Long Gladiolas Poems
Long Gladiolas Poems. Below are the most popular long Gladiolas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gladiolas poems by poem length and keyword.
There are smells and sights and tastes which always remind
of Grandma with her rows of flowers bright,
the red of poppy the gladiolas white, the blue of spring violets vain
the scent of lilacs in the air and pine needles in the mix.
Sometimes too, the memory of her sweet breath does rise
of Black Jack gum or peppermint and all those summer times.
The search for new spout dandelions the mushrooms other times
And summer’s end brought black blue teeth a blueberry’s remind.
We’d dig for bait with cans of tin, Idella, grandma mine, and rise
from ‘neath the patched quilts of calico so bright.
By chance to fish within the stream, trout in our breakfast mix
along with silly shaped pancakes so placed on china vain.
The beauty of her sky blues eyes never was so vain
that wisps of salt and pepper hair gave time
its only claim. To rise like yeast a child within this mix
to hear a bark of terrier and feel Babe’s tongue remind
of childhood days a Grandma’s house. Idella our bright
find. Take those blessed tender hands and rise
Touch childhood cheek like dough of white and rise
have no dark dwelling thoughts of blue blood in the vein
the thinness of her fragile skin the dimmed light so bright
just remember love full of the better times.
And with the scent of venison and sizzling pans remind
laced with home made butter, fried onions in the mix.
How had Idella’s loveliness from German bloodlines mixed
together with the stalwart Grandpa Trussell’s rise
to birth the lively bunch of child my Mom’s remind?
When in the dark of night the rush of red rolls through my vein
mind light flies and flickers like the candle flame of time
and I return on winged horse within a dream so bright.
Smell the wood smoke from the stove caste iron bright.
See the siblings teasing cat and dog within the mix.
The mantle clock’s brass pendulum sings in time.
Hear the winter wind blow through the rafter’s rise
like tucked in chicks the storms blew all in vain,
now only grand kids live these tales and do remind.
Always in the darkest times I think of my Idella bright
and Gram reminds me of both joy and sorrow’s mix
soon like the wind on weathervane I'll rise to heaven and her kiss.
After taking a week-long break, went for a walk this morning
Saw decorations of Mother Nature for summer’s welcoming
Sun was shining with its multi million glimmers
Soft breeze was blowing making the walk feeling pleasurable
Trees on the road were filled with rustling luscious green leaves
Filled with many colorful birds singing their songs enjoying the morning gist
Having their tiny nests secured on extensive leafy twigs
Some of them were giving flying lessons to their growing babies
Roads felt a bit quiet due to the start of summer holidays
Flowers of charming Petunias kept showing their blooms taking attention away
Pink, purple, red and white
Sunshine had made their colors strikingly bright
Turmeric yellow colored perky Marigolds
Mingling with vibrant Dahlia and Daisy blossoms
Gorgeous Hydrangea’s blue, pink and white clusters
Peeping out from leafy foliage of distinctive textures
Numerous varieties of flamboyant Lilies
Orange and pink blooms of Gladiolas’ prominent streaks
Delightful fragrances of Star Jasmine and Gardenias
So many flourishes, so many diversities, so many shapes and charismas
The walk after a long break due to a case of flu
Revived my spirits with its breathtaking lively views
Champagne glasses of delve roses, reds, yellows, whites, poses
and crystal brims as its hold,
Lilies, just plain lilies, yes, white lilies, galore, there here, there,
everywhere, who cares what hold
Pockets of marigolds lain in brevity resting on fresh fronds of gladiolas faint hold,
Violets of varied hues make no excuse for being so bold for baby breaths to hold,
Cattleya orchids of whites and yellows, greens and chartreuse, they are their hold,
They bring life to the gathering of couplets written in quaint deliveries on the hold of a quill's sonnet.
18 September 2019
Cream colored tulips and satin red roses
intermix fluid in the garden.
One flower fades away as another takes it place,
like croci giving in to daffodils.
Marsh daisies and wild violets blend between the hosta
and minimize the scent full of lily of the valley.
A lone white iris bloomed today, stunting the green of others
holding high its flowered head above the may-apples.
At last the hint of peeking gladiolas rise,
red and pale green above the ground.
Yellow green eunonymus glow lime green in the sun
vibrant and colorful around the bark of an old broken oak.
Wild mustard rises and bloom in clumps
yielding dainty bouquets of delicate white florets.
With this early spring that lingers dry and warm
everything will bloom before its time.
We are partly into an early Spring and the horses' struts with their
heads held up. White Palominos all, majestic beauties they'd be in the
heart of the little village passing by the central square where the market
is full of life of sellers and buyers, to gawkers and talkers as well.
Nearby is the marbled-tier water fountain brimming with fish life and just beyond is the village lake, also teeming with edible fishes unlike those inside of the fountain. Edges of Papyrus and tall Cypress grass and just touching the colorful water lilies. Ahh, they've just arrived and tied up the horses so they'd be secured, here on top of the hill that overlooks the tiny village but seemingly the town life seems to have come up onto the hill, now the hill is full of life.
