Long Midsummer Poems
Long Midsummer Poems. Below are the most popular long Midsummer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Midsummer poems by poem length and keyword.
CHILDREN OF THE MIDSUMMER GARDEN
Dreamy midsummer comes to the garden
Leaving her perfume so intoxicating
Colors float up – bounce like a fountain
Autumn comes soon – a lady-in-waiting.
What can you say about fragrant Rose?
So beautiful her face wherever she grows –
Sometimes she climbs, or lives in gardens,
Her sharp thorns we will pardon.
Gallant Scarlet Pimpernel,
Grow anywhere far as we can tell,
Popping up in places unexpected
Yelling “Surprise!” He’s quite unaffected.
Baby’s Breath – so light, so airy –
No scent surrounds you, no perfume;
Delicate child of summer meadow –
A wreath of flowers comes in bloom.
Bright pink and purple, blue and soft white,
Pretty Petunia won’t hide from the light;
She likes the heat – humidity too –
Welcoming all dressed in her vibrant hues.
Shy Hydrangea loves the shade
Wearing a hat of tiny blossoms;
Hidden away in her secret garden
Thankfully never forgotten.
Larkspur blue conceals a pocket –
Hides her nectar there;
But only with cousin Delphinium
Her secret she readily shares.
Sweet Pea clambers up a trellis
Wearing flowers – pink, lavender or white;
Decorates brick walls or plain wooden fences
On delicate vines – a fragrant delight.
Flowering Stock known by so many names
But her spicy perfume to all the same;
Though she may go by many an alias,
Her true self we see in her flowers so various.
Bright Lobelia doesn’t care,
Sunny or shady, makes home anywhere;
Tiny flowers of lavender or blue –
Always smiling in any hue.
Simple flower, such an innocent face,
For children making Daisy chains;
Flower of friendship – predicting love –
“Loves me – loves me not,” a favorite game
Zinnia grows in so many places,
Loves to skip across dry prairie places;
Attracting hummingbirds and bright butterflies,
Always searching for sun in the sky.
Radiant Ranunculus shines like sunshine,
Lustrous face, dazzling smile;
In landscape borders or in bouquets,
Returns every year – so versatile.
The spring departed quietly, left a priceless gift for me,
a bunch of rose that I kept in my heart for you to greet,
with the lure of love as sparkling as a dewdrop could be,
in the summer of discontent I didn’t let it wither in heat.
In midsummer night on moonbeam trail I took you with me
to the bank of passion river through mist of satin stardust,
where in the vase of my enticed heart the roses you’d see,
radiating the patina of crimson flare laced with lustrous lust.
With the mesmerizing murmur of the tune-brimming stream
the fervent music of my ardent yearning I longed to compose,
in your diamond eyes its lyric weaved the lattice of my dream,
entranced by my soft kiss the eyelids you could not close.
As the sun rose in color-burst horizon, it was time to depart,
I’d carry to the end of time your mesmeric image in my heart.
September 26, 2020
Contest : The Night Of Passion And Desire
Sponsor : Faraz Ajmal
Tomatoes, watermelons, and grapes—
Do they seem to you merely as sustenance?
Within the tomato, flesh is shyly concealed,
Yet as it opens wide before you,
It imparts to you the truths of mathematics.
The watermelon blossoms into your laughter;
Within it, a synthesis of earth and plant—
A microcosm is born.
Never devour it at once!
Pay your reverence!
Only savor the entire universe within.
A shelter hotter than midsummer itself!
Grapes?
Clustered like tiny, dangling bells,
Do not pluck and consume them thoughtlessly,
Lest it be you who is consumed in the end.
This is a divine, sensuous intoxication
bestowed by God.
Sweet summer comes in June and I will be
Underneath the sun, for I’m awaiting
Midsummer dreams and my own chance to see
Magical small beings out creating
Enchantment at the setting of the sun!
Radiance can catch a wee fairy’s eye
So stones in a circle could attract one.
Objects shiny too might make one less shy!
Longer is this day, so before the night,
Sugared fruits I’ll put out too, then await
The fairies and stay awake till daylight
In case one comes. Oh, wouldn’t that be great!
Come dawn, I’ll watch sun climb high and higher
Eastward, and there I'll see the sky catch fire.
An acrostic sonnet, written June 1, 2016
Grace granted us a say on our knees:
a thousand pleas pummeled the sky,
stirred the heavens. The Lord moved,
gentle thunder rumbled:
My daughter's back home!
Our hearts sank, too heavy to bear,
for Janet was a sweetheart, a mother
we've hugged for twenty years and more—
never saw anger crease her comely face
or her girth tinged with the pride of life.
Janet exudes the glow of midsummer noon.
With a voice that strikes heaven's chords,
she thrills songbirds to spin at sessions—
at Shekinah Nights while sky dresses in gold.
Now, birds hush! Whither our songstress?
She's gone!! A while longer would've been
our joy, sharing the dainties of Janet's large heart.
But how long will we mortals hold up the call,
knowing a day of death is set at birth?
The Lord has done His good pleasure—we bow.
So, we wish you Goodnight Mama Janet,
in hope of the Glorious Morning.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
March 2019
Though not exceptionally
famished, I took one bite
after another until tureen
licked clean to the delight
of zee missus, whose tasty
two stuffed peppers numbered finite
adequately apportioned appeased
served December 26th, 2020
supreme supper highlight,
hers whose non verbal expression
translated high as kite
beaming satisfaction at husband
well fed fueled might
dare attempt to craft following
reasonable rhyme posted
for many readers onsite
passable endeavor hoop fully
buzzfeeding fanciful kudos - quite
acceptable to critique
mediocre outcome,
maybe ye suburbanite
dweller or thee might
perchance be longtime urbanite.
