Long Lilacs Poems
Long Lilacs Poems. Below are the most popular long Lilacs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lilacs poems by poem length and keyword.
Sunrise on Swift Creek starts a new day
The sun is etching magenta 'pon a misty sky
And fog settling low 'pon the ground will stay
Changing in the sky a red giant ball shows its dye
I wonder if old saying will come true and I sigh
Mankind hasn't made much of an arising yet
Down where lilacs once bloomed in years gone by
But doves awaken from slumber still sing my pet
They cajole weary whip-poor-will where sun and earth edify
To settle in the brush and quietly lie
Down where fuchsia crepe myrtle blooms are open
Enjoying the heat of end of a summer's day
There's beauty against even the coyotes' den
As turmoil goes on, guitar music stops, places decay
Dear Lord, let me praise You, and constantly pray
I am from glass globes of roses,
from Gardenias and Gerbers.
I am from dust floating in the air,
caught in winter sun.
I am from lilacs
that can't be contained,
whose fragrance colours early spring.
I'm from toilet paper tubes and marbles,
from King's Daughters and Mayflowers.
I am from a pinch of salt,
pull your weight
and no one wants to hear you complain.
I am from rocky cathedrals,
midnight masses and incense.
From forbidden dances
held long into the night under Aurora Borealis.
I am from moments folded into paper,
hung down halls on sooty walls,
lingering in stories,
on pages,
in ashes
flickering away.
she breezes in with the April winds
a lovely lass pure and romantically inclined
baby animals frolic with her in the meadow
the tulips struggle toward the sun to whisper hello
she is Ostira, Goddess of Spring
Refreshing grasses wave in wonderment at the princess
Iris stand proudly, hoping to be noticed by their monarch.
zinnias sit back and relax, confident in their beauty without praise.
in their oranges, pinks, and yellows what can be prettier?
Every plant feels newly-done, rejuvenated, refurbished
spring is leaping in the air with joy for she is here!
Ostira, Goddess of Spring
many think they know her; the lilacs do.
The daffodils created her for they are the cheerleaders
Arriving first, like conductors, guiding the flower brigade
Bleeding hearts, daisies and dandelions love her also
She is Ostira, Goddess of Spring
When I think of the blues music,
I’m picturing a man singing
while playing his guitar and a
liquor bottle nearby to drink.
Heartache and sadness cross my mind,
when I think of the blues music
for striking melancholy tone
with lyrics that express sorrow.
As if etching a broken heart,
making me sigh and misty eyed.
When I think of the blues music,
must cajole myself with good thoughts.
The songs reflect life with weary
heart that no slumber, rest could ease.
Smelling lilacs would lift my mood,
when I think of the blues music.
Is silence another word for peace?
Doesn't it have its slang name?
Some wrongly think they are the same;
to me, peace is absolute tranquillity
and silence is deeper than serenity...
which of these attract the drowsy geese?
Peace has a stronger meaning than inspirational
and it refers to the state of the soul:
the spiritual relationship one has with God.
Sinful people have only known deplorable
woeful days making them so miserable;
holy people live their days
with patience and sacredness,
never allowing themselves
to be rude, selfish, and unfair...
watch grandma in her cozy rocking chair,
is she praying or being sad?
Consider yourself blessed
holding up the virtue of saints,
only in calmness is found joy...
let that joy delight you when others
live their existence in a doleful mood;
observe them and reflect on their misery!
Is silence peace? That moment if quietness
when no wind hisses and blows away hats?
Can it also be harmonious without the colorful
expressions of faces experiencing every thrill?
Doesn't peace mean living in accord with Nature?
Who doesn't like to watch a fallfish leaping out
of the water of a stream trickling down the creek?
Admire everything He created from the landscapes
to the snowy peaks, there's wonder everywhere!
Spend an afternoon savoring the stillness of moments,
pause along a path where lovely lilacs
and daffodils are aromatic and sleek;
oh, the tanned flower grower sings,
it has been a year without a drought!
Her absence stopped time
we set our internal clocks
by her movements.
Coffee brewing at 5 AM
Dinner cooking at 5 PM
Laundry hanging in the cool
summer winds by 9 AM to
catch the full days sun, warmth,
beauty, and pull the smell of
the lilacs into the sheets.
