Long Pansies Poems
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She removed the drops of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her garden glove, leaving nature’s makeup in its place, a small streak of brown soil. As I stared at her, she put her hand above her eyes in a salute to block the sun. With a quizzical look she said, “What?” I laughed out loud. “Nothing” I said, lowering my head and shaking it side to side. She extended her arm pointing to the bottom of the yard and proceeded to tell me her plans. I was too busy looking at her to hear the words. My eyes moved from her face tracing along her extended arm. In the sunlight, golden downy hairs glistened on her forearm. Small blue rivulets of vein flowed across the back of her hand, curving around tiny islands of age spots. At night she always used the latest cream, rubbing eagerly in hopes of erasing them. She never could read a map or she would have known, Landmarks define a territory. It is our familiarity with landmarks that make each place a home. At the tip of her outstretched finger I stopped, reluctant to continue, as my eyes would have to leave her. At her insistence, I forced myself. “You aren’t even looking.” she said impatiently. I responded with a half-truth, “I am looking.”
She taught me things I never knew about her garden. I never noticed her begonias remained in bloom into October. Her marigolds, in yellow spotted pots, were planted just for fun. Luxurious lupines leaned into squat hostas that hoarded space, bleeding hearts were all over the place. Beautiful tender crocuses were gone too soon. Pelted by early hail, stoned to death for their loveliness by angry, jealous gods. Vibrant coleus leaves, daisies, lilacs, and hollyhocks. Roses, pansies and morning glories, impatiens, all with different stories. Petunias, violets, and daffodils sharing space in flats or on hills. She introduced them to me one by one. I made a friend of each and when her the tour was done, I left her resting in the sun.
Like her flowers, she was looking toward Heaven, unaware that being with her I always felt as though I was already there.
Smile, O spring, smile, upon crimson arc of morning
Grinning through willows filtering golden sunbeams,
Sparkling from eyes of dew, glinting realms pristine,
Reveling through prairies, giggling tenor of streams,
Glistening core of purple-iris, soul of flaxen-pansies.
Waltz, O spring, waltz, shimmying blushing peonies,
Meandering with butterflies chasing nectar carefree,
Bouncing moods of bees from tree to flowering tree,
Elated strumming rhythms fluttering woody-foothills,
Grooving with meadows, humming lyrics of winds.
Sail, O spring, sail, rowing glee of seas-undulating,
Buoyant on spirits rushing from rivers, tributaries,
Traversing through terrains, once frigid, decaying,
Zealous now to venture, to rollicking side of being,
Surfing waves questing summer of sandy beaches.
Dream, O spring, dream, of mythical northern lights,
Glimpsed from garden of sumptuous white gardenias,
Through womb of dawn, hued in lavender of lilacs,
Preening beauty of flora, scintillating dawning aura,
As yonder of skies shimmers motifs of green aurora.
Let us compose a sonata that captures the essence of spring's repose.
With each note and chord, let nature's beauty unfold,
As we embark on a musical journey, untold.
In the graceful dance of a short-lived lily magnolia,
A crescendo of chorus unfolds, delicate and ephemeral,
Petals adorned in hues of pink and white,
Whispering secrets of beauty and delight.
With each gentle breeze, their melody sways,
A symphony of fragrance, their love displays,
Their essence lull, a fleeting moment in time,
A chorus of life, so serene and sublime.
The spring assembles an ensemble of musicians,
The thrush and songbird trill with delicate notes,
Tulips line up with trumpets, Daffodils sway with violin,
Wildflowers dance in the melody, cheering up the Spring arrival.
Golden rays, sunflowers enchanted,
Pansies, trillium, hellebore, hyacinth gleam,
Strings, brass weave like flowers in bloom,
Nature's resume in a portrait, glorious theme.
The gentle patter of raindrops on rose petals and leaves,
A rhythmic percussion, a soothing reprieve.