Oh, I forgot, the village of 'Somerset' with its old charm, thick thatched rooftops with their upper windows of English Oak, post and doorways too. Peaches, Apples Banana trees. Daffodils, daisies, roses, pansies, gladiolas, and much much more. This is truly Spring, the other seasons will be along shortly. I am here, that's why the village is here. I wanted to come home to 'Somerset' and be buried here in the Spring.
My gardens have grown by leaps and bounds thanks to incredible amounts of
rain in the past two days; every piece of vegetation seems taller, and healthier.
The green of the grass accentuates the yard in such a glorious way that even the
sky seems to be smiling at my gardens. I have marigolds, rose of Sharon, lilacs,
mums, gladiolas, hollyhocks, and a variety of other dainty flowers leaping from their beds in full glory. Thank you rain!
simple dab of rain
every flower grows two feet
lifting self toward sun
There are certain smells, sights,and tastes,
which will always remind me of Grandma.
The yellow of freshly molded butter;
thin, floral china tapping on a white porcelain tabletop;
the frail softness of my own thin skin,
veined now with the tracery of hard work,
Mother’s work, like her hands were.
Rows of gladiolas bright, so bright
in the warm August sun of Maine
lined up like the Crayola crayons;
she always had waiting for me.
The sweet, strong, scent of onions
sizzling in a black cast iron fry pan.
Red-blue, blue-black, venison
popping in her homemade butter.
All memory of the deer,
who gave its all for our meal, past.
The acridly sweet smell of propane gas,
from a kitchen stove,
mixing with the wood smoke and soot
from the living room heater.
Even pennies make me smile,
and remember Grandma.
As I sat on the scrap wool hand-braided rug,
at five, counting the coppers,
she had saved for me!
Books! The joy of a hard cover,
pictures laced with Jesus and Moses.
Tales of God and the little children;
but God was not my world, Grandma was.
The softness of her bosoms, as she held me.
The black mesh netting, that held her silvered-black hair.
How she held my small hand on wood walks.
Lady slippers, acorns, pug noses…
Dandelion yellow, fried dandelions,
hand dropped fat-fried doughnuts,
and the tang of Winesap apple,
Apple vinegar.
Grandmother never leaves me;
I hold her near my heart
To MY bosom, always, where she held me.
Meadow of Evermore Rise,
Verdant greens of envy neath the skies,
Emerald breathes swirl wayward bound,
The scene repeats the olivine surround,
Spray of jade gladiolas emerges for eyes.
The cool rocky fence tinged moss lies,
Gathered sage on display, tossed flies,
Observed fronds of ferns, all around,
Meadow of Evermore Rise,
The mints swim freely, breeze back tries,
A row of pines stands proud, trophy prize,
Laurel newborns crawl the hilly ground,
Chartreuse treats, all roaring to be found,
Harlequin limes anoint, trickled tea ties,
Meadow of Evermore Rise.
2019 September 24
aabba aabR aabbaR
I dreamt of blue birds
and buzzing bumble bees.
I roamed with the bison herds,
prayed with mantis on our knees,
and butterflies in the breeze.
I greeted the cheery chickadees,
dragonflies, and snowy owls.
I marveled at graceful manatees.
raucous sounds of guinea fowls,
and warblers’ velvet vowels.
I raved at ravens
dancing on a fertile field.
Mice sought havens,
safe shelters that red ants build
in hopes from spiders to shield.
I spotted rain-drenched
autumn leaves in tapestries,
their beauty strangely entrenched.
Purple hues imbued in varying degrees,
of gladiolas and sweet peas.
So many perfect pleasures,
many another than these.
All of God’s treasures,
created with love to please,
arranged to calm my world with ease.
I have always believed there is more to life than what my eyes can see
more questions than I can answer…more riddles…more mysteries.
I have always believed signs from our loved ones abound…
even from those loved ones who are no longer around.
When Deborah’s sister died a rare Luna Moth gave our window in NC a kiss
and now we cannot see a Luna Moth without thinking of Pris.
Deborah’s mom loved gladiolas…they were the flowers she preferred.
Whenever Deborah’s dad found them…he’d bring some home to her.
Her Mom and Dad personified beauty and grace and love…
and whenever wee see gladiolas it’s the two of them we’re thinking of.
On our way to North Carolina we always stop at Momma’s Boy restaurant.
They have biscuits as big as your fist.
It’s a tradition heading to the mountains we never want to miss.
When we pull into Momma’s familiar parking lot…we always feel this same elation
unbeknownst to us this year, however, our GPS took us to Momma’s Boy 2nd location.
When I asked Deborah if she wanted to go back to our usual Momma’s Boy
So…to our tradition we would adhere…
No, she said smiling and pointing to the gladiolas…
I think Mom and Dad want us to eat here.
So we paused among the gladiolas admiring their multi-colored hues
thinking or Deborah’s Mom and Dad…and how they loved biscuits too.
Signs like these are everywhere…we find them from the flowers
to the clouds up in the sky…
reminders from our loved ones that their love will never die.
We’ll be spending two weeks in the mountains…
enjoying the view from high up in the sky…
And we can’t be sure but we have a feeling
Pris will be stopping by.