened table
between us
under the eyes of my predative
and hoarding enemies;
You anoint our capital driven values
with multicultural oil,
my catholic creolizing communion cup
brims cooperatively over.
Ah, how active hope enlightenment
and empowering love pursue us,
every day and night of Earth's living systems;
My home,
the recreation of ecowomanist
re-imaged Yahweh,
As long as Earth light power
revolves around Sun's well-blessed
EarthTribe Womb.
Jack Sprat and wife Mary, lived in a glory of lemony, chiffon days;
Like maroon birds keep on singing, until the sunset, orange phase.
They were comfy and happy, like a picnic in lavish, emerald grass;
And had a black dog and a calico cat, like red Mars making a pass.
While Jack was a large man, his beloved wife, contrarily, was tiny.
They gardened after church on Sundays, as sweet time went slyly.
At the mauve hour of dinner, they enjoyed each other's company,
As well as a single glass of wine, while the animals played clumsily.
February fawned over early flowers, smiling fondly into sun's face;
As friends came in feathered hats and finery, through jaded grace.
Floating fuchsia clouds were frilly, in futuristic times of red sunset;
And family visited the fun hours. Moon pearls were not falling yet!
They lived in the house of amenity, like living with ones most loved;
And a fireside welcomed evenings, under skies with dyes smudged.
Swift, strawberry seasons were somewhat surprising, and sudden,
On their street of purple sage. Redbirds visited by striking dozens.
Noteworthy navy blue twilights brought nearby neighbors, laughing;
And new night was bejeweled with stars, that were forever flashing.
Frolicksome freesias were in full boom, in pretty, prismatic colors,
In dusky days of dandelion delight, when sun rays crept in shutters.
Rainbow eucalyptus trees enchanted, as if glossing skies had fallen;
When 'strangler figs' wreaked crime after crime, noted by red robin.
Jack Sprat and Mary received bad news, within months of each other!
The doctor placed Jack on a strict diet, so his health would not suffer.
And Mary, who was undernourished, was told to eat more, and often!
She and Jack vowed to obey doctor's orders, like tonic rains of Austin.
Jack began to eat less and lose weight, and Mary made tasty meals;
And gained weight and hale vigor, like when purple sun's colors peel.
'Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.'
Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
The original landscapers ran riot,
for they planted arching spans
between and over
many of its grassy hillocks,
its trickling brooks.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
Catwalks may connect you
to gaps in your life
ones yet uncrossed for want of a bridge’
They can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself.
Perhaps more to the point
folks can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
On a summer evening
your long shadow
can walk over the park
in a few strides.
You may recall then that all your steps
have been
bridges over time,
a landscaping of a life -
and just a walk in the park.
Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
Perhaps its topographical language
once spoke of bridges
for the landscapers have run riot
planting arching spans
between and over
many of its hillocks and humps.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
The catwalks of Stubbs park
can connect you to gaps in your life
as yet uncrossed for want of a bridge,
they can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself,
or perhaps more to the point
they can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
My hands look worn, marked by the passing of time,
Of sunlight, cold, heat and work.
They have baked, cooked, gardened and harvested,
They have held the hands of devastated people sitting in front of a casket,’
They have soothed fevered brows, wrapped gifts with a smile on my face.
They have held many pudgy little hands of toddlers learning to walk,
And now hold the hand of my older, stumbling friend.
They are covered with sunspots, but they are happy spots.
A legacy of many bright hours spend in my flourishing garden,
Of romantic walks, of picnics with friends, of games played with children,
And of time spend alone, out in nature, replenishing myself.
My hands, adorned with rings, showing my commitment to my Love,
Carrying my birthstone ring, a present of my Sweetheart,
And in rememberence of my Mom, her favorite ring.
My hands are a mirror of my life.
My town is a floral one, known in French as
"La Ville des Fleurs," for, it is one so beautifully gardened
It is, in the island, the place where I roam about, fully at ease
For it is a town, which has been always, since its birth, so well governed!
A town it is, found in the middle of the island, nearly on the plateau
It fans chilly winds in winter, and cool freshness in summer
If I could, I would have built here my own chateau
For here, one gets to feel that living is as delicious as an appetizer!
I would leave it never, however strong may be the pulls of adventure
I would leave it never, for here I get to live as I want to
Giving my time equally to both duty and leisure
Why, in my town, I do even get to see and write of life through!
Pray, my island is well known as a tropical paradise, it gives the world a thrill,
Yet, my town is the place which bids my heart and breath to never stand still!
Written for Contest "Sonnet about where you live"
Sponsored by: Silent One
I live in Mauritius and my home town in called Quatre Bornes
28 Dec 2016
Just what have I done with my life
A man put that question to me
I started to think and I gave him a wink
But my mind drew a blank, well, let’s see
I’ve not built a bridge made of steel
I’ve not a photographer’s eye
I’d not fit the bill of a fireman’s will
I’ve not flown a plane, no, not I
No land have I gardened or farmed
Machinery baffles my mind
Accountants are great, that wasn’t my fate
An autograph, never I’ve signed
Yet I knew I found what I sought
Without a degree and its pay
The bonds of the heart, right from the start
Yes, that’s what I wanted to say
And I’ve been the happiest man
I’ve done more than all else above
For all that I needed, I’ve surely exceeded
Quite simply put, I have known love
Then what to his wand'ring blund'ring eye should appear
A comely young lass willing to spread dread and fear
Even much better's she married much older
"All the better to see you my Dear and be bolder.
I delight in the fright and things will be dandy.
If it will be spread by some winsome eye candy."
All the while this Grinch swallows and wallows in pardon
While he plays DJ where the roses were gardened
You can hear 'midst the din, hue and cry in the land
But this is the guy who now picks the bands
That will be centering all our attention
There will be no mention of any dissension
Because Sinterclause cows the Press and the Right
"Merry Xmas to all", unless we say, "Good night!"
Marta decided to garden herself happy
It was the thing she used to love to do
with her grandparents, Big Pappy
and her grandmother, Nora Sue.
They had spent many hours planting their seeds
Hoeing, tilling, raking, and getting rid of weeds
their bounty came in July, and sometimes in June
They were still working, singing a communal tune.
Big pappy would whistle, Nora Sue would hum.
Marta planted her garden, chewing her gum
Putting seed packages on stakes so she would remember
what she had planted; what she would can in September
As she made these new memories, she remembered her roots.
Her apple trees were generous, they provided her fruits.
Carrots, cabbages, corn and pumpkins came along this July.
She smiled at the heavens, feeling her grandparents in the sky.