The melody weaves through the showers' embrace,
As nature quenches its thirst, at a gentle pace.
And finally, the grand finale, a chorus of life,
As nature awakens from its slumber, free from strife.
The sonata reaches its climax, triumphant and grand,
Embracing the beauty of spring, throughout the land.
I remember the home where I was a child,
The sweet little window in my bedroom;
It had a lovely view of mothers garden,
Where roses, violets and pansies grew.
And over there in that shady corner,
The swing beneath the old maple tree;
In this child's eyes it was so beautiful,
I thought it would last forever and ever.
The flowers and garden have vanished now,
How tender to this heart those scenes;
I recollect the walks in deep tangled woods,
And a tranquil pond where swans glided.
Me and father walking hand in hand talking,
And mother waiting on a picnic blanket;
Oh, with a quivering breath and a throbbing,
I must leave this scene for they are dead.
I can only visit these far-off scenes of my life,
When I am the child who dwells within;
And through her eyes, the eyes of little child,
Can I go where I was so happy.
_______________________
August 30, 2015
Verse
For the contest, Through the eyes of a child, sponsor, Silent One
The Fool sat listening as her sweet words filled the air
each nuanced syllable sending chills through his body,
each glance cast upon him, a moment of eternal ecstasy.
Does this fool not hear me, the Queen thought to herself.
I’ve spoken in plain speech that even a fool should understand,
If not my words than my glares should make it clear.
She speaks to me he thought to himself,
but how can this be, she is the Queen
and I, with nothing, am but a mere worthless, meaningless Fool.
Just because I smile at him on occasion, he thinks there is more.
Yes, his hugs are warm, and candies are sweet,
but he must know he means nothing to me.
Pansies, roses, lilies, all but fading flowers.
Compared to her beauty they pale and hide in the shadows,
but she never refuses them, when I pick them for her she smiles.
More flowers, a sweet gesture, why does he give them to me?
Doesn’t he know this could never be, her lips curl gently.
She looks down at the flowers unable to look into his eyes, fool, she thinks.
I, the lonely Fool, the lonely fool, beneath my smiling mask,
I listen to her words that sting, but feel the warmth of her touch.
I bathe in her beautiful eyes yet feel the pain each time she turns away.
…I am such a fool!
He is a fool, my Fool, he is always there for me, good or bad.
Even in my cruelty he listens, with respect, without judging.
I wish for his happiness. I wish him love, I wish things could be different
…for this caring, beautiful Fool.
12/27/2017
Intruding on old man winter,
His shadow boasting wintery steel
The gray of sorrow, the somber words
Broken pieces of a past
When no one could explain
The music, from time to time, make believe
Dreams, shadows speak
As the silence invades…
Still of night, buried and broken
Pieces of yesterday, a prayer
Seeking the wonder, the grace, the gentle
Of this moment, this day
When spring betrays the flakes,
Leaving the music of hope, a promise
Faith that whatever may be
There is always the miracle of God’s grace
The miracle who says we will see His face
One day we’ll see His face…
Spring bursts in, trespassing
On the wintery dreams,
Feelings blessed by joy and breathing
Spiritual hues, beautiful colors
Of a heart who hears
Not only the pansies, the daffodils
But the cherry blossoms,
The peach and apple tree
The hesitant embrace of a prayer
Softly spoken by souls who know
God is here – so near
In this laughing sun,
In the dewy caress of morn
Reviving the joy
Coloring life in promises
One day, yes one day
We’ll see Him
Face to face
Feel the love in His embrace
Comforted by the warmth
The tender music
A song who heals, restoring
Our faith, our praise
Whimsical tears, trembling
On the silence
A feeling, blessing away
The past, with all its notes
Of winter’s breath,
Tearing away the past
With all its words of doubt
We are one with grace
Who never stops
Believing, we offer Him our prayers
And all the praise
Praise that comes alive
For the heart who believes
In His light, His grace, His Son
The only One who came
To change our lives
And offer hope for a future
Where we can be complete
With everlasting love
Assured that we have Him,
Who is – in all truth – everything!
