Long Irises Poems
Long Irises Poems. Below are the most popular long Irises by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irises poems by poem length and keyword.
Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
"Do you trust eyes?" Asked they
She had a sketchy answer, hard to convey
Still she tried and began in a way...
"Observe your mind
When it tries to guide
every part in you to take up the ride
The ride in which your parts try to hide
the thoughts that come to you every night
Staring at the ceiling with switched off light
Cause in the dark, hidden is your sight
this epitome may seem unsatisfied
So why not fade to prudence and pride
Starting with neither ascending nor descending
The buccal cavity, best at defending
the hidden truth which can cause the ending
and so crashed the utterance from landing
Tears fall off from the chin to your nose
and you run in the corners
where no one goes
Enough of tears!
Your nose even sighs
Not to emit sound
that's what it tries
More of the canvas, are your mastermind lips
Aren't they halting the so called apocalypse?
spot where it's painted, that fake smile of yours
But if you know you know! your rage never roars
The loyal ones here are taking an end
to let the disloyal perform the work of the sand
The melancholy and the seashore go hand in hand
and inevitably converge with that loyal sand
who, no matter what choose to stand
For someone who is as if a gland
This phenomenon is like an art
the one who unveils what's in your heart
Doesn't really cares about tearing apart
disloyal to you, betray while pretending
It's right there inside! How much you fear ending"
She took a pause and now questions were crossed
"Now I want you to utter
About what would you prefer
From the gullible heart
Between loving or hating that galactic art?
The loyal to others, disloyal to you
Revealed every emotion without passing any clue
The loyal to others, disloyal to you
Will only decide whether it's ending or the beginning very new
The loyal to others, disloyal to you
For someone so special, can even fight with queue
The loyal to others, disloyal to you
Curtailed the mess which you never knew
Those irises which denied to conceal what you've been through
Not a true blue
The loyal to others, disloyal to you
Enough of lies!
When there it is, your 'galactic eyes'
pure as porcelain with intertwined pride
Even after bearing the dust inside
The vanity in them cause they never lied
Do I really trust them, now can't you decide? "
Your love for me was read in your eyes,
But was it not merely my reflection, gazing within myself?
The symphony of your gaze, a labyrinth of intertwined illusions and realities,
A game of shadows and lights where our hearts met in silence.
The mirror of light deepened in your irises, an unfinished poem,
Folded in the blood of time, flowing through the veins of the soul,
Each sparkle, a lost star in the constellation of the unknown,
Your gaze, an enigma, a portal to the abyss of my desires.
In the flow of consciousness, I find myself dancing on the edge of this dream,
Where the boundaries of reality dissolve into an infinite ocean,
Looking into your eyes, I believed I saw your love,
But I lost myself in my own reflection, a specter of unspoken words.
Your love, a wave that flooded my soul,
But could this wave be just the shadow of a deep internal cry,
Could that emotion be real or merely a projection of my untamed desires?
In your eyes, I sought an eternal truth, but found only my reflection,
A distorted image of what I wished to be.
Under the chiaroscuro light of the stars, I always wonder,
If your love was ever mine or just an echo,
An ancient song resonating from the depths of my being,
Your gaze, a lantern in the night, guiding my steps toward the unknown.
I stood on the edge of the chasm between dream and reality,
Where illusions merge with the tangible world,
Seeking answers in the depths of your eyes,
But what I found was merely my own reflection, an unfinished puzzle.
I looked at you as a map of all my hidden secrets,
Each smile, a direction toward my heart,
But in this labyrinth of emotions, I lost myself,
Always returning to the starting point, to my own self.
I turn my gaze to the starry sky, seeking solace,
But the answers never come from outside,
In your eyes, I saw a universe, but it was merely my reflection,
My gaze, deepened in the mystery of my own existence.
And thus, shrouded in the mist of melancholy,
I realize that your love was never yours,
But just a part of me, reflected in the depths of your eyes,
A beautiful dream, a fantasy in which I chose to lose myself,
Flying among the stars, searching without finding,
Always at crossroads, always returning to oneself.
The moment winter softens into spring and all is melting, the first flower is the
white snowdrop poking through the snow, quickly followed by johnny-jump ups.
They are so cute and delicate in my patch of garden, they just pop up everywhere.
Here and there are bright patches of loveliness.
snowdrops touch my heart
jump ups where you least expect-
they say hello spring
And then come the drifts of bulbs planted in hopes last year. The flocks of crocuses,
daffodils, and tulips all a pleasant mingling of color. Some even grow on my lawn,
I blame the squirrels for that. The whole garden is wild and dripping with flowers,
but just for awhile. Those bulb beauties fade away as quickly as they came.
so fat and healthy
growing like musical notes-
so soon withering
Oh, the harmonious hues of summer, the painted daisies in their pretty dresses,
and the purple irises all fancy. And near the back fence, the sweet yellow meadow
rue amongst the lace white lady's mantle. Soon come the day lilies and the blue
phlox, and just beyond the fence a lilac tree brings lovely scents on the breeze.
such a pretty view
from my big kitchen window-
I look thoughtfully
Fall has come and the garden is beginning to fade. It is a rough passage, cruel to
see the menacing weather confuse the flowers. Oh, how they struggle to survive
the cold rain and frosty nights. But the strong still bloom till the very end.
