Long Lilies Poems
Long Lilies Poems. Below are the most popular long Lilies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lilies poems by poem length and keyword.
they swarm into our home like bees
seeking daisies, lilies, roses, and such
we throw sugary treats at them
allow them to commandeer the TVs
and the computers
Their parents roll their eyes
For we were never this way with “them”
We did not have to be
We were not their grandparents
The grandchildren want to live with us
They want to move in
They think we are better than their parents
Because we can spoil them completely for a few hours
Some want to spend the night
We have to say “not this time”
Because when they leave
we are exhausted and have to take a long nap
because our energy is completely gone
which is why God gives babies to young people
Everything is going well,
looking forward to living a fuller life,
burying the not-so-happy past
under the ashes of turbulent days...
willing to forget all the hurtful ways.
With thoughts and pen ready to create,
new lyrics for songs and verses for poems;
who ever said that life can't be grand?
Don't assume I stare at the hourglass,
counting every flowing grain of sand!
Honor and glory were not expected,
but I accepted them with gratefulness;
and they are not the gods I bow to,
I pray to a real God, who always dwells
above the unreachable realm of blue.
The gladness of being alive and thankful
has made aware how I greedly clung to my estranged, dark world...
with people passing by, never saying hello;
did I ever wonder why they were so distant and cold?
Why didn't I share anything with them...only glorifying my ego?
Pride can be achieved by willingness and stride;
and it has the loveliness of very delicate lilies,
which an unexpected wind can suddenly taken away,
to never bring them back to the scented, open meadow,
and be picked by delicate hands to adorn a lovely home.
So desperate to excel, motivated by desire and passion,
to go beyond the unexplored and find a perfect image
of that peaceful soul living on a deserted island,
where Man has never left any imprint of his intellect,
or imposed on land and fowl his invasive foolishness.
Yellow lilies in turquoise pots. Smiling happily, smug even.
But as happy as their cocky orange spotted cousins? Maybe not.
Their blue-red dark lily cousins had appeared for the first time this year.
They were outstanding; so remarkable, it was practically embarrassing.
The yard was aglow and alive; more spectacular than she had a right to be.
Showing off in a casual, yet fanciful way, without even trying.
Cardinals, robins, and wrens were gliding in by the dozens,
attracted by the plethora of colors. The feeders were full of course, six in all.
Feeling the love of this Shangri La created out of a piece of God’s country
was every creature in the grass, on the barks of the tree, and under the bushes.
Butterflies, dragonflies, honeybees,
and wasps were preening around the flowers.
And there were five gardens, plenty of spots for everybody.
An older lady in a wide
brimmed hat was collecting bits and pieces of dandelions
to spread around in the
vacant spots. She was the curator of the yard.
The dreamer who had thought this
up twelve years ago, and built it up out of a simple prairie pasture.
She played for hours on her heaven-on-earth, and it showed.
God’s masterpiece, enhanced by one
lone woman and plenty of appreciative creatures.
The beauty in the beast
To strangers, I am broken glass,
sharp edges,
reflections of mistakes scattered in the
dirt.
They never pause to see the light
bending quietly inside the cracks.
They see the ink on my skin like warnings,
the nights I've lost to smoke and fire,
the weight of choices that stained my
name
a beast carved by mistakes, not by
chance.
Inside my heart blooms a secret garden,
roses of love with thorns of strength,
lilies of peace that calm the storm,
sunflowers turning always toward hope,
and violets, quiet but full of grace.
I am more than the shadows they whisper.
My soul holds flavors they'll never taste
like chocolate melting slow in the warmth,
a sweetness I've saved only for you.
I give the world my beast to survive,
but I give you the beauty they'll never see.
You are the one who softens my edges,
the one who knows the real me.
No one knows the weight I've carried,
the flaws carved deep into my name
but you've touched the ugliest parts of
me,
and still found something to love.
Your presence turns my scars to stories,
pain into something that breathes with
meaning.
Through your eyes, I am forgiven,
through your heart, I am reborn.
The world will never pause long enough
to see the light rising through my scars,
but you, my love, gather every fragment
and make me whole again.
I was the beast the streets created,
but with you I am the garden,
with you I am the sweetness,
with you I am finally seen.
So when the world remembers my
shadows,
I'll remember your light.
Because loving you is proof enough
that even a beast can be beautiful.
