Long Plant Poems
Long Plant Poems. Below are the most popular long Plant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plant poems by poem length and keyword.
Wondrous family bond
Braced by love-anchored parental duty
There children abide in safeguarding refuge
Sweet home I witness as hedge, protectively beauteous.
Along lovers’ lane welcoming friends and couples
Delighted while feasting in grand magical moment
Near water garden where I’m jubilantly settled
I cheer up every one as featured park's special showcase.
Being the steadfast gracious frontal fence
Of a clinic for wellness and healthcare
I’m exposed to humanity’s varied realities…
...What matters most is vibrant life shared with others.
By my blessed roles not just as an ornamental plant
I, bougainvillea, praise and thank God…
Fulfilling with elegance my existence-radiance:
Giving glory and honour to Him-my Creator.*
*Revelation 4:11 Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.
March 26, 2019
11th place, "Bougainvillea" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish; judged on 4/19/2019.
Ye depend ‘pon earth,
At no time does Earth to thee,
Why O man this mirth?
It’s thy sole haven,
A lesson if ye listen,
This earth’s not for fun.
Forget thy border,
Stand not like mere beholder,
Do what’s in order.
Me, mine, thee nor thine,
To all Mother Earth’s divine,
Think what for all’s fine.
O plant seeds on earth
Ere ye do a moment’s mirth,
Think what’s for her worth.
Poor Earth’s on fire, which,
Thou art preparing to ditch,
Art thou an ostrich?
No inheritor
Thou art, nor an ancestor,
But thy child’s debtor.
So walk ‘pon earth soft,
Ye have not else to adopt,
Act, act and more oft.
If trees should bequeath
Wi-Fi, ye would plant many,
Too bad, ye must breathe.
Not a passenger
On Spaceship Earth, part of crew,
Act not a stranger.
Join Nature to paint,
O sit not aloof a saint,
Set a precedent.
_____________________________
Haiku |08.04.2023| Earth
Poet’s Note: April 22nd. Today is the Earth Day that reminds us: Earth’s still well its worth. Don’t ditch it for any other planet. None is half as worth as Earth. And time is running out, these Haikus desperately seem to say.
The Nomad
Some men are nomads, not meant to plant roots.
No families here, just more dust on boot.
Wander aimlessly, seeking our sun.
No multiplying, hollow be our fun.
We merely observe, their scans myopic.
Yield gestating dreams, we’re cursed not to fit.
Home yet to exist, for the Nomad King.
Carry it on backs, into wind we sing.
Lovers now shadows, their own story told.
No place for us left, our chapter’s been sold.
Memories of love, punches holes through souls.
Where do we have left? Twice found, both grew cold.
So the Nomad roams, restlessly through dark,
Flashes of little things, kids smiling in parks.
Testify our loss, that’s the Nomad’s lot.
In both life and death, we stir empty pots.
Shimmer white cottage, glowing picket fence,
So simple, easy? Never dreamed of less.
Though a Nomad’s dream, but an awful blight.
He gives it his all, yet lose every fight.
Another goodbye, so used to them now.
They get still to dream; we must forget. How?
The Nomad yet walks, through desert and ice.
Thinking of breakfast, family sounds nice.
Ice does grow colder, in newly sealed heart.
Feelings fade softly, hollowing this part.
For love rarely stays, it drifts and it fades.
Mere daydreams for fools, delusional haze.
Obtuse thoughts of noose, perhaps he craves death?
Stick around for now, walk a bit more yet.
Perhaps if he keep, forward movement more,
The Sunset will strike, malformed as a whore.
The Nomad ponders, as I won’t plant roots,
Is destiny set, falling from a roof?
Apotheosis, of the spotless mind,
Perfection of self, so rare that to find.
The heat inside builds, Icarus my son,
Revel in yourself, with haste you’ll be done.
Let her fly away; roam bird, fate yet waits.
Story’s written now, epilogue of pain.
The Nomad nods, accepts; packs his sack and leaves,
Waits until eyes fade, in darkness he grieves.
Hibernate for now, sleep for a while.
Forge fresh a new mask. Don’t forget to smile.
The Nomad chews air, he sucks dry a bone.
