Long Lavender Poems
Long Lavender Poems. Below are the most popular long Lavender by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lavender poems by poem length and keyword.
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
~ Precious-tears-offered in-faith ... fall, God-catches them places
them, within His Souls heavenly-amphora, and with a sway of His Mighty Hand,
plucks-up His eminent-Knowledge-honed by Holy Quill. ~
~ Upright ... and looking strait into His vision for us of the new day. Offers
the many consummate opportunities riding high on the fringe of His
promise, granted in welcome. Painting a Holy Journey, evolving amid
a certain solace and freedom. Moving on into veracious days with Him
lasting on forever. Exiting beyond higher lofts of earthly sky's and rolling
lands advancing in humble reverence descending down from the openness
of the Heavens. Rewriting yet again; another-story in person for each individual.
Yes for all life; far-greater and-even-greater still ... than the others gone before. ~
~ Carrying within it ... the treasures revealed of Him strewn about found soaring
aloft the reality of Him granted and awakened devout of their surrender. Whispering,
of the latter days grateful of the many gone by. ~
~ As tender kisses resinating from-His heart of-mercy, grace-the folds-
every-nook-and-cranny-of the-lands. The-fullness-of His-consciousness-
the very-presence-of His-greater-hope ... has-placed-its-sweetness-rising-up-
in its-essence. Within-lowly-laying-effervescent; droplets-glistening-in the-
light, of His-joyous-rejoinder. Given for all; in love. Carried-in the-honest-
taste-the-freshness; of the precious morning-dew, and-in her-innocence;
truth; e'er-aware; and-seeing this-and being-fond of-His-presence thriving-within-
the-relative-ease and-dancing amid-the peace, emanating-from the-perfect-fruition-
of His-love. ~
~ Moves-to-cherish too, the-pureness ...
of-the-union ... ~
~ While rising, in-a blaze-of His-Glory; from the ashes of the past. A
new-day budding in the-wake of-its-freedom. Amid royal fields-growing-
still-fragrant more brilliant elaborate; of lavender. Has felt the-pleasure
of-His passion too, and-given the true-warmth and goodness-He has-always
been-open to provide. ~
~ Pausing-amid this beauty seen still rising in-spite-of-this out-of-the-ashes-
of-the-hate of the days of our past.
His-love remains, abides-for-us.
Why not-we-too all-move, to-look-to-cherish this like the-innocent; in their
freedom are-always striving ... to-do? ~
~ (~) About a teaspoon it takes me in the morning-coffee-that-is. (~) ~
~ (~) Cream more, sugar, a little-less, though truly I still do prefer my cup fresh brewed... its
superb when piping hot you know it sure is tasty. (~) ~
~ (~) Searching through those IM's e-mails trickle-trickle-hiss-bubble-pop-pop love-is-groovy
you bet man red lights hot lights an honor yes-I feel they're all an-honest testament that
hollowed ground is sacred... . Illuminating one and another their shadows dandling-along-a-
part-of-the-simple-collection-of-rain-puddles offering-their-jest, and from the beginning you-
know-I-believe they all exist as one light dancing together-until the very end. Because as
they vary; pale shades of poetic Grey, they carry for me of feeling but one of two tones
jocularity;
bitterness... . (~) ~
~ (~) Intoxicating really the harshness of Winter-fervency-of-Summer sweet rejoinder
cultivation of all our prayers... Spring... ! (~) ~
~ (~) Took a stroll amid the saffron all grown up in the Autumn laying down beside the day
lilies wisteria grace gently caressing them enchanting... . (~) ~
~ (~) Vibrant I find it all to be so very encouraging. (~) ~
~ (~) Looking now the frost once thick-crisp driveling down beading up upon the many grassy
shoots tulips lavender flower the mighty pines-now-reflecting-a-dewy-vapor, refreshing to the
touch, taste; hues of virtue mirroring this, glistening-upholding-all-things, in-their-
timelessness. (~) ~
~ (~) Life evolving hope offers this proposal questions often posed answers granted remain
open... because I believe peace and freedom this way friend are forever evolving,
while love all year 'round, it waits... pondering-this; as it deliberates... . (~) ~
~ (~) Like glistening crystal pools of alabaster sands scented-up diaper dusty-talcum baby
baby powder, funny contentment privy-so-privy I love the way newborns their eyes tend to
wander as they coo, all jovial, and-warm... surrounding all they know of God themselves in
the wake of the room... . (~) ~
~ (~) The birth of enlightenment a burst of individuality in every glance; I can't today but
maybe you, tell me now God is a farce, remaining kindle to the kind-less...
still the kinder... . (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcGJb-mPMmg
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
It was approaching sunset
displayed boldly across red sky west
as I entered Dream Café,
Time for candle lit vespers and incense
which I feared would be more personal nightmare
than political dream.