A single delicate rose is a gift to behold. And then the garden sleeps.
pushing the limits
each flower must fade in time-
garden memories
And under the snow the garden dreams. Beneath the earth it sleeps, as the winds
howl and drifts of snow cover everything white. They sleep. And I also have dreams
for my garden. I make plans for next year, for new flowers to plant among the old.
Winter is a time for dreaming, planning and wishing.
perhaps bell flowers
or maybe blue corn flowers-
oh shasta daisy
___________________________
October 29, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/Garden Diary
Copyright Protected, ID 15-721-996-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Creative Haibuns, sponsor,
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Third Place
WRITING IN A BLACK PERSPECTIVE
Why is it that someone's pain is felt pleasure to another?
I arrived with fears. I cared to find a friend, anywhere
But I wasn't taught to be my own; no school helped me to look within
I heard of God of deep blackness; with words, inciting light
One voice, one eye in our universe
My voice to converse felt crippled.
My family pools held many colors; warm as Caribbean sea breeze
Each person was of significance. Two were like gazelles, alluring
One was as dark as night, the other was near blinding white
Those in between were earth tones.
I looked out beyond decked windows. Multicolored Christmas lights blinked
Nonchalantly in dark of morning; snow was falling, and had covered bare
limbs of a cherry blossom tree- such picturesque view, i decided:
'On this most snowing, all white reigns supremely pure, as the black of night.'
The irises of my eyes were dark brown pools, merging with black pupils...
I was cinnamon; yet found solace in my shade of dark, no harsh light
Soft was my dark. No more depression lurked within. Mine eyes, my ears craved
Transparency; then came clarity. I understood triggers triggering depression
Revelations were as treasured as exercise. Fresh air, rain, sun, I was in awe of
My Higher Power's helpful hands- simplicity and clarity were blessings
I needed no Prozac.
At the start of a new day, I'd submerge in warmth, and baptize myself
I would bring soothing light to mesh with quiet dark
I would lounge, meditate, and pray. Sometimes I'd sing or hum a tune
I'd go fearlessly in the dark, knowing when not to rush
I'd go fearlessly near blinding lights, knowing where to focus.
Who am I? i am as soft as the sinews of you; yet steadfast
A dessert flower with dew of faith- even in winter
I am a flower, thriving like evergreen...
Amid histories fiercest touch to my roots
I know of grace, granted by the Source
Transcending me to live as never before understood.
I need not cry out my fears, in ways that let others fear
I must cry out injustices, so that others, too, may sing
I go fearlessly to face my fears, knowing scars are lessons learned
And good visualizations are as friends, not foes.
*
Roots and Dandelion Dreams: A Mother's Heart
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
Roots and Dandelion Dreams: A Mother's Heart
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
At dawn's first blush,
milkweed pods,
burst with a sigh,
A feathery shower of,
silk sending secrets...
on the wind's soft cry.
Yesterday they wore a crown of pink
Today they are set free;
like dandelion dreams floating on the vast sea
a thousand wishes taking flight.
I see you spinning gracefully
on dandelion fluff.
each strand like a
glowing thread
forming a halo.
Your laughter flows like
a babbling
brook over stones.
while your tears resemble mist
clinging to ferns in
the whisping breeze.
As twilight falls and fireflies twinkle
like scattered stars,
a new constellation is born.—
a flickering dance in the dimming light
as transient, as a summer evening.
In your eyes wild irises bloom
reflecting the evening sky as
they search for their fragrance.
Amidst meadowlarks songs
welcoming the dawn in morn.
my heart remains intertwined
with yours like a nurturing vine
that delves into the soil
forever connected to you.
You write the poetry of life
moments full of freedom.
Like a ballet of butterflies
a child experiencing wonder,
both wild and free.
No need,
for preaching!
just the melody of the wind
whispering through
the pine trees.
A communication,
a connection that binds eternally.
With patience engraved
in the face of mountains
I stand as a protector.
a sanctuary in this forests
intricate beauty.
While shadows dance in a transient
vanishing performance
My love stands firm like
a redwood sentinel enduring
all challenges.
In the settling of dusk,
where fireflies sparkle,
My presence is like a meadow
where bluebirds dream.
For you,
my child,
are a hawk,
on the wind's caress.
Soaring on thermals,
a spirit,
etched upon your face.
My heart,
a beacon's steady fire,
guiding,
through the unknown,
In this life's,
choreography,
bathed in your,
boundless exploration.