Wistfully he sighs, ‘Hold me, I miss home.’
Spring, Where Are You?
The cold wind is blowing,
with no sunshine showing,
and now it is snowing!
Spring, where are you?
Plant life should be teaming
new stems and buds streaming,
yet, Spring is daydreaming
midst the cold brew.
We've held off our planting,
no seedlings transplanting.
More nor'easters ranting!
What can we do?
This Winter's still fighting
the Springtime we're sighting...
long days, the sun lighting
flowers in view.
Cold Winter days clinging,
as Spring's out there winging;
our hopeful hearts singing,
let Spring come through!
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Early March 2019
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 03/02/2019
Tesla what in the hell did they do to you.
They stole your ideas and then they left you,
Sitting with nothing they stole your dreams.
They took your gadgets and your machines.
Edison admitted he should not have let you go.
The biggest mistake that he would ever know.
At the 1893 Worlds Fair your talent shined.
When you lit up the world with your light design.
You and Westinghouse were quite a team.
Going to build a Power Plant till gold convened.
The richest man in America he took control.
In this venture J. P. Morgan played the title role.
You had almost 300 patents in your name.
Most of them would be unrecognized with no acclaim.
It would be a few more years before you are known.
For contributions that were your own.
So Mr Nikola Tesla here’s to you.
The fame you would receive you never knew.
I guess better late than never I hope Edison knows.
The spoils of the battle to the victor goes.
He exists in the shade of the mandrake plant,
It is his only passion in this twisted world;
Face down in the dirt- drugged and delirious,
Does not care if he wakes up or who walks by;
Hey man, it is what it is, just keep walking.
Is he alive, better take his pulse, go away,
And in his hallucination, a giant with one eye;
Takes him up and away, to a high nasty place,
Who is he, who was he, of no consequence really;
His family tree is lost in a dream, forgotten.
He comes in and out of warped dreams horrific,
Tears and thoughts of suicide, maybe kill someone;
It seems like a real good idea, but he fights it,
Cause, hey, God hates a coward like him;
He used to play his music, once ..
Yeah, once upon a time, he had some pedigree . .
_____________________________
March 25, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Once He Had Some Pedigree
Copyright Protected, ID 16-771-949-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
Inspiration - Lyrics - God Hates A Coward by Tomahawk
For the contest, Lyrics,
sponsor, Rob Carmack
Sixth Place
Opening a new 2019 calendar,
January unveils an Arctic Wildlife Refuge view
of glaciered mountains
behind a frozen river
surrounded by bedrocks
grey and bleak black
and rusty brown.
The Wilderness Society caption
claims this as our "treasured landscape
that the indigenous Gwich'in people" name,
proclaim?
"Sacred Place Where Life Begins."
Rather than
The same old frigid and barren secular place
where any decent life
could only abruptly end
in hopelessly frozen defeat.
This juxtaposition seems to capture essential compassionate v narcissistic
human destinies of choice.
Both Wildlife Refuge views
could be valid,
but the indigenous birthplace choice
to see opportunity
feels more integratively useful,
more communion sustainable,
resilient, rather than bitterly brittle.
The Dalai Lama teaches,
and presumably practices,
as have other messianic/bodhisattva re-creations,
a distinction between empathic pictures
and compassionate stories.
Empathy may associate with RightBrain feelings
of happiness and despair,
ecstasy, but also cynical disenchantment,
with some Other
past,
present,
future,
human,
animal,
plant,
planet...
Compassion is more about LeftBrain planning
what I, we, cooperatively together
walking in newborn, reborn solidarity
will do to heal wounds, minimize risks,
and more resiliently sustain sacred opportunities
for unborn/reborn future life.
Empathy opens windows,
pictures,
landscapes,
refuges,
sanctuaries toward proactive
cooperative co-passion.
Practiced,
informed,
experienced,
trained,
educated,
supported development of co-responsibility,
green integrity,
Synergetic vulnerability,
matriarchally cooperative wombs
open life to empathy,
co-empathy,
eco-empathy with wounded and therapeutic lifelines,
compassionate rebirth conquering narcissistic pre-death
In 2019,
2020 sharper revision,
and so on.