I came to this Café,
for the first time,
because our Democratic Town Committee
was nominating candidates for Mayor
and City Council
and School Board
right after silent and sung vespers
here inside a DreamCafe
on BenFranklin's wisdom street.
I had been warned.
All those inside this Dream
each day at sunset
begin to smile with gratitude
and to pray
for multiculturing grace
to grow together.
This felt like a strangely inappropriate way
to fulfill Democratic trust commencements
so I was prepared to include my dismay
in my review
for next News delivery day.
Lights dimmed
along rose-hued
rough-cut walls
as candlelight began to come our way
through mists of frankincense in sway
and lavender,
orange and lemon oils
worked into handmade chairs
and cherry tables,
maple walls and oak-grained floor;
Incense burners on display
quieting louder sounds of fading AnthroPlay.
I had been warned
about this poly-creolizing array
to begin with a peace poem read
or sung
and, if a favorite of cooperatively gathered patrons,
then others might join in
sometimes swelling cadence
and harmonic rhythms
like I Have A Dream!
repeating what we've come to sacred share.
And so it was a well sung love song
for Earth,
of Earth,
and all Her EarthSoul Tribes
with and in harmonic sway.
Thanksgiving for sacred dawns
and dusks,
and all FirstForest creatures
and creations in-between,
And even nightmare absence of DreamCafes
for those still longing to belong
here,
where we are together planted,
here as now co-dreamers
of silent echoes
for just one solidarity moment
before reflecting voices
begin to stand
and sing fertile flowing anthems.
Voices speaking of love they heard
and felt this warm moist day
in Spring,
and who has come to mind
among WiseElders and Adolescents assembled
and nearby
here this dusky day
to rise above our sometimes polarizing fray.
And this
to my surprise
was how vespers invited nominations
for how best to continue ending our vespered day
for all who enter
this grace-filled DreamCafe,
and those nearby
eager to read all about it
come next NewDawn's greeting way.
**~~**
She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul
Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
With etiolated worn fabric - called her life
She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
As it was meant to be - not how it was
She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow
Life had bruised her tender skin
Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
For all to pose her as they may
Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart
Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin
She stood cold and alone
In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
In shades of indigo blue
**~~**
Glistening, like dewdrops on a frosted moment,
Glitter sparkling in September’s soul,
Stirring the spirit with heavy hopes, dreams
Alive in the one who can see beyond the traces of a chill,
Into the melancholic prayers, erasing soundless tears,
Embracing the sincerity of a heart who believes
Even the silence of the most vibrant trees – rhythms
Searching for the light who breaths
Beneath the weight of a mystery, autumn’s still, cool gasp
Praising the Creator of light, love, life
Flowing with stardust blessings, embracing
Winds of lavender time, in cobalt skies,
Twilight tempts the night to hear the silence,
Blessing the nestled leaves, the stunning breath
Defeating all the darkness with the grace,
Whispering through the light, glowing through time,
A heavenly night, falling on the hills
Blowing through the memories in tones of grace,
Raining down songs of hope, through the serenity,
Across the seas and through the valleys,
Past the Creator’s brilliant heavens,
Into the hues of an October melody,
Trembling beautiful, stars reflecting the gentle,
Sensing the creativity, the gestures of joy
Moments brimming with glowing thoughts,
Winds blowing through the oaks, the pines, the silence
Remembering what it means to believe,
In the One who continues to protect the seas,
The One who gives hope to you and me,
The Maker of the stars, the Creator of the trees,
The One who brings the stardust dreams,
Guides the soul and sends hearts true peace,
The One who I know, like I know autumn’s grief,
The One who takes me through the darkest dawns
Into the glowing moments, when light erases
Each evening’s black, with a hope that comes back
After the stardust autumn finally grieves
And takes the darkness with a sense of what it means
To just agree, He is the answer, the hope, the grace
That helps me to face each November night,
With the assurance that, someday – He’ll be coming back
Someday, all the glistening glow of stardust on Autumn leaves
Will remember the truth about the heart’s peace,
The assurance that comes from the soul’s true belief
In the One who brings spirits their most assured relief,
The promise of a heaven, where He’ll take away all grief,
The promise of a home where we’ll never have to leave,
A place where Autumn never feels the wings of each falling leaf.
written too late for the contest, but wanted to post it anyway....
