Long Lupines Poems
Long Lupines Poems. Below are the most popular long Lupines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lupines poems by poem length and keyword.
hummingbirds are God's gift to us . . .
with their unique "flight" - their agile hovering and darting
some with brilliant iridescent plumage and jeweled adornments
and others duller in colors of browns or greens . . .
a tiny
swift~ precious and delightful bird
~ I have created a garden to attract their flower affinity
as the hummingbirds have a need for sweet nectar
and they have a niche no other bird can occupy in my heart ~
I love their wild beating wings
and their squeaky high-pitched chirps and whistles
I never tire of watching those long bills dipping
deep into a flower and those forked tongues lapping
the sweetness . . .
~ my garden is full of wildflowers
that hummers' like- lots of trumpet blooms brightly colored
and places for pendent cupped nests protected from sun and rain ~
yes, hummingbirds need a place for nocturnal resting too
then, starting in the early morn'
they come darting to dazzle me
with their unique fearless dashing "flight" ~
and giving them my love I have given them a fountain bath
as there is nothing more divine than to watch them
splashing and ruffling their feathers . . . in the falling water
oh, I do love hummers' taking a hovering 'bath' . . .
~ there is a peace in their dashing among my flowers
the lupines, foxglove, nasturtiums, lilies and others
they also like my hanging baskets of petunia and verbena
. . . so, they grace my porch too ~
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June 09, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/hovering flight
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1463-614-09
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Flight 2
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judged 06/24/2022
Third Place
Zephyrus, mighty God of wind, slips over western slopes
to nudge the winter, in quick adieu, ..unfurled against the blue.
He is husband of Khloris, a goddess of the green
He is father of the fruited vine, and all the fruited trees
which bend and bow to every breeze, that curl around his head.
The stalky lupines long for him to take away the chill,
while blue wild flax, will wave and swoon, upon the purple hills.
A colored carpet wide and deep, is sweeping to the eye
with clover green, so fragrant, lush, and it reaches to the sky
to feel the depth of warming breath, exhaled with just his sigh
His warming breath embraces youth, and jealousy is kin
Appollon's love for Hyakinthos, may bring a tragic end
We must ignore his boorish pride, for he thaws the frozen land
and takes command when springtime comes, when green is in demand
_________________________________________________
For the Contest sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Zephyrus.....God of the West Wind
1/1/15 http://www.theoi.com/Titan/AnemosZephyros.html (Greek Gods)
Autumn is near
When nights on hours of the day do impinge
Softer are the rays of mid-day sunshine
Greenish leaves do start to pick orange tinge
Tall lupines linger low, curl down and pine
Roses slowly start to shed their petals
Lovely lavenders languish with crisp fear
Cooler air from grey clouds starts to settle
Purple pansies begin to drip sad tears
When birds flutter with less strength with reason
It`s time to hail the fall`s train which is near
Time to greet the coming Autumn season
With its splash of red saffron hues so dear.
Have you ever, wandered into, a sequestered meadow
Surrounded by trees and mountains
Where the passerine song birds, sang songs with no words
Indian paintbrushes, rose up, like red fountains
The orange day lilies, and butterfly weeds
Danced, with the light purple asters
Bold black eyed susans and multicolored lupines
Provided scenes, like paintings, of old masters
Did you feel the cool breeze, that tickled the leaves
Of the poplars, birches and oaks
Put off by the snow caps, as they melt and collapse
Then ski down the shadowy slopes
Or happen to look, when the clear snow melt brook
Rushed by, to the lake of, serenity
Did you feel the love, of Mother Nature's hug
And the awesomeness of it's, sublimity
To put words to a feeling, when the senses are reeling
Can be a difficult thing
Meadows sleeping with mountains, flowery red fountains
With a breeze of tranquility
That's how I felt, when ice started to melt
Encasing my frozen heart
I'll never forget, when our paths first met
And you gave, my life, a jump start
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
It was summer in the mountains,
Daisies, bees and poison ivy surrounding
The little creek where my feet swung down,
Swaying gently over the trickling water…
Betraying the heat with its coolness,
Its calm – serene like the world where I came from,
A world of laughter, beauty and grace…
Where granny worked and prayed,
Where mama didn’t see any shame in repenting
For sins that were taken away by the Savior,
The grace that remained when He went to heaven
To await the day when we would come to stay
With Him, in paradise… in praise, in eternity
Fading into the summer praises, the lupines
In colors of elaborate violet – dusty rose delphiniums,
Imperial hues of breathless roses, blushing beauties
Brilliant and bright, hoping for the moment when rain
Bruises the petals and suggests to them a joy
Far beyond the miracles invading breathless whispers,
Rainfall moments and sun, so alive it feels nearly timeless,
Blessing the leaves, silently fawning – mysteries
While all the world searches for the wonders of these
Gracious colors, admiring – honoring the beautiful,
My little cousin eating pies I created
With two chubby hands, pies two times the size
Of the pot pie pans that taught me the meaning of
Recycling… they were leftover trinkets from a mother
Who believed in me, she’d found her reason
But me … I was only happy to know the freedom
Creating mud pies on the banks of a creek that treated
Me like the wish for giggles, the craving for fanciful
Dreams who walk away from the heart
Misty eyed and prayerful, erasing the lost
Hopes, replacing them with promises
For a coloring book life… made from joy and hope,
Kindness that fills up the soul, a wildness
That comes from being that little girl who grows
Cousins from the mud pies she baked in the sun,
Urging them to gorge themselves with…
And, they still loved her, despite her baking skills!
