Long Honeysuckle Poems
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MARCH
The sun it shone on sky deep blue
today the birds on wing,did sing,
sculptured trees tried on their clothes of green
sprinkles of Spring peeked through the sward;
The sun awakes early each day
shadows shorten across the lawn,
day by day afternoon remains,
wood pigeons mate and mate again;
Gardening columns into colour bloom,
daffodils and crocus aroma rooms.
SPRING
A wood of snowdrops in the dawn,
yellow daffodils light the morn,
the scent of new mown grass,
Spring,Spring,here at last;
Bare branches greening up ,in bud,
busy birds line nests with mud,
clematis spreading fast,
Spring,Spring,here at last;
The honeysuckle,leafing green,
new arrivals,in hedgerows seen,
Spring,Spring is in the earth,
our thoughts turn to new birth.
SPRINGTIME
The're out the're out
Spring announces with
a shout-Yellow yellow
everywhere;look, look
left or right here,there
anywhere,under trees
nodding in the breeze
braving the March wind chill
narcissus, amaryllis or
if you will. the daffodil
Listen to me read these poems on yoytube under name ichthyschiro and read more of my poetry on kindle downloads
Springtime, you always arrive so gently,
as high school proms bring tears of friends
who know they must soon part.
I will try not to weep of fifty-six years ago,
as I see the vision of my siblings,
and I leap through sprinklers bright
with rainbows,
I promise, Spring,
I won't cry.
Spring sonata of the bird's songs,
as I recall the natural wall of hydrangea
blossoms of mint and powder blue in
our backyard.
Royal young roses so blushed on
the white trellis.
The Good Humor truck jingled down
the street.
Neighbor's children waved large wands
with giant iridescent bubbles floating
aloft to the envy of the cumulus clouds.
Oh, springtide, you're our lively maiden
with a honeysuckle crown.
The presence of your rising moon monarch
in the eve casting her silver cherish on
weeping willows.
You sail through the ages,
but remain a debutante emerging from
the gray of winter's waning.
I promised springtime, I wouldn't cry,
but my tears are healing.
I dreamily walk by the modest little
home on the sidewalk,
the beloved place,
the streets of my youth,
spring sonata of my heart's song.
I'm in no need of my walker-
as I'm a child again. ~
The winds have turned tempestuous
Gold and scarlet trees whip and sway
Our feet scurry through the leaves
Finding shelter under the porch
I lose my direction in the clouds
And fill the void with new dreams
Summer's dust is banished...
Cleansed by sound of raindrops
I exhale as you stroke my hair
There is something new in the air
The sound of it comforts me
And I lean back into your arms
You take my hand, and open it
Then lift it up to your lips
With a delicate kiss
Soft as the rain that falls
You lead me away from the view
A sweet honeysuckle fragrance
Is coming through the window
Afternoon slips gently away
And while the sun goes to relax
And is coupled with the moon
We find our lost springtime
In a fall afternoon
Inspired by Catie's "focus on syllable" contest...
A nature's change cycle:
Some noted trees are of these: cypress, cedar, chestnut, cottonwood;
the hawthorn, hazel, hickory, honeysuckle and holly
These are a few of the color guards of this time filled governed season
The balancing act of the earth tilt by the moon causes this very reason
A squirrel senses to store his or her many stolen chestnuts
Warriors wrinkled aged leaves are down;
red and brown leaves are the earth's fertile future
Birds are majestically flying in the sky, in a military V pattern
Arbor shades of coffee, caramel, chocolate, cinnamon
Leaves colors of rustic browns, reds and yellows
Canopies full of almond, grey, gold, tan, reds
All in a fine weather mild tepid brisk Fall morning
Trees are in north and south earth parameters
The season comes with many of preening trees
Picturesque, pretty paintings are autumn arbors
A seasonal parade of trees in their finest clothes
Listen to leaves crunching and cool winds blowing
A fine harvests of corns, pumpkins, apples, peaches
There is Oktoberfest and November Thanksgivings;
Families are in communion, reunions and sharing
Autumn arbors ambiance artwork:
Is nature's alabaster almanac album
Photography portraits of earth recycling
to a much beautiful renewing
And a final slow dance before
the chilly incoming cold man
Listen!
Do you hear it?
The dawn arising;
can you feel it, the touch of the Artist’s brush?
Can you see the spectacular coming into being,
if but
for a scintilla of time; mind’s blown
by the explosion of pink topaz,
turquoise and emerald skies.
And how
the yellow diamond
breaks through the atmosphere with its finger-rays
reaching out for humanity,
reminders of a new day
curated by Almighty God,
the Most High, the meek
and personal
unbound abiding arms of the Son,
who lights us up
from the inside-out with the Spirit,
most holy. And the descent of honeysuckle-sweet,
and the uplift of magnolia-magnificence.
Can you but speak of the awesomeness of hope,
the author of all serendipity, all glory, of life?
