Long Morning glory Poems
Long Morning glory Poems. Below are the most popular long Morning glory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Morning glory poems by poem length and keyword.
A is for Annie Apple Blossom she buds in the Spring.
B is Betty Baby Breath she's such a dainty thing.
C is for Miss Candy Tuft pink-cheeked with hair of gold.
D is Debbie Dandelion who never does what she's told!
E is for Easter Lily she's as white as snow.
F is Francie Fairy Bells who ring-a-lings where she goes.
G is for Ginny Gardenia perfumed oh so sweet.
H is Holly Hocks a Tomboy, she has two left feet!
I is for Inca Lily dressed in colors light.
J is Joanie Jump-Ups, Johnny's little sister bright.
K is for Katie Kangaroo Paw her nails are painted red.
L is Lila Lady Slipper who stays too long a bed.
M is for Merry Morning Glory dressed in pale blue.
N is Nancy Narcissus who trumpets ""toodeloo!"
O is for Olivia the Ox-Eyed Daisy dolly.
P is Patty Petunia, her pancakes are a folly.
Q is for Queenie Anns Lace her dresses all have ruffles.
R is Ruby Rose-a-lee who almost always shuffles.
S is for Sandy Snap Dragon tall and thin. petite.
T is Tallulah Tulip her clothes are so off beat!
U is for Uma Umbrella Flower, sweet and sunny.
V is Vicky Violet she plays with Easter bunnies.
W is for Wendy Water Lily she'd rather swim than dance.
X is Xana Xmas Tree in Winter she's entrancing.
Y is for Yani Yarrow, a girl so bonny fair
Z is Zelda Zinnia, she pinning Yani's hair.
All our girls are fine and strong, so beautiful and brave
Not a single one of them would think to misbehave!
Bio: Wise woman.
A paradise of nature eloquent flowers bouquets sculpted by a spiral maze:
that has yellow, orange, pink, red roses with a rich redolent scent phase
Lilies, lilacs tulips, daisies, daffodils, buttercups of bountiful blooms;
all have enchanted scents of fragrant perfumes to sniff then to choose
Love interludes does ensue with varying and vibrant exotic love cues;
red, white roses and purple azaleas and orchid bed gardens muse
Summer countryside morning-glory flowers are new to you:
wildflowers consisting of colorful shades and natural hues
Pluck pretty prime peonies, pincushions and pansies flowers;
this to deployed plentifully in a pretty precocious bridled shower
Rhododendrons, impatiens, tulips violets are lavish lush tributes:
flowers are a botany study and nature's romance "love divine institutes"
"Escribed here are the Floral flowery poetic tributes," a Floral salute!
Regardless of whom is…
Aching, my pen moves, lines hold in place
words found wandering about my heart
Ink dries with tear drop accuracy, streaked
forming in versed collections of envisioned truth
From the gallery they call, teeth bared
ready to rip the pain from any pore,
handing down punishment, sentences
that do not fit the stanza
Still I write, poetry,
combing thoughts of fine woven moments
presented in decorative motifs
with strawberry jam and blue button accents
Dangling in the midst of green tailed hate,
baiting the wide mouths of insistence steadily
challenging belief and validity
with a tarnished tea spoon IQ
Fingers tremble behind rolled down sleeves,
three-quarter dreams fall head first into
basement personalities dancing in
ugly nightmare robes, sneering
And I scribble, pristine fonts of flowery flow,
enchanted lines of wisteria wrapped creations
Weaving along vine covered fences
even as eyes peer through morning glory gates
I know this fear, you feel it too, the watching,
from every corner, tiny squares of horrific masks,
eyes floating in mud garden baths
dripping blood the color of…the color of, well, blood
But I must write, hoping you see, praying you read,
sending these phrases on braided thread
spun of love, stitched of affection, patterned desire
regardless of whom is…
I recall it clearly. It was at August’s end,
and I was at the end of sweet sixteen.
Something would transpire soon that would transcend
the beauty of my summering and a world of green.
A dark-eyed stranger casually stepped into the scene.
Summer’s heat still lingered in the air
when I noticed his snatched glimpses aimed at me.
Those glimpses soon turned into a stare
in three days’ time when alone with him I’d be,
gazing back into exquisitely expressive eyes of ebony.
Like autumn leaves changing to warmer hues,
I was changing too - falling . . . falling . . .
never knowing decades later, he would be my muse
even though I’d lost him – that young man so enthralling,
Here I am; even now, his sweet soul I’m recalling.
He was my Blue Aster, my Morning Glory;
my early, alluring autumn romance;
my best and my brightest love story -
that boy that had me in a trance from my first glance
when I knew without a doubt I had to take a chance.
For a wondrous while, in his eye I was a gleam.
But September ended. Oh, melancholy ache!
To know that I was living but a dream
and that to cold reality I would awake,
yet September’s reverie I’ll not forsake.
A songbird sings of morning glory,
twittering homage to Dawn's first light.
And ebony shadows fade to shade,
as they lose the protection of Night.
The sun rises from a scarlet shroud,
draping itself in a golden hue.
And climbing above Earth's eastern rim,
Sol paints the sky a robin egg blue.
Blood tints the clouds cotton candy pink,
as the heart of Night is pierced by Dawn.
And color is soon fully restored,
while dew sprinkles glitter on the lawn.
Butterflies and bumblebees awaken,
as a new day slowly fills with sound.
And Hope renews with every sunrise,
it's not lost; it's waiting to be found.
