Long Marigolds Poems
Long Marigolds Poems. Below are the most popular long Marigolds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marigolds poems by poem length and keyword.
Wafting in a lazy leisurely swishy way
Floating casually, unaware of her mystical prowess,
She glides gently on the May breeze, in a mysteriously calm way
Intriguing cardinals who take notice, and send her bird songs.
An almost imperceptible trail of pixie dust follows her,
lasts less time than a jet plane stream. The blue jay notices.
She is back! He says, opens his mouth to announce.
Robins and wrens begin to follow her path, feeling magical.
May Day Faerie wafts in unaware of the commotion
Which was not there seconds ago; being herself
Gloriously humble, spreading love into blossoms
of the eagerly waiting flowering plants and bushes.
Tulips, lilacs, marigolds, geraniums, Rose of Sharon,
Paying respect, to May first, maypole magic day,
Loving their light-bringing leader who comes but once a year
To lead by example, spreading joy only found in May.
Some days poetry flows
sometimes it is just words.
In the final spring - a poet
yearned for an immaculate blossom,
for his fingertips to bring a painting into life - to
meticulously cultivate and craft a masterpiece.
I recall an opal oasis full of pearl petals,
glittering with rows of diamond orchids,
citrine marigolds, moonstone lotuses,
and garnet roses surrounded by
amethyst lavender and sapphire bluebells.
craving for his mastery.
In a distant meadow,
consumed with faithless flock
grazing dead leaves -
there you bloomed from bronze roots,
an enchanting flower held by an emerald sepal.
In your flattery,
he became a willing devotee,
seduced by the scent of your paradisiacal petals.
But in your admiration he neglected
his selfless blooms,
unaware of wicked weeds
wandering in eidolic fields.
At sunset he would mirror the stars
and follow you like fireflies at midnight,
Serenade you with mystical lullabies,
evoking a sense of serenity,
but in the deception of dawn
you prioritised the sun,
over his soothing moonlight,
so you wilted, withering,
dripping in dewdrops.
In your servitude,
he placed you in the
greenhouse of his heart,
to protect you from the arrival of autumn,
but gaslighting gardeners,
sliced all of his intimate stems,
allowing satanic rain
to poison your spirit.
In the darkness, which dilates his eyes,
the pain still penetrates like a bitter blade
and he has become a forgotten gardener,
with dead seeds of scepticism
sowed into his soul.
In the days that gradually thin, sprinkled with the last strands of sand,
Evening descends upon my old and warm soul,
Bony and stiff fingers, yearning for the warmth of the waning summer,
As the approach of autumn whispers again in the jingle of copper leaves.
My knees, never masters of the paths we'd still wander,
Bend under the weight of memories etched on the lane of childhood,
Even the witch hazel, which long soothed my skin, now seems powerless,
And my deep cough echoes ceaselessly, through the room emptied of your warmth.
The plants, satiated with green, begin to dress in the somber attire of September,
A prelude that envelopes nature in brown and gold, revealing a bittersweet brilliance,
While the forsythias have long turned into brown skeletons,
And the last guests of summer lounge in my garden, grumpy marigolds on the sill.
Mid-September, when the day slowly weaves its scythe,
And the sun, relentless, hastens towards the horizon of oblivion,
My room watches over my bedspread, once a tapestry of hues, now just faded thoughts,
Marigolds - the vestal virgins reminding me of the sun that no longer seeks me out.
Let us be the last, we, the withered season and I, in our melancholic merging,
In this composition of rises and falls, a final duet with the fleeting time,
With every breath more subdued and every heartbeat vibrating towards silence,
I, the poet of my final act, write farewell in autumnal notes, on the score of the universe.
The Dream of a Rill
Up in the highlands a leafy green dell
where day dreamers dream in the quiet still
blissfully dreaming beneath nature’s spell.
Where clusters of daisies cover the hill
and soft sighing zephyrs sway the blue bell
slow dancing in time by a bubbling rill
The rill herself is a wandering stream
And she, like the dreamers, has her own dream
She’ll leave the green dell, and finally flow
beneath the old bridge where children do wade
bypass the tall pines in long serried row
all standing up straight, like scouts on parade
Then winding through banks where the bulrushes grow
mid marsh marigolds that bloom in the shade
She’ll meet with her fate, a strong river free
And join its bold rush to greet the wide sea.
Forgotten valleys, tarry not, for the lowly buds of spring
are trembling to reveal their opus of brilliant colors.
Why, then, do you hesitate? For I long to see you burst
forth into rapturous displays of blues and purples, reds and golds.
I can hear your symphony arising in the tender sunlight
as you coax young shoots to erupt into a glorious wildflower chorus.
For it is bliss to spy your splashes of marigolds happily greeting
the new day and to delight in sweet daisies lining the pathways.
What joy it is to gaze at vast fields of mustard that
spread out like a golden crown, while bright poppies excitedly
punctuate the impressionistic landscape.
My spirit rejoices in the bounty of bright bell flowers
their purple royalty adding importance to the scenery.
These scenes are the humble notes of spring
tiny stanzas of nature shining along the
highways and byways, like rich jewels scattered
by a benevolent King.
Written March 2017
Environs are rainbow-colored, I had always felt,
Until an alternative perception is soon revealed;
Have I ever thought that midst all these a dappled scene dwelt,
Flamboyant and monochromic celluloid is concealed...?
Designs painted by the sun while peeping through bushy trees,
Harass of horses galloping in a cavalry realm;
Black-yellow-brown strips on the nectar-hunting busy bees,
Majestically strolling tiger in self-image helm...!
