Long Impatiens Poems
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She removed the drops of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her garden glove, leaving nature’s makeup in its place, a small streak of brown soil. As I stared at her, she put her hand above her eyes in a salute to block the sun. With a quizzical look she said, “What?” I laughed out loud. “Nothing” I said, lowering my head and shaking it side to side. She extended her arm pointing to the bottom of the yard and proceeded to tell me her plans. I was too busy looking at her to hear the words. My eyes moved from her face tracing along her extended arm. In the sunlight, golden downy hairs glistened on her forearm. Small blue rivulets of vein flowed across the back of her hand, curving around tiny islands of age spots. At night she always used the latest cream, rubbing eagerly in hopes of erasing them. She never could read a map or she would have known, Landmarks define a territory. It is our familiarity with landmarks that make each place a home. At the tip of her outstretched finger I stopped, reluctant to continue, as my eyes would have to leave her. At her insistence, I forced myself. “You aren’t even looking.” she said impatiently. I responded with a half-truth, “I am looking.”
She taught me things I never knew about her garden. I never noticed her begonias remained in bloom into October. Her marigolds, in yellow spotted pots, were planted just for fun. Luxurious lupines leaned into squat hostas that hoarded space, bleeding hearts were all over the place. Beautiful tender crocuses were gone too soon. Pelted by early hail, stoned to death for their loveliness by angry, jealous gods. Vibrant coleus leaves, daisies, lilacs, and hollyhocks. Roses, pansies and morning glories, impatiens, all with different stories. Petunias, violets, and daffodils sharing space in flats or on hills. She introduced them to me one by one. I made a friend of each and when her the tour was done, I left her resting in the sun.
Like her flowers, she was looking toward Heaven, unaware that being with her I always felt as though I was already there.
Life is not always filled with cloying contentment.
There are taunting trials and things I'd rather not do.
Those tedious tasks that steal my smiles and my time,
but not the joy of life's most endearing moments
found within the confines of my happy home.
It's impossible to leave all my worries outside,
nor can I hide from them each time I enter through
the front door, but my home seems to cradle me
inside its welcoming walls. Each room comforts me
with familiarity, offering safety and solace from storms
of both the physical and emotional kind.
I am at peace in the serenity I find surrounding me,
even when I hear voices in another room, I know they
are my loved ones. My family's laughter assures me
that all is right in my world. There may be furniture
that needs dusting, or floors that have been scuffed,
but memories made in these haven halls are treasured.
Conflicts and controversies, struggles and squabbles
taking place in the world remain outside my refuge.
When my workday is done, I seek my family hearth,
the warmth within its sheltering roof, making it the safe
stronghold that I claim as my citadel. Trepidations
drift away when I walk into my garden and find seclusion
waiting there for me. I find peace and consummate
placidity in the sound of the koi pond's waterfall.
There are no horns blasting with impatience, only a bed of
colorful impatiens blooming in profusion beneath the
sweet scent of white magnolia blooms that soothe
my weary mind, blocking out stress and anxiousness.
I feel as if I'm in an innocuous world inside my fortress gate.
Protected from the chaotic cacophony of worldly woes.
Standing at an open window as night falls, I enjoy the song
of a nightingale as a myriad of stars surround a full moon.
At the end of the day, these moments are appreciated
for the assuasive effects that I need in my life.
This is the anodyne I seek. This is my home.
Some would call me homeless. I call myself a traveler. In this city I traverse the wonder of human art and nature's beauty as if the two have melded together as one. The ornate iron railings seem to grow into the sweet smelling vines and flowers that live upon them. Hanging baskets with pink and purple impatiens and verdant ferns chuckle gently in the moist morning breeze as they adorn each balustrade. Hidden gardens beckon me as I walk past their gates painted with worn layers of lover's hands as they steal away behind secluded walls. They say I'm confused, yet I search to understand. Here, the past calls to me and I listen. Walking the streets and alley ways there is a sense of history, of lives that have loved and lost, of souls that linger in the heart of the buildings. Always searching, the walls can not contain their bewildered wandering. Inflicting confusion and sometimes pain on those they touch, they bath in the fountains and babble longing desires into each mind that seeks the peace of their soothing, gently bubbling water.