It was a sizzling summer of electric blues and vibrant hues
in a garden full of flowers inked in plushy spanking reds
a wall of buttress wood splashed with vines of green
a purple morning glory with a touch of dewy sheen
over by a mossy pond a mandarin duck of orangey blue
The sun turns amber like a big fat shimmering coin of gold
in a sky that often blushes fuchsia, pink, by a cloud's enfold
emerald blades of grass behind a white striped skunk
a gradient shade of orange, from a Siberian chipmunk
here by the royal blue bench, a vibrant peacock fans bold
It is a season of rainbow colored rain and red electric trains
in a terrace full of trellises of white, roses bright as Spain
blooming with vigor inside my bright oasis
happily connected to a Revlon kiss,
of cherry berry merry, on a girl named Mary Lou Fontaine
pernicious weeds a metaphor
for wild growth inside
my mind and soul
dandelion mating with brambles
wild cats’ rampant Rubus
grinding teeth and thorns
reason guides the trowel
for emotions to follow
while thistles whistle their good bye
and morning glory says its farewell
metamorphosis as pruning shears
and loppers attack a lopsided view
of what is and is not
energy about in the Universe
and sometimes it passes through me
elates where doom had resided
ragwort falls by the wayside
groans as it passes out of life
nettles give up their sting
and the compost heap grows
ready to nourish another season
of better days to come
as long as my rake stays in tune
with hard toil and soil
I actually quite like
dirt passing through my fingers
don’t mind callus and blisters
to paint a map on my skin
life can be rugged
but there are lemon trees
in my overgrown patch
and I’m ready to taste
suck and feel
what is on offer
Thunderstorm crashing and hurricanes thrashing,
Tossed and torn by the weather that we try to navigate together,
Window pane mist lets fall the first morning dew, symbolism of the tears that fall from you,
Fingers just touching tip to tip, desperate to hold off the final goodbye kiss,
Defiantly we refuse to quit, there is so much more for us than this,
Down and outs, upon the floor, yet courage is our foot in fates closing door,
Morning glory shines so bright, the floodlights on this lovers fight,
To reach out for you and find you gone, do I have that fear? not once, not that one.
Lady luck forgot our names, but that did not mean we were out the game,
Snakes eyes, a roll of the dice, you're the only sure bet I would make in my life,
My comrade, my lover, my partner in crime, forever united time after time,
I may have regrets at the end of my life, but never my darling that I made you my wife,
So onward and upward our fight still goes on, it's sure been a battle, but hell its been fun.
“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.”
– Victor Hugo
Amassed in my garden are Azalea and gladiola blooms of gold
Bird of Paradise in purple and orange, wear their colors so bold
Crepe Myrtle trees offer shade when the sun is high in the sky
Daffodils display their faces... their charm is pleasing to my eye
Each morning I'm greeted by bougainvillea, flowering on its vine
Fairy statues along paths where ruby throated hummingbirds dine
Gardenia line my walkways with a sweet scent to tempt honeybees,
Hovering among red hibiscus, swaying in the bower upon a breeze
In abundance are Irises, trumpeting that Spring has at last begun
Jasmine scents my garden, planted where they get full sun
Keeping cool is easy, for beneath twin willows I've hung a swing
There, I'm quite content listening to songbirds trilling as they sing
Magnolia will soon open to reveal their petals of purest white
Nature surrounds me in my sanctuary from dawn til moonlit night
Oleander are a riot of color within green foliage, standing tall
Pleasantly charming are the climbing roses upon my garden wall
Quite peaceful is this refuge where I spend hours writing poetry,
Reading romance novels while drinking glasses of sweet tea
Sharing my hideaway is something I very seldom want to do,
Though I'd gladly invite you to see my hydrangea in shades of blue
Under a trellis of Morning Glory, I've Bromeliads in pots of clay
Verbena grows near the bird bath where tiny sparrows play
White and lavender wisteria, hang in bunches that look like grapes
Xanthic blooms of yellow, capture my vision as daylight escapes
Yet, I know the beauty of my garden will not be lost in the night
Zealous fireflies will swarm, attracting mates with their glowing light
May 21, 2022
ABCEDARIAN CONTEST
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Journey Journal Page
OLDE SJI BRAS BASAH ROAD, 1971
By Leon Enriquez
Morning Glory
Florals on a fence
Violet blooms beauty
Plain in sparkling sense
Olde school field
By Bras Basah Road
Boys and football yield
To dawn’s purple load
~~~~~~~~~
Dawn now brings
Such sparkling creepers
Olde tints of fond flings
Such transient flowers
We recall
Days of yesterday
Sounds of lost footfalls
Echoes of school days
~~~~~~~~~
For a while
Till that harsh sun burns
Faded dying smiles
To the earth return
Brief your tale
On the dusty road
Yet your truth avails
Of brief surreal loads
~~~~~~~~~
Now here we
Go on our way there
To visit and see
To be yet nowhere
Old men think
Upon times now gone
Laughter on verge brink
Olde days and lost dawns
~~~~~~~~~
Lost school daze
Dribbling on that field
Our cheeky fond craze
Olde time humour yields
For a while
You and I and all
Taste feel and try smiles
To pile sweet and gall
~~~~~~~~~
Olde school grounds
Memory lane thoughts
New cityscape bounds
Olde souls recall lots
Lost yet found
Olde echoes call out
Floral fence abound
Hear sunny glee pout
~~~~~~~~~
Here by grace
Each to each olde souls
Journey quest we trace
Incomplete yet whole
By the way
A restless wit primes
Just another day
Grateful for our time
~~~~~~~~~
Those days tint
Our old boys’ refrain
Violet floral hints
On the rail fence strain
Morning Glory
Let’s not live in vain
But seed love’s fancy
As light sparkles plain
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 January 2024
Singapore