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.
"My heart still feels
those times spent in the warmth "
We have a common project,
a common enemy
in an emergency situation
Corona virus controls
absolutely everything now
To appreciate
what we actually have is basic
In April we should enjoy spring,
the flowers and the warmth of the sun
Lilacs - fragrant beauty
Focus on what's important to you
... in this magical season
The birds are still singing
Keep your balance
on the carousel of life
07.04.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poetic lines from: Eve Roper
My heart still feels those times spent in the warmth
- from the poem 'What the eye sees the heart cannot forget"
Contest sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
On the horizon our sleepy sun now slowly sinks
Painting the skyline in swirls of lilacs, oranges and pinks
The suns smile has faded and night draws in
I snuggle in my jumper and warm my cooling skin
Crepuscular birds sing their sweet nocturnal song
I could listen to their chirruping all evening long
In my garden some flowers have retired for the night
They bow their sleepy heads and fold their petals tight
An old owl sits silently in the gnarled oak tree
Seeking out some rodents to eat for his tea
Streetlights start to flicker and creepy shadows form
Time to draw the curtains and rest until the break of dawn
Contest Twilight
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
09~22~16
A variety of fragrant lilacs in the ground
Purple and white asters, doilies in baby joy pink.
Prettier flowers in a garden are rarely found
My bird baths are used by cardinals and one blue jay I think
Verdant grasses are moist when I walk my land as I must
Sun glows her happiness on my back as I adventure.
Clover is enticing the bunnies and deer with her crust.
To the beautiful Queen Anne’s lace I must bow and demure.
Faeries disguised as butterflies, dragonflies, and bees
Lamb’s ear’s velvet softness rises from the bowels of the earth.
Dive bomb me any way and direction they so please.
The laughter of the brownies cause a great deal of mirth.
Enthusiastic garden shows off my miraculous way
Of loving plants so much most of them clearly want to stay.
Written 6-2-2019 Contest: Nature scene orphan sonnet poetry contest
Sponsored by: Dale Gregory Cozart
Our lakes ripple in the New year morning
The sun is in a pink session with the earth
In your eyes lilacs glistening
In the beggar's bowl a flower of mirth
Sunshine and mist on your face
Are knitting dreams of boat and train
On green meadows white lambs graze
Deep breath blossoms in the vein
Look at the spectacular chatting
Between the New year and mustard horizon
In your shirt my rose is staring
Our guitars and drumsticks heighten
In myriad colours the majestic sun is painting
The fifty two weeks of two thousand eighteen
December 30, 2017
New Year 2018 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Smile, O spring, smile, upon crimson arc of morning
Grinning through willows filtering golden sunbeams,
Sparkling from eyes of dew, glinting realms pristine,
Reveling through prairies, giggling tenor of streams,
Glistening core of purple-iris, soul of flaxen-pansies.
Waltz, O spring, waltz, shimmying blushing peonies,
Meandering with butterflies chasing nectar carefree,
Bouncing moods of bees from tree to flowering tree,
Elated strumming rhythms fluttering woody-foothills,
Grooving with meadows, humming lyrics of winds.
Sail, O spring, sail, rowing glee of seas-undulating,
Buoyant on spirits rushing from rivers, tributaries,
Traversing through terrains, once frigid, decaying,
Zealous now to venture, to rollicking side of being,
Surfing waves questing summer of sandy beaches.
Dream, O spring, dream, of mythical northern lights,
Glimpsed from garden of sumptuous white gardenias,
Through womb of dawn, hued in lavender of lilacs,
Preening beauty of flora, scintillating dawning aura,
As yonder of skies shimmers motifs of green aurora.
Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis
Memory of appealing Wisterias
Uncovering the grand butterfly bush;
near the lilacs and lonely gardenias;
as the light essence of spring bring a rush.
little fairies dance like faux ballerinas
autumn's pussy willows now but a hush
that coldness felt deep during winter's wrath.
The equinox whispers from a warmer path
Pumpkins and gourds sitting by the corn husks.
this and a tasty Thimble-berry creme pie.
a perched crow sits on the arbor at dusk;
watching for the owl with a wary eye
freshly turned garden smells of molds and musk
Canada geese fly north through a morning sky
A rooster sings his song with emphasis
shaking the wisteria and clematis.