Mother
Sheltering, strong
Branches rustle tales
Roots grip the earth deep
Child
I am misunderstood. I am an artist.
I work with my heart through my hands;
a concept not accepted in this unforgiving society.
This cruel world was not meant for a person like me. I am different; my work is not recognized. They call my sanity insanity. With a flick of the hand I can cause pain, or soothe it.
Why won’t my art sell? Only my precious Red Vineyard at Arles has flown from my flock. Incandescent hues of Sunflowers and Irises lay scattered in a dark workshop.
I stare up at the night sky from my cell. My window is narrow, but my mind sees it all. A vast, canvas covered by swirling winds and bright yellow lights. All these stars! They are shining brighter tonight. As if they understand my raw loneliness. I must capture it before it runs away. As I caress the paper with streaks of blue and grey, the voices go away. They are always here, in my mind. I beg for them to leave, but on the morrow they will return
Warm liquid gold runs in between my fingers. Oh on this Starry Starry Night I do not feel misunderstood, And yet, morning will come, stars fading while solitude rises with the morning sun.
Still a poor man; still haunted by invisible voices; still a burden to my brother.
I raise my paint stained hand to my left ear and remember. La tristesse, this sadness, will last forever.
Form:
Water / Water
New Hamburg, Ontario Rubkuai village, South Sudan
locals rise locals starve
with the river, heed warnings where once there was a river,
to keep from its banks travel along arid banks
thirty thousand gallons a tanker arrives with a few gallons
of unwanted rain rain is worth all limbs
burdens how burdened the village —
storm drains the drought drains life from fields
this summer, filled sport bottles this summer
will be abandoned near will crust tongues
splash pads, as the dying
where saturated children riot tend to the dead
in mist & spray, soak in inconsolable mothers silently
the never-ending fount riot [eyes too dry to mist
until fingers prune, can still spray bullets
until thirst or thirst for just one more look
sends them skipping as irises prune in the sun]
cars gleam and grass grass is a memory
springs underfoot; & graves spring up underfoot
the bridge is power- like emaciated bridges
washed, as though the downpour nothing stops the downpour
hadn’t flooded of diarrhea — the filth binds
spider’s webs cholera’s web
people shower, run half-filled people kneel for droplets
dishwashers & laundry machines, the desert launders
a kettle screams the jawbone
for someone, of the newest ghost who still
anyone to listen listens, waits, for anyone
They could grace the cover of a magazine. Meet my colorful flower garden team; So bright and bountiful this spring.
More glorious than ever it seems. The smiling Irises can't wait to be seen; Sitting stately enthroned like beauty queens.
Decoratively surrounded by plenty of green, The big-blossomed roses make their annual scene, Full of red, yellow, maroon, and very pretty pink.
They're on display like a well-orchestrated machine, Some of which lie slightly against the window screen. Like homemade greeters, the cactuses hover over them all,
Yelling loudly to all comers, "Hello yall!" The mulberry tree stands broad and tall, Flashing its shade against the walls.
042320PoSpCtest, Spring Rhyme, Emile Pinet. 11P
Vicious and mean those two stray dogs
if not for my fence the female grey would
have quickly killed my two old dogs. She angrily bark
and looked as if she would lunge through the chain link fence.
I yelled at her in a booming voice with authority. She looked up at me
our eyes met and she left with tan behind her tail.
Out in the yard I first saw the robin, lying on his side
teeth marks sunk into his orange breast and back. He looked as if
he was taking flight but alas only his little soul soar into the heavens.
A few steps away by my wooden plank fence, where the day lilies
bout to burst into full bloom, lay the mourning dove at peace.
Dignified by a quick kill she lay the hues on her head glow like
a halo in the sparkle of the morning light. Those dogs just eager for the
kill left them intact. Did their little friends fly to the refuge of tree tops?
I gather my shovel and a small gift box and scooped them up, first
the robin then the dove and buried them in my garden with irises
tall and white had flowered.
On top
I placed a few colorful rocks. Sad? Nature is cruel against her
wondrous beauty. She reminds us how fragile life is. How unexpected
death can be. The earth is a miracle of life. Was this the robin part
of the pair that hopped around my yard? Splashed in my bird bath
and happily chirp together on my wooden plank fence. Yes she was
one of the flock of doves that gather on my grassy lawn to feed
upon the bugs and seeds and coo up in the branches of our
neighborhood trees. Late that evening I saw a single robin perched upon
my plank fence, it's head turn side to side. It looked and stared
a single chirp and flew into the sky. I did not notice those mourning doves
and did not recall their coos. Did they know their friend or mate did not escape? Life goes on the sun still shines, the rain still falls at night
the glow of the moon. My irises that night seemed to droop ever slight
towards the colorful rocks as if in prayer for a lost friend. I like to think
that angels enjoy the company of our little feather friends. So together they can fly upon heavens glorious blue sky, the robin and the mourning dove.