When we’ve adjusted to the light of day,
a dimmer switch gently turns down the sun, dusk
dances on our brains; the moon in masquerade
reveals itself to the nightlife, affecting the mood
of gratitude, reflection of my diurnal walk-through.
tint on the brushes
heaven’s collaboration
sky-canvas in frame
glory after glory
and no wonder endless praise
Butterflies, Honeysuckle Breezes and Poetry
I try, I swear I try,
but you are always there,
touching my thoughts with wonder,
bringing desires to my mind
on endless wishes
cast upon continuous ripples,
rapidly forming with every breath I take
Evening brings the sunset
in multicolored shades of how I feel
Reaching for that lost love,
floating like indigo butterflies
just beyond my grasp, though
I still want, with every ounce,
every movement, every hope
I have been told
I long for what I can not have,
that elusive bloom
at the peak of the arbor,
radiant beauty washing down upon me,
fragrant reminders of a time before,
when your petals gathered at my heart
And try as I like it is of no use,
My mind holds you, desperately dreaming
in echoed whispers and twilight shadows
which never seem to end
For as long as there are butterflies,
honeysuckle breezes and poetry…
there will be you
Good night Soupers
Have a great weekend
Thanks for all of the kindness you have shown me
Long distant cry, how I pine for your touch,
a bridge of one hundred miles,
gaunt gulf beyond my grasp
golden haze of blithe recall, sunlit strolls,
heartfelt pledge, under green copse,
then transfer, post abroad
your dulcet voice on phone has me weeping,
though honeysuckle laughter,
creeps in, sinks a deep root
close union fostered, we dwell, dream, at dawn,
where that gem rimmed stroke of luck,
heralds my homebound trek
post trauma absence, dwindles in a kiss,
a gleaming eye rapprochement,
velvet voice hue’d dribble
winsome weekend yet return journey lurks,
seconds fly, olympic spurts,
solemn clock a spoilsport
resume garnet glisten threads of fond blab,
sonic swathe of peachy phrase,
from a glow world era
ramble through lush haunt on a spur or spark,
where once love’s first blush blossomed,
in time pastille misty.
a gurgling swirl pool, high tide torrent now,
engulf twin flame’s scarce resource,
random swing by mood boost
catch up at lightning pace, that traffic jam,
of wistful yesterday’s dash,
oops…yikes…booked cab in yard!!
Honeysuckle trees have grown all over my yard
What can I do with this? Being a bard….
I counted the ones that are the easiest to see
They came into our house and commandeered our TV
Now a gang, they have a mascot and are wearing colors
We are just the start one told me. There are many others.
They demanded I make them a breakfast buffet.
My husband asked me “when are they going away?”
My writing muse tells me next to nothing, so I could not reply.
I am hoping these trees get tired of TV by and by.
They are watching Matlock now, as I fix them lunch.
Make it salty, a honeysuckle said to me, and make it crunch.
The light breaks free from winter’s bone
to cast its warmth; to life atone,
to warm the dark; to thaw the chill,
to synthesize through chlorophyll,
a dormant seed to resurrect,
and coax a soul from introspect.
Awake! And breathe the wafting spice
of lilac buds and wild rice,
the lavender; the orange puccoon,
the sweet of honeysuckle bloom.
An overture, the sparrows sing,
to celebrate the oeuvre of spring;
while wind and weeping willow dance
to promises of new romance.
Come alive! Draw in your breath,
let winter die a noble death.
The seeds of yesterday are strewn;
it does not do to weep and croon.
If you seek, so shall you find,
as true for darkness as divine.
September meets with warm embrace,
quickening the harvest pace,
though looming autumn can't efface
what's left of summer's arid grace.
The linen hanging on the line
dances with the gust and shine,
while maypops heavy on the vine,
with honeysuckle, twist and twine.
The cool grass tickles naked feet
while weaned lambs in the distance bleat,
and find some shelter from the heat
'neath leafy canopy retreat.
The gentle wind so jaunt'ly plays
and tousles copper hair ablaze
like furious dancing autumn rays
from Mabon's fiery upraise.
Through rustling leaves the sunbeams glint,
I catch the balm of sage and mint,
and every herb and floral scent
blown to me by the wind's dissent.
Breathing deep olfactory prose
until the old red rooster crows
waking me from my repose
and from beneath the tree, I rose.
When as I rose, a red leaf fell,
wisping down its last farewell;
a changing season to foretell;
the coming bounty doth compel.
Cicadas loudly buzz along
and sing their end of summer song,
o'er by the thorny brambles throng;
unto the prairie they belong.
By and by, I turned my mind
back to the farm and daily grind,
collecting eggs where I can find;
inside the henhouse, else behind.
The hens put up a bitter fuss
with feathers flying from the truss,
so I let out an angry cuss.
Still, they obliged; allowed me thus.
Upon it all, I took my leave,
finished with my blast and thieve
much to the angry birds' aggrieve;
giving them a day's reprieve.
Outside the coop, behind the fence,
my greedy boar approached me whence,
grunting for his recompense,
and so two eggs I offered thence.
Then on, as careful as I might
into the farmhouse kitchen white,
delivered up the shelled delight
to feed the morrow's appetite.
Upon the ending of this chore,
I happened back outside once more,
to watch the day fade into lore,
and Luna make her grand encore.
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