2/23/2021
Spring Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
It was a great Tuesday to be alive.
The birds were singing, butterflies back, lilacs blooming.
Fragrances of freshly baked bread coming from Mom’s window.
It was one of those dancing, prancing happy days.
A fabulous day to be alive, only I wasn’t.
Anymore.
I did not know I was dead for an hour or so.
Just floated above a body that did not seem to have a face.
No idea it was mine, no concern, no alarm at all
Until I saw my mother’s face when she found me.
I am right here! I was screaming at her, but she did not look up.
I got louder when Dad arrived, but he ignored me.
Dead is not dead.
I can tell you that.
Dead dead would have been easier.
I got to go to the morgue and watch them slice my chest in a T.
What the hell?
Am I just a piece of meat then?
I watched curiously. No one made fun of my fat at least.
Lots of bodies in here, taken out of the freezer.
Two of us were in there joking last night about some of the others.
It is weird that there are only two spirits with four bodies, right?
It is now Thursday. I am watching my funeral, and feeling irritated.
The only one who has acknowledged me is two, and she is telling no one.
Well, she is, but in babbles and bubbles, and they do not speak that.
She is flipping her eyes at me and laughing; my baby cousin June.
Funeral is over, thank God.
Minister was dry. No one smiling or laughing.
A funeral should be a celebration not a sobbing place.
Lots of hugging, so I feel smug about that.
WHAP! I am now in a world I recognize.
The in between world where I get to review my latest life.
How did you do? Were you able to patch things up with your sister?
Damn! I always neglect to do this.
My spirit guide shakes her head.
“You know what that means.”
Before I know it I am back in a new body.
Bam!
I take a deep breath.
The doctor smiles.
“It’s a boy!” he tells the young couple.
Two days later I see my sister. Only this time she is my brother.
Sing, Birds Sing
Sun
Smiling
Gleefully
Blushes blue dawn
While robin's musing
Pink-dogwood dreams
Rejoicing
Blooming
Spring
Where
Playful
Cardinal
Hops, hops, and sits
Then curves a sharp spin
Flying up high
Savoring
Freedom
Flight
Lone
Sparrow
Sitting on
Red maple tree
Whistles and dances
Reveling in
Lilacs and
Lilies
White
Sing
Birds sing
Exalting
Season's beauty
Warbling, frolicking
Serenading
Cheerfully
Sing birds
Sing
Sing
Of joy
Of prairies
Of giggling streams
Of butterflies, bees
Flowering trees
Sing of hearts
Sing of
Love
February 20, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand Formed Contest
Placed 3rd: Springtime Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1
She had the kind of hair that glowed in the sun
It was overcast and still it glowed next to the purple lilacs
Beside her pretty body sat her silent white pet owl.
Who has an owl like that but a witch? An elf asked.
She heard and smiled; and he scampered off.
She is a beauty, the meadow creatures agreed.
Many of us hid in the shadows, marveling at her beauty.
Was she the new guardian of the gardens, then?
She spoke not the first two days, gathering us in.
She felt our awe, but she did not gloat about it.
On the third day she began to cast her spells.
By then even the bull frog was in love with her.
I love to reminisce about great Aunt Mattie.
Her home perched atop of an old barber shop;
a barber pole below her apartment told my young eyes
that we’d arrived at her place.
Her tiny space, smelled of a million confections and
um, lilacs; house a plethora of oriental treasures;
stories fed my wild imagination.
She worked as a nurse but, she was born with a baker’s soul and
she should have had her own bakery.
The old candy cane pole was so appropriate;
revealed her subconscious desires.
I believed her canary sang so well;
of sweet scents wafting silently throughout the rooms;
he was so blessed to reside there inhaling the,
buttery chocolate and caramel bliss.
I was blessed to visit and savor them as
I perused her, “what knots”;
the Chinese dragons and lions who shared her home,
her brass dragon gong, now lives with me;
it still sings of her creations;
each time that I awaken it and my palate joins the song,
as I travel once again through, “what knot”, stories; breathing in butterscotch, cocoa and lilac memories.