Long Nosegay Poems
Long Nosegay Poems. Below are the most popular long Nosegay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nosegay poems by poem length and keyword.
Bloom or bouquet or bunch or bare brief buttonhole,
Fresh or full-blown or nosegay or fresh posy role;
Flowers blossom in saucy slimy silkiness,
Seek them to be the same, is senile silliness.
Red-necked Tanager cannot be Mandarin duck,
Let blue-crowned pigeon be not a Cock-of-the-rock;
Why should Sloth bear resemble the Asian lion,
Blue bull and blackbuck be of their sacred scion...
Why should violate violet from the Rainbow?
Why should waters of rivers always in green flow?
Why should be a dragonfly, like a firefly glow?
Why should bright tigers, like monkeys, gloomy fur grow?
Do not say she's fair; her eyes cattish; hair golden,
Vein greenish; Blood-red; Heart dull or tiger-Bolden;
He is chocolate; Great! What a coco-color!
Cut flesh is whitish! Blood like hers! Physique Splendor!
Sands of sea-shores have so finely shining colors,
Stars have strange colors - flying like royal mullers;
Gardens, Parks, Forests, deserts, coastally global
Each filled with colors sublime fantastic, noble...
Yes, the cosmos is a kaleidoscope. Accept!
Everyone's a unique color in it. Respect!
Kaleidoscopic color, like Artesian, springs,
It's in this kaleidoscope our existence swings.
21 August 2021
Kaleidoscope Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Holly Day Cheer, Oy Vey
Lemme breathe smoke free air, okay
devoid of exhaust from swarm
(bajillion) enroute without delay
Santas Clauses gas guzzling
hybridized motorized sleigh,
coordinating global deliveries,
via GPS devices with weather proof inlay,
nor without the need to be caught unaware
fall out from skies foggy gray
regarding unexpected pellet size droppings
from reindeer unless docile
creatures made out of clay,
on second thought maybe,
I best remain indoors, sing alone in dolce
and secretly lay
in wait for fictitious busy
body, and yell "HAY,"
whose charitable larding
out gifts all the way
around the webbed wide world
purportedly all done for no pay,
gives me reason (with rhyme) to pause,
and be a bit suspicious eh,
cuz there must be some
legally tendered way
hmm...maybe exploitation or unfair
labor laws he doth not betray
heavy set fellow oft
times donning spectacles—tortoiseshell gray
cuffs, white-fur-cuffed red trousers,
or skivvies flying over Bombay
wearing a red coat housing
undoubtedly sweating away
bullets with white fur collar,
now bulletproof in case
he gets trapped in an alleyway,
a red hat with white fur,
topped of with nosegay
and pistol tucked away
black leather belt and boots hide say
animal rights and sweat shop
protesters deem unethical today
so many trappings scream UPDATE
maybe there's apps that
zap from North Pole assay
ying at light speed into electronically
woven into trademark suits made in Uruguay
by natives originally from
Banda Aceh (pronounced as "H" "A")
to completing stitching outfits
in the event oven neigh
unexpected tsu nam may
as tends to happen unpredictably
this time of year wreaking havoc
leaving islanders homeless, dazed and astray.
Japanese Zen Garden
I created this garden for you.
With silent winds and a still heart.
Where radiance unfolds its fragrance,
filled with a sweet nosegay,
I offer you Egyoko-bowls of blessing,
Jewels of wisdom.
As we listen to the koto zither,
Plucks its strings, echoing through
through Bonsai trees,
We feel Fuubutsushi takes hold:
The atmosphere is filled with objects
For your delight while reading haiku.
This invitation is my request to you:
whisper of the lotus, a moonlit pagoda,
Bamboo shades beside flowering sakura.
Cherry blossoms echoing the Jade River
Of ancestral tradition.
While we sit in a kanen moment
under the glowing moon,
The light reflects off a mediating
Samurai statue.
Surrounded by karesansui, the day
landscape that prompts Shizuka,
A quiet calmness.
A still circle resets upon the pond,
And koto tones sing behind the
Wind chimes in the yoake no shijima-
The profound quiet of daybreak-
at the end of the unfolding night
In absolute stillness.
Here, in Kokoro no Niwa-
the garden of the heart, my soul
amongst the forgotten notes,
We share Haru no Neiro:
The melody of spring.
Music is always loved,
every piece that is heard, felt.
And yet I can play none,
not a chord, not a note.
Art is always stunning,
every piece that is studied, beheld.
And yet I can produce none,
not a drawing, not a painting.
A nosegay is always fragrant,
every one that is inhaled, scented.
And yet I draw in no aroma,
not a whiff, not a redolence.
Food is often tasty,
pieces that are chewed, digested.
And yet I feel like none,
not a repast, not even a snack.
The loved are always cherished,
every one that is clung to, kissed.
And yet I have none,
not a darling, not one even held.
Our own selves are always explained,
every fragment that is we.
Yes I have those, even grains, slivers, particles,
but, as you see, not a part of me evokes reason.
(Jul 2022)
I walked into the shaded forest
seeking comfort from my fears.
On a blanket of soft green moss,
I lay down and shed my tears.
I gathered a handful of tiny flowers.
among the bees, who seemed at play.
Was then I saw the flowers wither,
the beautiful blooms of my nosegay.