The Almighty has created me an angel.
The mindlessness in me has changed me a devil.
When I have a beautifully sensitive nose,
Why am I unable to smell a fragrant rose?
My sense of taste has been, preciously marvelous.
I have marvelously turned it highly tasteless.
How my sober, secure, sure sense of soulful sight,
Has turned into dull, dark, dim, dreary deadly light?
My hearing sense seems sound, and sensitively sharp,
Why am I not able to hear my own sharp harp?
Though thousands fall on me like heavy human rocks,
I don't feel their touch or even the rocking knocks.
My mind has, alas, gone very far-far from me,
It has gone beyond control like a drunken monkey.
If I could mindfully sit the morning moment
Meditating the beauty of God's covenant...
If I could eat my food savoring every taste,
Tasting and relishing and knowing every waste...
If I could watch the birds and hear the flowers bloom,
And be one with hard-working honey bees and plume...
If I calm my mind and completely concentrate,
Relaxing and light like saints within levitate...
If I owing my compassion fraternal love,
Make someone feel the compassion of God above...
If I am an innocent immaculate child,
And thus my soul always in purity abide...
If I could feel the feeling when I plant a tree,
The true feeling-full feeling of planting me...
If I could create things than merely copying,
Partake in God's continued act of creating...
If I could manually work hard and sweat well,
Keep healthy and hearty my every little cell...
It's then the mindfulness will make its home in me,
And in that home, God of love will abide with me.
12 June 2021
MINDFULNESS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Ruth’s Choice
Crossroads on a maize and dusty colored road –
Sorrowing eyes look past
Golden days into eyes of tears –
Grieving –
Words swallowed go unspoken
Choices for daughters,
Not born of the same womb,
From a daughter brought here by hunger -
Called now to return
By a well-worn path
To hills of olive trees -
Remain or leave to travel
Where barley fields
Flow with kinsmen’s voices
As the season lifts your hair of cooper fire;
A blessing on the road releases
Silken bonds and wedding vows –
Yet a pledge of faithfulness
Rejoins two hearts to walk together
While one heart, divided by tears, remains
Carrying pictures of these faces
Painted forever in this monument of memory
Pondering the unknown road
Disappearing into a shimmering morning;
This road remembers empty barns –
The way back to the hillsides –
Back to the beginning
Reunited
With faces wearing delight and compassion
To encircle sojourners
Carrying sheaves of retrospection
To plant among the seeds
Of harvest that never left
This soil;
Gather now and glean –
In humble steps behind the harvesters
Then sleep upon the threshing floor
Where love reignites sowing
Seeds in a field left fallow
So an honored name not disappear
As wind blows through the grain
And sings of sons
To change the world.
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet?
Would you love me if I wasn’t a poet?
Writing between the rhymes
Building beautifully a wonder from words
Sculpting skilfully
What in you
A mesmerising mirth stirs..
Would you love me?
As I dip my whole
In the depth of the silence of words
And have you hover
In the width of my world
Impatiently, passionately
Pursuing the pounding of my heart..
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
The realm I reign
Rarely do I take reins
A time, attaining the zenith
Dazzled and dazed on cloud nine
One other time
Lost in the dark of my tower
Seeking sensibility in a hyper sensitivity
And once in a while
Daring dimensions
Deafening fright
Willing to sip
From the ocean of valiant hearts..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t own a magic wand
And the sacred power to wave on words
Weave a fairy tale
Of true love at first sight..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t master the mysteries of words
Compose a meaningful music
With every beat of the word
And paint portraits and landscapes
From the realms of fantasy..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t for you
Mount mountains
Dive seas
Dig caves
Plough lands
Plant trees
Wake the sun to stretch her rays
And brighten the chambers of your heart
And when you crave for a dream
I would for you
Draw a fascinating golden hour view
And choose a rainbow of colours
Just for you
To behold the glow of the twilight..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t erase “memory “ from my glossary
And have you the sole ubiquitous muse
Stop the flow of time
As I have you in my verse and rhymes
And reach for every single word
And turn it into a rare gem!
Just for you!
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Silent One
September 4th, 2023