Nevertheless (me) de facto
de jure guinea pig cannot abstain
availing self as willing subject and feign
to gag on culinary entree with cuisine plain
no spicy food to avoid aggravating reign
of terror within
lower gastrointestinal tract,
a worse fate than being slain
in battle and/or
drowning within gravy train.
Most meals prepared courtesy thy wife
I masticate without any
(loose) indentured (sink false teeth into) strife
both of us quarantined as our typical nightlife
Covid-19 jazzmatazz planted
well rooted herbalife
such tranquility emblematic
when I become gratefully dead and
consigned to mounted afterlife.
Thus hoop fully
ye accepted poetic side morsel
(mine) somewhat wry
wordsmith (me) rather bland,
yet not averse to satisfy
merchant of Venice
much (moosh pit) ado about nothing, well nigh
preferring a midsummer night's dream afore
all's well that ends well
as you like it (poetry soup)
mine sense and sensibility doth defy
ratiocination minus any helpful alibi.
Methinks what future savory dish
the spouse might cook up,
what with an abracadabra
prestidigitation (Nike) swish
right before these myopic eyes witness
whatever mine heart doth wish.
What is your soul dream?
The one that you would rather rip out of your heart than tell to the relatives?
The secret one hidden so deep in your soul, that you would shatter if anyone
discovered it?
The one you could not bear to have laughed at. The one you have safely hidden from the world for years?
The dream that will probably fulfill all of your hopes and dreams if you are gutsy enough, arrogant enough, and empowered enough to go get it?
Find the person you can share the dream with.
The only person you have ever met who would not laugh at this dream.
This person will encourage you support you, and love you no matter what
Whatever else you do in this lifetime, does not matter.
This person is a keeper, and so is your dream.
Written in February 2018
Submitted to Brian Strand for his Midsummer Contest
In the valley of my mind contoured by desire latent,
I carved the charming channel of craving to reach you.
The yearning cloud melted in a mesmeric torrent,
made a surging stream I swam under the sky blue.
Flowing with the current of your charming allure,
my sensation soared high in your spring moonshine sky,
adorned by the luring lattice of the stars of love pure,
draped my heart with the enchanting tinsels, I saw fly.
The spring departed quietly, left a gorgeous gift for me,
a bunch of red rose I kept in my heart for you to greet
with the lure of love as dainty as dewdrop could be,
in the summer of discontent I didn’t let it wither a bit.
In midsummer night gleamed by moonbeam you’re with me
on the passion bank of river soaking sequined satin stardust,
where in the vase of my heart the rose you could see
radiate the patina of crimson charisma laced by lustrous lust.
With the mesmerizing murmur of the sonorous stream,
the fervent music of my love I longed to compose,
weave with its lyric in your eyes the lattice of my dream,
entranced by my kiss the eyelids you would never close.
When my garden was drenched by the eventide hue,
your beauty embellished the beguiled boughs like a dove.
The sapphire patina within the unfurled iris buds grew,
glistened in your eyes with the lilting luster of true love.
When drifting water of the river Hebrus murmurs
a heartrending cry surges from the bottom of the river,
and when this cry reaches the midsummer night’s sky
the stars echo and a lyre in the constellation by Zeus’ throne
plays sad music. And when tone adds pathos to deepen the darkness,
a nocturnal bird soars in the dark air, too, singing a sad song over
a grave in Libethra.
The reason the river weeps with a plaintive requiem is,
not because Erebus is too far or Styx is too wide,
but the stern ferryman denies Orpheus’ passage
to netherworld where he once passed with the crowds of the dead.
Although he once made the Furies cheeks wet with tears,
won a Proserpine’s sympathy and made Hades himself gave way,
why Orpheus has to cry a heartrending cry over Eurydice again
with his plaintive tuned lyre and song of touching story of his beloved wife?
It’s because he couldn’t cross Styx for second time.
He cried through the weeks of sleepless nights,
regretting why he turned his face back to assure
Eurydice followed, and therefore, heard her last cry of farewell.
He called Eurydice’s name for the weeks of agonizing days and
nights without food stretching his arms in air as if trying to hold her,
though she is not there.
Since his second farewell to his beloved wife on the dark and steep passage
of Erebus, Orpheus played his lyre and sang sad songs unceasingly. He sang
to tell his regretful experience on the way to this world at Erebus to the rocks
with melancholic but touching tunes, he chanted an account of the tragic life
he underwent with a gloomy but moving sound to the trees.
A viper, therefore, struck Eurydice with its sharp fangs again,
a horror that of the Maenads’ desire to capture Orpheus
tore him limb from limb.
And when the river murmurs, Orpheus’ limbs fell in water
parted from his body call to one another wishing to come in one again,
Orpheus’ keenness to see his beloved Eurydice grows more and more.
The poet dreams, and with a simple glance
at trees or sky or at a mountain spring,
begins to write, endeavors to enhance
each sight of beauty with imagining.
He paints midsummer as a day of gold,
the song of birds at twilight as the tune
for his beloved, whose aspect is extolled
and likened to the splendor of the moon.
At times, his heart is pained. It seems that doom
pursues him in that chasm where he grieves.
He finds he still must write. . . and there may bloom
sweet wistful roses on his journal’s leaves.
Though meager be his assets, he bequeaths
to us a treasure with the words he breathes.
For "A Poet's Worth" Poetry Contest