Long Lilly Poems
Long Lilly Poems. Below are the most popular long Lilly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lilly poems by poem length and keyword.
kute and kuttlely
anty and so kuttery
Little Litty Lilly
Loty Lolly likes too
Likes to chew
The dawg bones
When I come home from the office
Kitty Pearl drinkin' at the kitchen faucet
kute and kuttely
Yellow and buttery
Little Litty Lilly
Loty Lolly likes too
Likes to untie and nipple shoelaces on our shoes
Here kitty, kitty
No~ wait to stop that
Scat cat for heaven sake Kat sitting on my hathat
the condescending, contented cat sat on my hideous, hilarious hat
While Little Litty Lilly Loty Lolly still pawing and gnawing my shoe latches
7/9/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Again a small poem guys dedicated to my Darling hubby..
wrote by Mrs.Madhavi
Loving You is Blissful - My Darling Hubby
Twilighting glow of the sky..
Wanna fly so high..
Sparkling amidst the million stars..
chosen the crazy pal and so life is excellently par..
As like the blossom were kissed by soft rain..
Your arrival in life diminished all my pains..
God has entwined me..with my emarald diamonite gem..
Enlightening new vistas in life as like your next aim..
At an astounding pace time flew..
But When i didn‘t see you..I feel like..Life is been dew..
Your divine presence in life rejuvenates me..
Every tick of my heartbeat resonating wit your‘s or whatever it will be..
Your innumerable naughtiness made me silly..
But yep, your beautifying nature had an fragrance in life like lilly..
As like snow crested the nestled mountains..
You cuddled my persona..like a sip of fountains..
Being With you, Life is euphorically elated..
Full of high spirit and delighted..
Thanks for being accompanying me my theist..
Your admirer with lots n lots of Love:
Madhavi
I see the old grave yard from my
window seal late at night and I
have noticed a woman walking in
the pale moon light.
I'm sure there is a story that her
presence could tell, but I can't read it
for her face is covered in a long, white
veil.
I watch her each and every night, in her
long, tattered dress, that's filled with
hollowed light, not a hair is out of place
and she moves so peacefully and full of
grace.
Her hands are long and slender, so petite
and in her hands she holds a bucket full of
flowers that seems to need a drink.
Down to the old, water well she goes, but
there has been no water there for several
years or more. Everyone who lives here,
this they all know.
She places the bucket and mysteriously the
water runs and all of a sudden the flowers
glow as if they were in the sun. She visits
each gravestone during the night and leaves
a single flower and gracefully moves on, in
loving flight.
I followed her late one night to find where she
laid herself to rest, long before daylight.
Her grave was barren and she too seemed alone
and my heart felt for her deeply as I read her
headstone.
Here Rest Lilly who with her heart she was lead
to leave flowers for those without families and
resting alone in their earthly bed. May God bless
her in the after life and always bloom flowers over
her, even in the night.
I visit her now at least once a week and I place
fresh flowers at her feet; In hopes she will know
just how much I and all who rest here, appreciates
her so.
I sit and watch.
Changes come so slowly.
So, vigilance is required,
an attentiveness to minutia.
There are layers of wardings
erected between
the watch and I.
Thoughts, which flit and skitter
fight for outward movement.
Flesh that is too weak to hold attention,
leans toward the walls of cracks;
where even the plaster pulls
from its sheaf
and the dirty
double paned glass
waylays the eye.
Enthralled by the changes:
rain to sleet, to snow, to hail, to rain,
the maple buds leaving
their pointillist, rouge-lacquered shells,
dropping like the wings
of an emergent butterfly; I root.
Nights of storm-slapped branches
unfurl orchestrated by wind –
How the maple now dangles leaves like earrings
from the tips of the smallest twigs.
Tomorrow they will open
to palm the morning breeze
and welcome the spears of Lilly of the Valley,
as they emerge overnight beneath the mother tree.
The deer have eaten the tender,
green, tongue-rolled, delights of Hosta and Day Lily,
but they are stalwart plants and will return.
I’ve watched and watched but not seen the deer
though I have seen their bedding spots
among the mulch beneath the maple
in the winter and their hoof
prints in the snow.
Today, I will watch
temperatures are rising
and soon there will be
lilacs.
First Published in Latchkey Tales 2014
My Grandma has a garden
In which she will spend hours
Watering and weeding
And tending to her flowers
Many types and species
At least that’s what she said
Grow and sprout and climb about
Her backyard flower bed
Hens and chicks and cat mint
Spread thick across the ground
Adjacent to the Lambs Ear
With Fox Glove all around
The Elephant Ears
provide some shade
but look a little silly
Next to the soaring Zebra grass
And orange Tiger Lilly
Snap Dragons guard the border
While Lion Tales seek the sun
The Dog tooth Violet droops a bit
And the Spider plant start to run
I know it is her garden
And there’s no need for alarm
But Grandma’s lovely garden
Sounds much more like a farm!
