Long Pansy Poems
Long Pansy Poems. Below are the most popular long Pansy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pansy poems by poem length and keyword.
This gypsy soul is on the road
It leaves castles far behind
It abandons ghostly mist
which sabotages the caravan of life
It passes along the mountainside
by golden hay fields where daises bloom
By streams of waters which sweeps a withered rose
towards the decayed lumber fume
This gypsy soul is on the road from Edinburgh to Loch Lomond
against high winds,against the rain,against aquatic monsters of pain
This gypsy soul is on the road to the woodlands of your heart
where I would camp inside your tent as our blissful thoughts impart
This gypsy soul within myself and all the woman in me
would wantingly await your fingertips to compose soft pastels'fantasy
The smell of early coffee then fills our empty cups
The song of the cicada would echo in the shrubs
And as the chimney smoke drift sideways in the breeze
as warm dappled light filters through purple pansy leaves
The pressing of my lips would leave their crimson mark below your sun-kissed cheek
My arms would cling around your once muscular physique
We laze upon a hammock strung between two old oak trees
I play on your guitar my hundred melodies
As the incandescent half moon rises above the dusky hue
and orange paper lanternes float high in cobalt blue
We'd chase the opalescent glow of a million firefly
You'd be able to touch me before last embers die
This gypsy soul is on tne road in search to be set free
Across bridges on a journey,your compass -my destiny.
This is a repost of a poem I've written the 30th of April 2014
The melody was soothingly refreshing, coming from the east.
Do you hear it? I asked the others, including an ugly wildebeest.
It’s the fern wheel, he said, acting terrified of the Zen-like tune.
He lumbered off to do some Halloween howling at the moon.
I had forgotten what a pansy wansy this dandy can be.
I looked at the rose bush and said “How pathetic is he?”
The rose bush shut her eyes and shushed me in a hot way.
She wanted to hear the fern wheel’s song over his ugly bray.
Seriously I said, is that really just a common fern wheel?
Not ordinary in any kind of way, she replied. Here is the deal.
The fern wheel was transmogrified from the good witch of the north.
I could tell you more about it, she said and so forth.
“My Cousin Joan’s going to let Danny stay with her in Toronto, Honey.”
“Toronto? What the holy hell are you talkin’ about, June? Danny’s just finished college. He’s not going anywhere. What--he’s a draft dodger now?"
“It’s all arranged, Sam. Our son’s going to be drafted. He’ll be sent to Viet Nam. He might get himself killed!"
“Damn it all to hell! I raised a draft dodger. He’s going to be some pot head hippy in Canada. Over my dead body he is! Did that pansy friend of his, Lester-that long-haired loser brainwash him? What’s going on here?”
“Don’t scream at me, Honey. It’s his decision. His lottery number’s 38. The cut-off was 100!"
“He can get the holy hell out of this house and never come back, as far as I’m concerned, that commie coward!”
“Stop, Sam, please. You’ll wake up Bobby. You’ll scare him."
“Let Bobby wake up! Let him learn what a loser his brother is. And what are you crying about?"
“It’s the holidays. All the Christmas songs and the lights. This ruins everything. I feel ill!”
“Then Merry Christmas—Feel better now?”
12/9/22
THIRD RUNNER UP!
Dialogue Proficiency Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire
smokestacks, waffles, pansies, people,
and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
PURPLE PANSIES
A pensive-pansy bouquet,
vibrant diffusion of lot,
Borscht belt, Catskill-sunshine core,
platonic petals of thought.
Purple pansies are childhood,
of God’s wide-eyed creation,
innocence in royal cloak,
a roused imagination.
Deft purpleness recollects,
not grandma’s frilly feast days -
a sixty’s mod Easter dress,
painted nails of royal praise.
Fresh fairyland apogee
o’er green-sea, circular bowl.
Petal’s shades of light and dark -
a poet’s purple, vibrant soul.
6/1/2022
Purple Flowers Poetry Contest
used Rhymezone and HMS
CHILDREN OF SPRING
Spring spreads out her parasol
In April, June – always May;
Invites the children of her garden
Come with her to play today.
Yellow Daffodil stands straight up
Announcing Spring with his horn;
Spring arriving! See! Spring now here!
Smile! Not the time to look forlorn.
Jonquil quite often mistaken
For her cousin – bright Daffodil;
So she spreads out her sunny dress
To smile upon the windowsill.
Quick! Open up the garden gate
In rushes Poppy - loves the sun;
Leaves to wander rolling hills
Wears orange bowties – riot of fun.
Tulips gather in the garden
From a land so far away,
With wooden shoes and silver skates,
Sunbeams and rainbows want to play.
Primrose wears her best party dress
Ruffles of purple, pink or gold
She laughs at storms of ice or snow –
Little child but oh so bold.
Thoughtful Pansy sends out greetings
To her playmates missed in the snow;
Her sweet face mirrors her feelings
Open smile sets her eyes aglow.
Bachelor Button – proud as punch –
To be the season’s sparkling bling;
Blue as the sky – rolling oceans –
Sapphire gem – the heart of Spring!
Come back sleepy Forget-Me-Not
So shyly blinking through Spring rain
Laughing when you sly wink at us
From sleep we welcome you again.