petals blush gently
the patient garden awaits
sweet stolen kisses
"For Sale," reads the sign on the window of the house before me. Delicate filigree rails frame the porch as I approach the old glass pane and peer through it. Inside I see a small room with peeling paint. Worn wooden floors trace the lives that have lived here. The ghost of Christmases past linger in the broken toys strewn across the floor. Brightly colored beaded memories of ages of Mardi Gras dangle from hooks on the wall. Upon the small corner desk I can see papers written in a fine pen like that of a poet's notes waiting an eternity for the completion of a long forgotten refrain. I feel the joy that once lived here and the pain of loss that remains.
stains of memories
the children's laughter lingers
a tear on my cheek
01/15/16
Amaryllis is called naked lady
Bloodroots’ leaves bright not shady
Calla Lilly shows face as a bowl
Dog's mercury sounds no howl
Eastern red bud grows in valley
Freesia's known for fragrance rally
Ghost flower belongs to figwort group
Heathers hang on stem bodily makes loop
Impatiens sway with beaming eye
Jasmine's color captivates no one can deny
Kangaroo paw dances with smile
Lily of the Nile poses with style
Marigold is unmarried has no groom
Narcissus has Greek mythology abloom
Orchids' in high Valley charmingly bloom
Protea's cures diarrhea health does resume
Queen of the night vanilla cactus's dander but beauty
Ranunculus's with multi layered petals not fruity
Spiraea meadow sweet's a shrub smells
Tiger Lilly wears nice tiger's dress like bells
Umbrella's top shed has of Cosmos yellow
Viburnums are together clustered fellow
White Rock Rose's soft no rocky sight
Xanthorrhoea is of Australia's bright
Yellow Anemona's beauty butter cup size
Zinnia means offers of goodness prizes
Written on: 20th April 2016
Spring Abecadarian Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
A paradise of natural nature bouquets displayed:
of yellow, orange, pink, red roses of redolent scented phase.
Lilies, tulips, daisies, daffodils and violets are of bountiful blooms
All these have enchanted scents of fresh fragrant perfumes cues;
bringing love interludes.
On the countryside, new scents of morning-glory flowers are new:
wildflowers are there with colorful shades and hues.
By a home flower orchids, geraniums and marigolds do soothe.
Pinned are carnations at shoulder height level views.
Rhododendron and impatiens of the color purple do muse.
Bowing their heads are of yellow and white sunflowers to you.
Their seeds are a delightful protein fuel.
Azalea, buttercups, mums, lilacs; soften the mood.
Springtime, summertime and fall-time
has botanical flower gardens with gala venues.
Flowers and bees intertwine to produce pure delicious honey.
Flowers for us are an in-depth botany study.
A local natural land treasury of perennials and annual resume.
Dried flowers preserved are uniquely lovely tribute.
This to have for five to seven lasting enjoyable years to share.
Green thumbs are awarded to the most flowery flower gardens.
Purposely pluck pretty prickly prime red roses and white lilies for a vase, and give them to a pretentious precocious loved member.
This a love memory that will last in everyone hearts story.
These are of the "lively lovely flowers in prom,"
those in one's hands and on upon all lands.
Yet, of all of these: they are but a small reflection of the true prettiest of them all.
The "Rose of Sharon," this who is Jesus, the Christ, the Lovely Lord. The creator of all flowers of whom I do most admire and adore.
This August day is like an unwritten poem
and if I could I’d write it for you.
I would tell you how tiny bits
Of puffy white clouds skitter along the
Open expanse of the azure sky.
They sail along just as leisurely as the
Many boats that bob up and down on
The gentle undulations of the
Wind-kissed lake.
I would tell you of the blazing
Sun that hangs high above us like
Some gigantic nugget of gold. It
Shines its strong pure light on the
Flowers and fields and makes
Us all wealthy with the richness
Of its radiance.
I would tell you how the soft
Tap-tap-tapping of the carpenter’s
Hammer echoes from somewhere
Down the lane. Its rhythm marks
The time, yet chips away at the
Hour that passes.
I would tell you how the apple
And pear hang heavy from the
Bough, and through a daily
Miracle grow richer in color and
Plumper in size. They strain at
Their limbs nearing ripeness, but
Still are not ready to fall to
The earth.