Summer Host a Jamboree
Summer hosts a party – a JAMBOREE!
Sends out engraved floral invitations
Annual pageant ~ ~ ~ blooms wear filigree
Ruffled pansies…deep purple impatiens.
Poppies perform - these highway troubadours
Butterscotch daisies festoon o p e n roads,
Popcorn blooms BuRsT – celebration’s UP-roar!!!
Music :) merriment :), through coral bells flows.
A fiesta of flowers twirl in jubilees
Dandelion meadows - ^_^ galas of golds
Waves of colors sway in sunflower seas
Carnivals of roses in crimsons u n f o l d s
Coming out party - a lavish $oiree -
So much to celebrate each summer day.
"Snapdragons and Dandy Lions - Part 2"
The day was cooling down
pressing itself close into
the amythest and musk pink early eve
as the eggshell pale blue sky rolled over into
Astor Purple to get ready for sleep.
The Ostrich Ferns rustled,
We’d frightened the Blue Tongue, he’d run back to his lair.
Coming in from the Ocean now
there came a light breeze.
I was looking for four leaf clovers
and Skink eggs but they were to be found nowhere
while she knelt in her rock garden planting
Agapanthas, Gladiolus, Calla Lillies,
Daffodils, Fresias and Pansies -
there were loose bulbs everywhere
and packets of Tulip
and Blue-Eyed Susan seeds.
Sooty, the Black cat sat
and watched with knowing sly eyes
twitched his whiskers, licked a paw on ‘his’ Window Sill,
he looked very wise.
We’d been making Daisy Chains,
she’d placed on our hair like Crowns.
Of course,
3’s always a bad number, it's never neat,
there’d been fights in between – still,
we were her adoring subjects, her princesses and
SHE our beautiful and kind QUEEN.
“Do you know why I love Snapdragons the best?” the QUEEN declared,
“They’re the knights of this garden –
they get a bad rap because of their name.
Look at their faces though,
they’re ferocious not frightened of anything,
great courage they always stand firm.
It’s the blasted Dandy Lions,
well they scare easy,
blow away every time
there’s a storm
and they leave a damned mess”.
She looked at us, and said,
“You’re like those Snapdragons my beautiful girls.
Always stand together.
Always stand firm”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
(1)
"Under the Ivy"/Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/NvKNzyO4wk0
(2)
"Datura"/Tori Amos
https://youtu.be/WX_dwuF-6oY
Autumn's stillness of scarlet and gold dawn
Burst open and wanders upon the lawn.
A graceful butterfly flutters alone
In the garden's foliage and fruit grown,
Under a spreading tree's playful leaves blown.
A special secret the garden does own.
A fairy in a world of magic fed.
Braided crimson pansies crown her small head,
Waves of chestnut hair, the calming wind spread.
A gown of small green leaves and velvet red
Rose petals, sheer gossamer wings outspread.
A small old gold filigreed Celtic cross
Around her neck, tied in green Irish moss.
A shimmer of awe on its lovely face
In love with nature, a childlike sweet grace.
2/18/2023
I love to meander a wildflower meadow
on a warm sunny summer day ...
oh, how the flowers dance and sway
and I stop to pick a bouquet
as daisy, bellflowers and aster say hello
and so lovely are the lupine
they entice like a purple wine
and everywhere the pansies twine
and before me a field aglow like a rainbow
with bright blooms growing in all hues
the gold, the purple, and the blues
colors mingle flow and suffuse
now, I rest in the field where the lovely blooms grow
the marigold, yarrow, wild thyme
and I dream a daydream sublime
on a day in the summertime ...
_____________________
April 01, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Wildflower Meadow
Copyright Protected, ID 04-144-887-01
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Brian Strand Standard
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/04/2022
First Place