Crisp, inviting bedding smoothly
laid on each bed by 9 PM
so we can dream of flowers
and sleep in meadows.
He absence stopped time
no one woke in time for school
no one made dad coffee
no one opened the curtains at
dawn to let in the rays and
the heat of each new day.
No one knew how much she did
until one day she didn't.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki7rptpm85M
Lilacs and daffodils seasonal thrills
spilling on the lawn lots of sunshine and light
beaming from a window I hold still
breathing in April, I no longer feel the chill
roses and daisies joyful gardeners dig
waiting for colors of spring to win big
tiny birds chirp while passing the twig
bonnet smiles and kisses for each sprig
marigolds and violets scented like heaven
springtime blooms in a hothouse of seven
nurtured irrigations from a moistened glen
just feed them love and never say, when
albeit time for grooming and wild flowers too,
I know its that time when everything grows anew.
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Contest Name: Breath of Spring
March 1, 2021
But wherever you are, I no longer want to be:
for you are thunderstruck moonlight,
and I am a scarred sunset ~ a secret in saffron,
melting into the myth that floats forever,
within silenced dunes of scorpion stones,
where the cryptic coldness of sand feels like~
Cupid’s daggers piercing through
my aching skin and bones.
Frost-kissed vines wrap around
my wintry heart,
screaming for a sacred release
from the tethered torment
of satanic sapphires,
breathing within the haunted caves
of unending nightmares ~
and the twilight that wanes
behind flatlined promises.
Tonight, I feel like arrows of angst,
ricocheting within these woeful walls
of my melancholic mausoleum,
mirroring the heat of a burning breeze ~
like an epitaph lost in the sweltering air.
The clover of golden green glimmers,
like fireflies around my wrists,
luring distant ravens,
croaking above paralyzed dreams,
to untangle the crooked lines of lies,
crawling within clouds of comfort,
oblivious to Lilith’s serpent slithering
around my fragile feet in slow cadence,
pushing me to the darker dusks
drawn above the prying
valley of putrid prunes,
where these wistful musings
will remain as mere voiceless ashes,
cremated in vain,
with flames of forgotten folktales
echoing as faded music within a glass urn.
So, if tomorrow I’m gone, remember me ~
I still breathe silver snippets of hope,
a frozen quiescence,
etched in seven arcs of stardust,
longing to be anywhere but here.
Perhaps as the last verse of your poem,
or could I be the lone rose,
forever thriving in the galactic gardens of love,
where hate and greed, tangled in
jinxed jewels,
dissolve into nothingness ~
like rusted ribbons of the crestfallen lunar.
I hope lilacs and lavenders will bloom
in hypnotic hues, to calm raging rivers flowing
within the arctic arteries of a dark poet,
longing for a home
away from hellish hands,
so I can serenade songs of survival
and rhapsodies of resilience,
while watching every tear I’ve shed
crystallize into pearls and diamonds,
like born-again stars in violet skies.
On a bicycle built for two
I want to ride through French Alps with you
We'll stop in a villa, you in rose and vanilla
And we'll sample the local fondue
We'll rent a romantic chateau
Buy a bottle of chilled Veuve Clicquot
Sit under the stars, the whole evening is ours
Toast, sip, repeat, smoke a clove
Wake up to the birds and the bees
Chirping and buzzing in trees
Wind chimes are wooing, coffee is brewing
Yellow quilts, lilacs, silk sheets
I was wondering if it'd be okay
If we remained here just one more day
They're predicting cold weather, we'll stay warm together
Big snowstorms are coming our way
I fancy myself a gypsy soul because I love
To wear flowing tops, bell-bottom pants, and
Necklaces. I used to wear bracelets, but had to
Take them off to type comfortably.
Do I travel though? No. No gypsy caravan for
Me. I do not want to leave my house. I am safe here
In the country, there is no where I would rather be.
People invite me places, but I do not go. I am safe
Here with my man, and my animals.
A gypsy soul? Not really. More like a hippie soul.
Except I am a carnivore, who likes her chicken and
Her beef. I am a countrified woman who is at
Peace here, in my tree-sheltered world, a
Sanctuary with orbs I can photograph in my gardens
On a regular basis. A magical world, and I am the queen
Among lilacs, roses, buttercups, snapdragons, and
Azaleas all planted by me.