I had one of the most wonderful mom's any human being could have...she lives with me now - with decreasing dementia.., I answer her constant repetitive questions,
listen sadly to all of her accusations, but always have a hug and smile for her. The progression of alzheimer's is very difficult to watch and deal with...and I hope one day they may find a cure for it....
What a lovely bouquet of flowers sitting on the dresser top,
The sweet scent of lavender- who sent them? I thought,
Should get up and feed that spoiled cat before I go,
Got dressed, grabbed the TV remote, and made a cup of jo-
Think I’ll get the paper first- should be laying by the door,
Have to read what’s new today- I picked it off the floor,
That cat is never here, always wandering and staying out,
Think I’ll make a cup of coffee, now what’s all this about?
Why is my TV on? I never watch it ‘til late at night,
Electricity must be shorting out – something’s just not right,
Going to call the landlord, she’ll get some nasty words from me,
“Hello …Sadie...I’m just fine - come over, I’d like some company”
Knock, knock – who’s pounding on the door so early? Why Sadie come on in,
I was just thinking about you - my dearest, closest friend,
Oh, thank you much, I see you put some flowers on my table,
You’re sorry about what…who got run over …god no, not Sable!
Sadie, my heart’s broken – I’m angry - I feel I’m going to die,
Now, now dear, please stop it, tell me, why is it you cry?
Wait until my little cat comes back – she’ll bring you lots of cheer,
Here’s some tissue for your eyes, I haven’t seen you for a year-
Let me make you a cup of tea, we’ll sit a while and chat,
Damn thieves! They’ve taken everything – hope you like your coffee black!
That TV is way too loud , it blurs my thoughts and head,
Did I tell you about my cat? Gone so long, I think - by someone else she’s fed-,
Hang on a minute, the phone’s ringing down in the hall,
Put the TV on if you want– you can watch Lucille Ball-
HEY, YOU THERE!!! How dare you come in without knocking first,
I don’t need anything from you – last time you took my purse –
Of course I know who you are, are you trying to make an ass out of me?
I didn’t come off the banana boat – darling, would you like a cup of tea?
Its sundown, the day’s been reduced to a crack of lavender and fiery pinks along the Massif des Maures mountains. This evening we’re sipping cocktails at “Les Toits,” the Hôtel de Paris’ rooftop restaurant. The French would call this a lounge.
Les toits translates as ‘the roofs’ and its stunning view overlooks the provincial rooftops that slope down the foothills to the gulf of Saint-Tropez and it’s world-famous beaches. The well lit boats are settling down and dropping anchor for the night as we complete our orders and get our second round of drinks.
This has been the best vacation. I think we’ve all reclaimed our calm after a tense freshman year. We’ve been at the beach for 10 days. Leong and Sunny are actually tan, Lisa and my hair are half a tone lighter and Bili’s black skin has taken on gorgeous, purple-ish highlights.
I’ve known Lisa now for ten months, but we share a deep connection that seems older. Lisa’s lovely, brazen, and naturally flashy, without trying. Unfortunately, though, Lisa draws men like a keig-light draws moths - whether she’s looking for them or not - I don’t envy her that. Young men, middle aged men, old men.
Lisa said it started when she was 13. She’d be in a store or restaurant with her mom or dad and a lady would introduce herself, “Hi, I’m with the Ford, or Elite, or IMG, or DNA modeling agency, has your daughter done any modeling?” And another business card would be wasted. Her mom nodded as she recalled this sordid past.
Attention just shifts to her, the party comes to her, she can’t seem to avoid it. About every 30 minutes some man comes over and introduces himself to us (to her). This man owns a local night club, would we (she) be his guest? (He’s looking at her like desert) This guy owns a yacht - “that one, there,” he points it out, in his Russian oligarch voice - he clicks a fob on his keychain and the lights blink. Oh, sure, join a strange foreign man on his yacht, what could go wrong?
There are 8 of us girls at the table with Charles, our escort and confidant. He’s a 50-ish, red headed ex-NYC-cop who just sits there quietly and sips his drink like James Bond. He seldom says anything. I lean in to him and say, “Maybe they think you're her pimp?!” Leong coughs in her drink and Charles gives me the same, serious, “behave yourself” look I’ve gotten since I was 9.