I would tell you how the scents
From the hollyhocks and impatiens
Mingle in the air to subtly
Weave a tapestry of sweet aromas.
I would tell you how the trees
Sing a song of summer’s passing
In the quiet rustling of their
Slowly turning leaves. Their
Melody rises and falls with the
Languid exhalations of the day’s
Breathing.
Yes, this August day is an unwritten
Poem with invisible words fluttering
About as softly and silently as the
Monarch butterflies that pass overhead.
In the net of my mind I will try
To capture some of them and give to
You this day. May it rest upon your
Heart as delicately as the monarchs
Alight on the waiting mums
And share with you its sweet nectar.
Rocky, high lofty mountains do stand tall and
boisterous waves continuously applaud
The rooster crows to commence:
musicians of dolphins, humpbacks and orcas,
vibe with sonic vibrations and
voice their vocal orchestras
Ravens, seagulls and doves chirp the song
The sly rattler rattles his noisy instrument
Crickets click a cool jazzy beat
Mr. grand waterfall has a cascade of steady water tunes
Two love-struck pigeons are dancing in sequence
A gazelle leaps over an enormous rock
A nifty lion roars over a raw hearty meaty meal
There in a meadow, young puppies are barking
a screechy and a pretentious bark
Flowers beautify the landscape: to see
roses, lilies, orchids, impatiens, tulips,
marigolds and lovely violets
They a natural soft colorful prism arrayed
The hills and valleys are unfolding its beauty
Two strong stallion horses are elated
showing their mighty strength
leaping in the air with their hind legs and
hooves kicking
A myriad of fruity fruits are in abundance
and diverse foods favors for taste buds pleasures
like are grapes, oranges, and watermelons
The green trees are spreading out their green leaf branches
giving out; a cool natural shade to all earthly creatures
All people in the world with understanding are rejoicing
and attending. They shouting out praises
and benefiting that of "Earth Praises"
All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!
~Through a wisteria laden arbor~
Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.
Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)
Diary of a House
On a street called Curve
I rest on lovely land
Born when Elvis was young
Born with high hopes.
A cuddly couple came to see,
See me in my fresh pine smell
Pure white-grouted rose brick tiles
They with chest-grasping smiles and dreams.
The nursery filled, new paint would wait
My dress of green unmowed was shred.
Loss of work, he buried his head,
"Please vacate" the notice said.
And then the business lady
Led strangers through my veins
I wept for my little family,
Lost to me.
My roof raised its prickles
Don Juan in his new Mercedes,
A fledgling barrister with cans of color,
New hope coursed in me.
Soon his interest waned,
As a bachelor’s life would do,
Dishes piled, floors reviled,
Grass and shrubs just grew.
And now do I dare to care?
Burly Dad, a 50ish mom,
My lovely land is smooth,
Beds though bare of blossom.
Still, I sport some Christmas lights,
On my 50's gingerbread,
Hope again lurks surface close,
Come spring to hold up my head.
Impatiens and pansies will curve
And coil around my base,
Flotinias will adorn me,
My green dress mended, clean faced.
A showpiece I’ll be among scoffers,
Who looked away from my tears,
For the families that grew in them,
Are growing old, in their crumbling years.
Every day before the sun would set, my husband and I would have a glass of wine.
We would sit on the front porch admiring nature’s glory before us so fine!
We would enjoy the view of my husband’s hard work in our beautiful yard.
He was an expert country gardener, nothing for him was too hard.
We would take our glass of wine, and take a leisurely walk around the grounds,
Inspecting each flower and the vegetable garden, happy we didn’t live in town.
The roses were looking splendid, the dahlias brilliant, the impatiens had multiplied...
The flowers were at their peak, and it was wonderful to be outside!
In the vegetable garden we would find new squash, tomatoes, and beans,
Then we would pick some swiss chard for supper to have our greens.
We would go across the pond and sit in the gazebo for a different view,
Admiring the fountain, and the endless sky that was so blue.
Finally we would head back to the house to get our dinner started,
And after the flower and vegetable tour, we were recharged and lighthearted.
Looking back, I would not trade anything for those late afternoon strolls.
We were one with nature, appreciating God’s beauty to the depths of our souls.