Nature's Spring palette and sweet nectar
of bright comfort bathing in the brilliant sunshine. Quote _ by Poet
A vision is the crimson queen rose
newly sprung its unique velvet feel
rosebuds unfold full of scallop trim
green leaflets breathless and infectious
in the gentle balmy breeze bloom shows
long green waxy stem full of prickly
thorns pose vibrant amongst the flowers
Garden trimmings with tiger lilies,
budding pink roses ,tall sunflowers,
golden yellow and white daffodils.
Latticework lavish entanglement
of sweet fragrant jasmine a treasure.
3/13/2021
Poetry Contest: Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form
Sponsored By: Constance La France
She walks by . *.* *
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in her hair,
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Painting bunnies is my life’s most fabulous work.
I could have chosen drawing flowers especially tiger lilies
Or I could have chosen touching up dogs noses with shiny black
But painting bunnies fulfils me and gives me a sense of joy
Sometimes the bunnies fight me but not often, as most like to be fancy
I paint silver bunnies and baby blue bunnies, sometimes I make one hot pink
When I turn them loose they hop into gardens and meadows happily
Enhancing them as well as any tiger lily, and certainly better than dogs
My cousin touches up dog noses, almost always uses a shiny black polish
He has been bitten over sixteen times doing his semi-dangerous job.
I am thrilled that I chose painting bunnies. My bunnies are fabulous.
Under the sky that dissolves dogmas like the wind does sand,
A canopy of empathy unfolds like an ancient tapestry,
Embroidered with clarity and illuminated by pure integrity,
Entangled in the fine threads of unknown transcendence.
I listen as celestial conversations sing in honey and cinnamon,
Flowing through the veins of silence like a river of perfect rhymes,
While butterflies, with shimmering silver wings,
Kiss the hibiscus dawn, a prophecy born from glass dreams.
My heart, aflame with diamond fires, reflects pages of rest,
Mirroring the soul's gratitude, painted in shades of patience,
Rising from willows of wisdom, like fortified fields,
That crown the peaks of mountains gazing at the constellations of destiny.
The golden gate, adorned with serene sepals, opens silent sonatas,
Erasing refrains written in loops, imitating recited ancient scriptures,
For once I was a marionette bound by time and fears,
The fear of liberation kept me captive in cracked calligraphies.
Now I journey through rose dunes, breathing divine light,
Eager to strip the verses of love from hypnotic illusion,
Untangling the luminous webs of the inner eye,
Realigning metaphors and eliminating the shadows of ego.
O, sapphire rings of seraphic stars, I surrender to the neon mist,
As my spirit rises toward clouds that whisper magic,
The alchemical rain of dreams falls upon me like a blessing,
Purifying the essence and synchronizing with the echoes of stillness.
Touch me with delicate truth and feel the pulse of pink lilies,
The warmth of cosmic healing, tied to conscious manifestations,
Where vibrant valleys bloom in kindness and forgiveness,
Dwelling in the timeless fragrance of the soul's rebirth.
Musk of metamorphosis and oud of revival, steeped in clarity,
My heart weaves the transcendent twilight yearning for all that breathes,
Through illuminated chakras, uniting merciful rivers with zephyrs,
Until the sky sees the Universe living in the tips of my fingers.
I threw my coat into the back seat because it felt like summer.
Forty-seven degrees! A heat wave after the below nine’s we had been having.
Let’s go swimming! I yelled to my husband who was still curled up in a blanket.
Shivering, because he claimed it was still winter. It’s forty-seven! I screamed.
I ran back outside to see if the yellow daffodils were up yet. They weren’t.
Then I got out my tiller, but alas, the ground was still frosty and hard.
Maybe I can mow? I thought. Then I remembered I gave my lawnmower away.
I called the gardeners. How soon do you think you can come? I asked them.
They thought it was hilarious that I was asking. In a month or two, they said.
I am ready for spring now! I thought. So I took out my paints and began to create.
I made roses lilies, geraniums, tulips, a giant rainbow, faeries, two dragons.
If spring cannot come to me, at least I can come to spring. Right?
A cherished world of light and dark and colors in between
delights the eye and heart and mind with sights which make us sigh,
blooms red, to pink, to lavender, to orange, blue, and green.
The forest's filled by morning light in amber and citrine
reveals the white tail doe who leaps, as blackbirds sound the cry.
A cherished world of light and dark and colors in between.
Upon the mossy shore of playful brook the frogs careen
leaping past the level pads of water lilies pink near bye.
Blooms red, to pink, to lavender, to orange, blue, and green.
And men exist to fill a niche from onyx to casein
our skins transformed by natures heat under foreign skies.
A cherished world of light and dark and colors in between
Blooms red, to pink, to lavender, to orange, blue, and green.