Peacocks, pigeons, sparrows, geese, crows, doves, and flower-peckers,
Daisies, lilies, marigolds, Amaryllis, and Hyssops;
Dunes and nature-made domes of deserts in multi-deckers,
Strips plowing through oceans, mountains, and tall baroque hilltops...
Features of Nature, each in its way, are divine designs,
Each dappled line is benign and each in decorum shines...!!!
08 February 2023
I arrived breath away, stepping out of a journey waiting not for fellow passengers with tedious conversations about Hemingway, Trump or AI
hot excitement dissolved into foreboding
pain, then shattered into peace ~ bliss on
cards, an endless journey had end after all
age equalled superfluous suffering
red ticks on calculus examination page
point of Excalibur deadly, yet where I
belonged as spiral, lived a hundred lives
or more of solitude, silence, secrecy
dandelions oracled sacred
yin and yang exploded into nothingness
white black entwined stillness containing
all sound, shadows, twenty four strands
when tabulating male and female
fire flashed into stardust figments
a millionth of a blinking second
whether charioteer voted redhead wily
in a country of dollars or mid-life crisis
cities were questions embedded in olive branches or fleas on poodles barking twirled with archaeologists, crooks, historians
status mattered not here
altars in faraway wonderlands where writers recreated Alice whilst filmmakers negotiated budgets ignorant that movies were magical moments bound in akashic records
here marigolds came before business
Brahman footprints treading Truth tabled
Singularity contained every loop into Void embracing once upon time a leather jacket
journey cracked its own codes crumbled fleshless, as eyes became saucer satellites
explorers, tourists, passengers, all here ~
revelry was lived or meditation mastered
centre point, brilliant or dull, crude or sharp equals zero-one sequences ~ music, sky, planets, charioteer or train passenger
all gifted with a choice … return to Earth
or bathe forever in Centred Bliss
“Promises in September's magic”
“promesse nella magia di settembre”
Sweet September arrives again,
hearing the celestial melody and
symphony of a nocturnal wind
calling your name, beneath a
shimmering rain of stardust, my Venus.
I picture your rare beautiful soul
gazing at the glowing moon,
searching for mine in the firmament,
closing your eyes in abandon,
to the soft touch of the breeze,
my korean princess.
Enveloped in your rhapsodic cadence,
I can hear autumn's footsteps,
emerging from its seclusion,
kinetically flickering amidst mahogany foliage
rustling in remnants of summer musings,
as I wear a crown of marigolds,
graciously framing the aspen
contours of my enigmatic aura.
Let the autumn winds dance through
your hair beneath our tangerine sunset,
walking along the boulevard of our
diamond dreams, hand in hand,
reaching serenity in promises of
tomorrows and whispers of love,
my Aphrodite.
There is magic in the autumn air,
merging our sapphire emotions in depth,
with your divine essence, like the
lifeblood that wraps me in an
elysian bliss of our vows, to be
the cure and light for each other,
crossing over storms, adversities and
darkness, my marvelous creature.
I patiently wait for dawn,
hearing your heartbeat with mine,
playing our love song, amidst your
enchanting, breathtaking smile,
gazing into my eyes, as I
get lost in your beauty, for you
are the first marvel in this world,
my blue rose.
I wish I could float with the clouds,
beyond silken horizons,
gliding towards your
euphoric essentia, pondering;
what hides deep in the shadows?
Stumbling upon vast constellations,
discovering your mesmeric aphrodisia,
binding my heart and soul to yours,
breathing in our burgeoning love story.
My garden has bellflowers, globe flowers and cornflowers too
I spend many hours weeding the rows, making it look new
Sometimes a pretty renegade violet sneaks in, what can I do?
I leave her unviolated, she adds a gorgeous splash of blue.
My neighbor old Cyrus brought me some bulbs of iris today.
I will plant them in fall; it is not time for them to make their way.
He said, “Your marigolds are so beautiful, ruffled and gay!”
Uplifted my mood, showing Cyrus my flower garden today.
Your bleeding heart is so gorgeous! He said. What is your trick?
He is right; she is the quintessential flower, fluffy and thick.
She was a start from my great Grandmother, Molly McNick.
She was an Irish wizard, who could grow a flower in brick.
You have inherited her green thumb, Old Cyrus told me.
Your Queen Anne’s lace and daisies are a pleasure to see.
I felt happy that he did nothing to disturb my busy bumble bee.
Many winged creatures aid in my garden of ecstasy
Written 6-5-2022
Contest: Posie Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
A red hibiscus bloomed
In the backyard yesterday
Reminding me of my mother
And things she used to say.
Like, “Oh, look at that butterfly
And the color of its wings,” and
“Don’t you just love this time of year,
It’s so uplifting in the Spring!”
She would doddle ‘round like a queen without a crown
Admiring all the plants and people living,
Seeing deeper than eyes can see
Rarely taking but always giving.
She loved plants and seeds of every kind
From azaleas to zinnia flowers,
And talked to them like family and friends
Any day or nighttime hour.
Daisies, tulips or marigolds
Roses, or chrysanthemums,
She loved them all, Spring, Summer or Fall
In shade or the open sun.
And there were times I was embarrassed
By her childlike, effervescent ways,
But in retrospect, I’d give anything
To have just one more day.
Of hearing her voice speak softly
Like she did when time stood still,
“I love the red hibiscus, son, and you,
I always will.
© Terrell Martin, 12/14/2024