Beneath the opal passage of the morning
I surrender to my gaze, and I am thrilled
Where the cattle graze upon the hills
The grass is wet and chilled by morning dew
Under haze and clouds, and glow of rising sun
Among the fragrant flowers growing wild
I will try my best, to take a careful step
Not to crush,or snuff the life, of even one
I see a thousand blossoms dancing here
They flaunt their beauty to the sky
Seducing blackbirds gliding low
And filling senses, restoring souls
Yellow buckwheat nestles at my feet
Stalky lupines, with tinge of blue
And wild flax fragile on the stem
Will bend and bow to every breeze
I will sit beside a lodge pole pine
Take my rest against the bark
And hear the song of meadowlarks
Embellish stories of the day
A colored carpet deep and wide
Lies before me with such benevolence
A morning shines, with flowered grace
Kissed by the sun, tossed by the wind
Planted by God, and born to be wild
Stalky lupines add a purple fringe
to rugs beneath the lodgepole pine
In tall cool grass, where deer have been
the sun slides down between the limbs
The blue wild flax, on slender stems
will bend and bow to every breeze
And sulphured bands of wild buckwheat
in wild array, will cluster at my feet
Not planned, unintended, still they remain
Untouched by the hoe, and watered by rain
A colored carpet wide and sweeping for my eye
While hiking through the lofty hillside high
Kissed by the sun and tossed by the breeze
Running through clover or wherever they please
The winding path that climbs higher still
Strikes vibrant chords and charms the spirit still
This hillside of carpet, in springtime so mild
Planted by God, and born to be wild
Inspired by Constance's mini contest "Wildflowers"
“ ... the bee collects nectar and departs without
injuring the flower, or its color or fragrance .... "
Quote from _ Quotefancy
I am a bee and my life is an eternal struggle
each day I need nectar and pollen to survive
I also need water- but I have found a haven
a bee friendly city garden created with love
oh, I don't mind sharing it with butterflies
and hummingbirds, I know they need food too !
I have watched the young women planting
she is so calm and tranquil and knows
exactly what I like. How did she know that
I cannot see red, but love purple and yellow
and I don't mind blue and white, but no red !
She has created a sweet garden of delight
with purple coneflowers, black eyed susan
sunflowers, daisies, lupines, zinnias, phlox
yarrow, asters and even herbs that I love
like rosemary, oregano, basil and chives,
of course, in reality I do not know their names !
One day, I made a mistake and flew inside
an open door, I was in a daze and was buzzing
but she did not hurt me but cupped her hands
and carried me back outside and placed me
gently on a purple coneflower, that was nice !
She even considered that we need to drink
and has given us a bird bath of clean water
well, I have to share it with the butterflies
and birds, ever seen a hummingbird take a bath !
Oh, I love my wildflower haven . . .
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May 27, 2022
Poetry/Personification/The Bee Haven
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1459-026-27
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bee Creative
sponsor, Matt Caliri, Judged 07/1712022
Written: December 1st, 2023
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Colors waltz in a rainbow kaleidoscope
cynosure of sun sparks steel drum teams
Emerald elms embrace periwinkle sky
among fragrant spikes of purple lupines.
Monet and Van Gogh are arm-in-arm
spin a diaphanous color wheel off charts
starry night, yellow circumduct swirls
over white water lilies on mirror ponds.
Consider both humanity and nature
emollient color splits and multiplies
A flamenco actor will kick and clap
Hot crimson ethereal feeling whirling flies.
Gold and yellow dance to evocative music
downpour is brought on by charcoal gray
rain and brightness dance across earth
awaking felicity from fugacious winter sleep.
Akin to a roulette ball of a gossamer color
gambling my emotional imbrication away
winning when the ball stops in blue
dancing sea and sky arouse my day.
The Empty Academy Schoolhouse
It stands on a vast green lot,
No trees to shelter it from heavy, gray clouds
on the rolling foothill horizon.
Its thin coat of white paint peels,
revealing bare, dry-rotted wood.
The rickety porch boards,
once sturdy under children’s energetic steps,
look about to collapse at the slightest wind gust.
What’s it like inside?
Puddles of water from the last rain?
Rat’s nest in the woodstove?
Any desks or yellowed books, pencils,
love notes left behind?
A soiled ribbon slid off some girl’s braid?
A chalkboard with spelling words
or arithmetic problems still on it?
What songs, prayers, or memorized poems
still echo off faded, white-washed walls?
When was the first day of school?
When was the last?
What became of all the children,
who once ran around laughing
all over this green meadow?
What happened to ball players,
clover-chain weavers,
kids who picked lupines and fiddlenecks
for their teacher?
Did they leave Academy,
or do they lie in the cemetery on a nearby hill?
Published in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2021 Issue
This old school house is in the tiny pioneer town of Academy, just outside of Fresno, California, near the Sierra Nevada foothills. Some of the descendants of the pioneer families still remain in the area.