Sweet Pea clambers up a trellis –
Tomboy – climbing her delight -
Explores plain, old, wooden fences
Trailing blossoms – lavender – white.
Lily of the Valley child –
Graceful arms wear bracelets of bells;
Listen closely when the wind blows
Springtime’s story in song she tells.
Many children Spring brings to the garden –
Too many to mention all here;
But in her bright smile she pardons -
Loves rhymes and cheer so like Shakespeare.
5/4/20
Spring Rhymes Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
The red pansies pushed forward to smile at the photographer.
She saw it happen, but said nothing, for she loved red.
The purples rolled their eyes; they were used to red’s arrogance.
That’s okay, the photographer told them. I will feature you next time.
We’ll see about that! Red thought. Yellow stayed in the background.
Sherry Anne will come over here in a bit, they thought.
She always does.
And she did, of course.
Each pansy was given an opportunity to shine.
And sparkle, and glitter, and wow in a photo moment.
I wish I had hands, red pansy said.
She wanted to take selfies of herself.
Mist veil in haze, winter unwraps,
A rejoice raptures in reverie of spring.
Amber gold touch of Midas perhaps,
Bees and frilled petals in amorous cling.
A mystical harmony of beauty serene,
Magnolia and tulip, hum for butterfly.
Honeysuckle vines, squirrels in between,
Yellows and purple, rose cheeks feel shy.
Like peacocks bloom, begonia and pansy
Palettes of color, lush in vibrant green
Perfumed breeze...cadence lily in daisy
Petunia with marigold, in rollick are seen.
On canvas of soil, lyric paints a picture,
Sprouting prose...to poetry and sonnet.
Sowing seeds of love, Man nurtures Nature
In pride of his sweat, plants glitter on it.
The harvest of hoe, conjures a treasure
In Glory of Garden, life is born to grow.
Landscape of spring, is short-lived pleasure
Maxim of death,.. in summer.., do they know?
20th February 2019
Submitted to Garden Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Beautiful! Sparkly winter magic. Icy crystals smiled at us. A cheer went up.
Children who refused to wake up for school arrived on Deadman’s Hill by seven. Happy laughter. Did you eat breakfast? Me neither.
We dragged our sleds up the hill, delighting in the wet snow,
Snowball snow, we called it, the slickest snow possible when tamped down
A few times by a bunch of children piled like puppies on sleds.
Our laughter resounded down the valley as we bumped into each other.
Scarves and gloves were lost. Our faces were red, especially our cheeks.
Ouch! My cousin hollared. Ouch! OUCH! Owwwwwcccccchhhhhhhhhh!
What had started out great was turning into Armageddon!
It is the snow! Someone shouted. The new flakes have biting teeth!
I felt a fresh bite on the tip of my right ear. I slapped the biting snowflake.
Caught him in my hand. He stuck out his tongue at me;
I grabbed him by his collar bone and shook him hard.
What are you doing? I demanded. He started to cry.
Don’t hurt him! Yelled my pansy Cousin’s wimpy neighbor.
Even my mother gets tired of his ridiculous niceness.
I will take you to my commander if you let me go he said.
The commander made all the biting snowflakes leave,
Because he wanted his son back before I shook him to death.
Written: 11-14-2018
Contest: Cool Writes and Imagination
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
I awoke and wiped moon dust from my eyes.
Kissed an ancient tabby cat in the morning light.
The sun found the slats in between his lives.
Nine A.M I gathered just enough ambition.
To peel an orange and crack an egg.
Went outside to water withering pansy faces.
They whispered to me that I was very late.
It hadn't rained for 9 1/2 days.
When I was young, they spoke of another ice age.
Now they say the planets are quickly burning away.
Who are "the they" anyway?
I stared into the mailbox's mouth.
It's going to be a fine day. No bills popped out.
I waved to the gray-faced neighbor.
He arthritically waved back.
He's got one foot in the grave.
I'm amused by his smiling butt crack.
I went back inside just before I burned.
Rid the house of egg bits and cat turds.
Tabby tap-danced around my grey turkey legs.
It was about time for an old man's nap.
Dreaming of tabby cats, nuclear annihilation
and a red-haired siren that never came back.
Inroduction"Wonder Woman" was a cartoon character I read a girl. She
was super strong and handled huge problems! She was awesome!
I have always wanted to be her! Strong, with those groovy boots, great
hair and outfit.yes, and those boots?
I never wanted to look like some Presidents wives, With dorkydresses
and pill box hats, running into churches.
I have always wanted to be a wild thing,.Strong and able to handle big
issues on my own. And, I have gone just that?
Those little girl ideas turned out to be a reality. Not a pansy am I and
not owned by anyone.
Solving big issues, not hiding behind an apron and unafraid to be political.
Even here~~ women are in closets. Do they live on the moon?
Under a mushroom? Or in a fairie palace?
Where are they? I nearly faint when I find a fearless poet.
That's just how my life turned out. As I first wanted it to be!
Men are not the leaders they think they are. Some very boneheaded
women leaders in the USA, acting like members of the Third Reich.
Men, too.!
We can make an impact with our poetry. It's needed!!!
Time to stop playing gardeners and bird watchers only!
Freedom has to be fought for. Poetry is a medium.
Being afraid to express yourself because of what others think?
That is why......I am..
Calling All Wonder Women!