Jazz piano scale skip quick notes implore me
Siphon symphony verve blurred by saxophone sass
Floated lilly pad leap frog spring legged surety
Splats on brass buttoned soldiers dedicated amass
Bulbous glass swirl burgundy grape stem bitter
Absorbs oak barrel sentiment, forested persuasion
Ace praise expires, a swiftly swallowed splinter
Comical dive antics of cork fragmenting abrasion
Dissolving Elizabeth, shabbily written character
Simmered limply submissive, a nouveau improvisation
Vat of pursuit poured by Stu picks a passenger
Chords hover mahogany piano cascade syncopation
Composition three minute summit misconstrue
Violins textured crescendo vibrates bow tight strings
Apron strewn, Libby leaves her rolling pin askew
Butter heart hails harmony a true companion brings
22nd January
Stu calls me Jasmine
Lily at the Roots
Today I walked into the lonely house of myself.
That is where my inward journey started.
The doors were heavy with cold and the dust of sorrow.
The windows were locked and rusted,
as if they had seen too many storms
and decided to shut forever.
The floor was cracked and scattered,
covered in dry autumn leaves that whispered of grief.
The walls wore black spider webs like old scars.
Muddy frames held sad paintings behind broken glass.
Worries had settled there like grey ash.
Everything felt broken, dusty and dark.
It was clear no one had come here in a long time.
I climbed the stairs.
Under my feet they felt like desert sand,
shifting and trying to pull me down.
Then in the middle of that grief-filled room
I saw it, a large beautiful tree.
It stood there like a stranger, like a quiet ghost.
Its branches were bare with no leaves,
but still its presence caught me.
I went close and touched it gently.
And it gave my soul peace.
It gave me back a piece of happiness.
At its roots grew a white lily.
The white lily, a lantern in the dark.
The white lily, hope with soft petals.
The white lily, purity learning to grow from pain.
Its scent was calmness. Its presence was healing.
That is when I understood.
This is the light inside me.
This is my courage, my strength, my growth.
Yes there is grief in me. Yes there is pain.
But my soul is still calm. Still bright. Still strong.
I am healing.
And the white lily will remain,
proof that even in a broken house
something pure can still bloom.
I got to watch the rugby game, Aussie's we were put
To shame..' the wanna-be's did hop and skip.' And lost the
Game..Just bit; by bit.' A fumble here and forward passes
Poor Eddie Jones, should kick these asses.' They passed
A penalty..Cause she'll be right.' Well not if you don't stiffen
Up and fight, she'll not reward your lack of skill.' Are you
All soft centers.? Mainly thrill? Not kill.' And don't ever try
Cricket its way to tough.' Where Lilly and Thommo did
Bodyline stuff.' All I saw tonight (was biddy-line) only two
Good catches..The whole damn time.' Line out after lineout
You did us wrong.! score six to to forty, you useless drong's!
Wales gave you, what you deserve.' Go back to dan andrews
palaszczcuk and albo, and all those other t..Er nerds
Or get a plan..' and heart and soul; and push each other
Towards some goals.' Portugal awaits..Don't do it again.!
Avoid disaster..Just play the game.' Play for posterity and
The big brown land.' Dig deep inside and find some sand!
Lilly was dissatisfied with her beautiful living room.
She added embroidered pillows.
Two or three were lovely, sixteen was overkill, but we kept silent.
Another friend got a plaid couch.
Lilly threw out her new couch and got a plaid couch.
It looked weird with all of those pillows, but we kept our counsel.
Marge tried to tell her that the room had looked great before.
Lilly was busy trying to make her living room over in paisley now.
Apparently paisley is the new “in design” in the neighborhood.
She ended up with paisley, plaid, posies, and other playful patterns.
None that matched.
This combination made her living room look flea market-like.
The pillows were gone now, for they are "out".
Lily is striving for the perfect room, which no one has ever seen.
Her living room was almost there, until she added those pillows.
They were Lilly Whites from Kildare,
And Boggers from County Clare,
Herring Gutters from Donegal
And Dubliner Jackeens.
They were Goat Suckers, Slaneysiders,
Magpies and Rossies.
They were Kellys, and Murrays,
O’Carrols, and Moores,
They were Campbells, MacMurphys, and Dunns.
One claimed he’s from the Hill of Tara,
Another, from Tyrone among the brush.
They came for the work on the Schuylkill Canal.
They came for the work on the railway.
They came for the love of those lonesome Colleens
They left at the dockside in Derry.
They worked and they drank,
And they gambled and swore,
And they prayed for the saints’ intercession.
A few sought the balm of a comforting whore,
Then mumbled their sins at confession.
They offered their immigrant muscle and sweat,
Like Hercules hard at his labors,
And carved out the tunnels and fashioned the locks
That helped build their grandchildren’s nation.