Bees stopped buzzing; birds flew away.
The tiny flowers, I looked down to see,
in my hand they had begun to die.
"I meant no harm, God, please forgive me."
I frowned upon their fading colors,
as in my hand they continued to wilt.
"God, I've destroyed your creations.
I'm plagued with remorse and guilt."
Torn with grief, on the ground I fell.
In solemn prayer, I bowed my head low.
I heard buzzing; birds sang once more.
Beside me knelt a fawn and mother doe.
She nudged me with her velvet nose.
Beams of light reached through the trees.
They fell upon a patch of tiny flowers.
"God, did you put them here for me?"
Gently, I touched each fragile bloom.
I inhaled their sweet perfumed scent.
I understood His merciful message.
Forgiveness for sins is what He meant.
They were to me, lilies of the field.
A reminder from my Heavenly Father.
That I need not worry over my fears.
He is with me, and he calls me 'daughter.'
Ranks of glossy printed editions
squeezed into a concertina of space.
The acrylic smell of new books
is cordite to my nose.
Then in softer contrast,
the musky ambiance of the old and well-thumbed,
a well used dust on dust-covers.
A tactile nosegay of leather-bound
classics.
Fact or fiction,
all are revelations revealed.
The appeal of the alphabetically ordered,
arrayed in an athenium
of only passing inquiry.
Movies have usurped many of these stories,
as well as Wikipedia factoids, reviews, e-books,
and word of mouth accounts.
I crouch and stretch
in a confined alcove for a few volumes
that have kept their obscure tales
under cryptic wraps.
I could take them home, maybe fill a single shelf;
speed-read my way through,
read the blurbs and the last chapters,
just in case I am ever asked.
But, who feels the hush of future-in-the past?
A rabbit in the bush, his heart when he’d greet
The lover’s smile, at little distance, at the last,
To see that Nature's charms would be so sweet;
With an orange in his hand, or maybe this nosegay
Of tender recollections that would tiptoe,
But, he had been at their date, a man of clay.
And all he’d thirsty see -those eyes of the roe.
Because that orange afternoon’s desire was in debt,
And she -a lady dear, like dressed in the air all:
And golden shoes! -a princess from a fairy tale:
”I cannot stay too much” -a clock of his empty soul.
”I have a problem with my shoes” -and he, so sad,
That quickly, she would add: ”but not so bad.”
The hush of each first love would ever last,
Even with awkward poets belonging to the past.
O dear mother, you have left me, on one of those deep and dark winter nights. When the chilling wind from the northern frozen waste came by the window of
your heart and violently shook it, O dear mother, you left me, stepping on the pile of shattered stars and waning moon
By that same window, I, your daughter is kneeling and praying,
and in this moment of tranquility, and in this moment of darkness,
your care from above stands as tears in your eyes and turns into
the descending starlight and comes to me, who prays with
folding hands while looking up you in the heaven
I am walking by the lake where the poor woman’s enmity
once waved high, I am walking a path by your mind’s lake
where the lapse of time calmed the surging waves,
hence the water is quiet as it can be
For the sound of gentle waves is the lullaby once you sang to me
I, your daughter is, under the soft moonbeam, floating lightly
on the water in the sweet dream where I roam
O dear mother, wet with early morning’s dew,
you are praying for your daughter. And, I, your daughter,
present a nosegay of white carnation on your folded knees, and sob
Am I allowed to court you with many a lovely look,
Like Paris throwing an apple for you, my reader?
Sweet Fancy`s Fairy, sitting by this dear stanza- brook,
Am I allowed some pretty nothings for you, my reader?
The butterfly of happiness will fly from our tender book
To find a reason and a certitude, for you, my reader;
I know you know all poets starve for any merry look
I hold the rainbow and an arrow, for you, my reader;
You don`t remember when so fool this verse I took
To lie the hope in love with love, for you, my reader.
This wonder drop of the first light I still wear before fall:
It was at very first beginning as word, for you, my reader.
This poem of our age in hope alluring beauty may call
The noble thrill of good tomorrow for you, my reader;
Thy forehead resting on my shoulder, a picture by Chagall:
This lie becomes true favorable look, for you, my reader.
Is your smile the only prize a poet took? Then let be all;
But many wonders are still possible for you, my reader.
And here, YOUR NAME I put, while writing my Ghazal:
A nosegay of dreams, a tender touch for you, my reader.
Cresento Canta
Applique and Vellium
Whoo :dew, dah :dew-ah :dew wee:------Ooh!
Do you: Ah-wee ooh we? I do!
You know where I'm going with this
Do you: Baby do You? She say Baby I do!
Seems care free and happy
Dew ghoo say ah ooh wee-wee
Everlasting to everlasting that's you and me
A certain Cadence and certain kinda respect
aint what you thought it would be
people try to make you put it into words
Zoop doop borden pizz Baby that's what I heard
How it use to be and how you wish it was
there be times when I won't be in the mood to rang-dang doo
Where you gonna go
Tell me what you're gonna do
Find somebody to love somebody we gotta keep our love true
Applique and Vellum
Nosegay, bouquet, garland or Pomander decor
Naked icing, fondant or ganache the center peice
Crudite and Canape Our sit down Dinner