Long Rhododendrons Poems
Long Rhododendrons Poems. Below are the most popular long Rhododendrons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rhododendrons poems by poem length and keyword.
A collaboration with Kim van Breda - honored Kim
I've tossed some dreams
into corners
where they sit rusting -
dissected spare thoughts
for a restomod old body
smartly attired with
polished imperfections
swum life's streams
through currents
undulating promises
the color of sandstone
desert miles, turreted
rhododendrons, watered
slips off the extreme
thrown mortified moments
over the fence where
sophistication hid ,then
disguised what still is
numerous rooms,
dust gilded mirrors
flaking walls and trunk
decadence, borderline
decaying memories
of dazed indifference
garnering
no hitters pitched
on dream fields
where egos never bled
and superman never died;
pink tutu skirts wrapped
in the dust of past bright
alighted reminiscence
suspended in stage fright
pirates that held back
on black eye patches,
standing up against
their sick bullying;
tightfisted, shaken
clenched teeth hidden,
beneath awkward smiles
the nights wore down my
introspectiveness
while quicksand roses
reluctantly blushed...still
this virtual room will hold
all that my conscience
will forgive, casting
away offending lies
diffusing damaged
junk yard favorites
In neat formations
rhododendrons guard
the half acre order
of our mountain block
and rush their unreal colour
into a landscape just emerging
from winter's cold.
They seem out of place
in the green - brown encirclements
of native bush where beneath
towering eucalypts
only an odd acacia accents
the understory shade
in tiny globules
of palest yellow.
Soon summer will bleach colour
from a drying world.
Borders will wilt
as the bush draws closer.
Here, coiled
in the shadows of long days,
life sinks
to a shallow pant.
An uneasy quiet
is menaced by siren wails
and heat.
The forest is cool, inviting. I look for small wildflowers in lush grasses growing beneath the trees. Sunlight streams in shafts
and there is birdsong, birdsong and delicate ferns on gentle banks.
Soon, I see a pathway that winds beside a clear stream. The roots
from the trees reach toward the water etching deep ruts .
Large rocks decorate the edges -mark the curves that beckon
beckon me to follow on.
A large puddle appears, blocking the path. I take off my shoes and paddle through enjoying the squishy mud.
Suddenly, a bear - I STOP,
watch it foraging for berries. With caution,
I back, silently away to let it follow the terrain
onward to its cave and hibernation.
Something sparkles on the ground - I stoop- pick it up.
It is a long key with a open circled end. I put it in my pocket
thinking it will make an interesting ornament.
At the end of the path, I find a rustic cottage with
high garden gates, banks of rhododendrons.
A secluded hideaway.
There is neatness, order to the whole scene.
smoke rises from a chimney
into clouds overhead.
I pull out the key. It sparkles temptingly.
A poetic proposal?
~
Along a paisley highway
where the rhododendrons live
Upon a curb she waited,
she had something left to give
Her eyes were like an ocean
and you should have seen her wave,
It was just another Saturday,
with nothing left to save
I walked along the shoulder
where her hair was on the ground
Then stopped to rest a minute
with this woman I had found
She said her name was Frieda
but her friends all called her Claire
Though, she preferred Christina,
that was something she did share
I said it's nice to meet you
now, no matter what your name
Cause, I can see you're beautiful
with everything the same
I'm just a lonely poet
who is lost inside a song
I think I see a stanza,
if you'd like to come along
She took my had, we wandered
through her sister's brand new yard
Where another verse was written
and it wasn't really hard
We found an old gazebo
in the park beside a tree
That's when she whispered in my ear
she'd like to marry me
I said I'd think about it
when I had a little time
I was busy with a poem
and just needed one more rhyme
She seemed so disappointed
and I can't blame her at all
When you have found a poet
it is easier to fall
A different situation
that at times can be a curse
A thought arrived about a rhyme
to end this final verse
I looked at her and saw her smile,
my poem it was through
So I whispered soft, into her ear
said, yes, I'll marry you
~
Ok, I got this melody stuck in my head and this is what was riding along on it. Kind of strange, I know, but...that's poetry. : )
I don’t have much concern for flowers now
For it is ice and mist in my garden
The pale green grass does not understand how
To shake off the sucking cold snow burden
My larks look shabby and the thrushes sad
No effort to get some good sun succeeds
The hazy climate for the mood is bad
For some sun in glistening ice misleads
Me to fresh rhododendrons in your smiles
From your white teeth toward my empty tree
Prodding me in a pursuit for some miles
In the frost suddenly a morning spree
Flowers on the river shore never fade
However time tries to be on grass blade
____________________________________
21 August 2016
I don't know
Who was it
But it is definite
I got the rainbow
At a forgotten point of time
It was placed
A flower vase finely laced
The vine leaves climb
Very often in the sleep
During the REM phase
Shows up the lace
The pink relief
I wake up naturally with
The water lily in my psych
The morning I so much like
The words of clarity and pith
The glistening bone china
Not just solo
The aroma of aloe
And the little myna
I am sure some angel
When I was a child
With her hands lotus mild
Had given the flowers of the apples
It may be my mother
Or someone else
All my ice melts
In the dream stir
In the complex world
The survival wouldn’t be possible
Without the seagull
From the gift impearled
The decorated vessel
Returns over and over
Forever the lover
A hundred boats sail
The sail of affection
the winds of love
The clouds of fluff
The rhododendrons
________________________
April 14, 2018
Anonymous Angels - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Yazmin Malik
He gave us everything,
The sandy beaches, innocent,
The azure to write our thoughts,
He gave us everything,
Volcanoes that project ash
On any thing or animal,
The ocean from which everything was born,
He gave us everything,
The limits of our intelligence,
Those of the squaring of the circle,
Mathematics to understand the universe,
To seek the truth of the stars,
He gave us everything,
The rain that makes rivers grow,
The rice paddies to grow rice,
Oxygen so that the sheep can breathe,
Dinosaurs and swordfish,
Continents to build cities,
He gave us everything, whales,
Eagles to fly over the mountains,
Baobabs, and giant sequoias,
The music of Wagner and Sibelius,
A spirit to dream at night,
To build pyramids in Egypt,
He gave us everything, fertile plains
Women so that we never get bored,
Churches for us to pray,
Rhinos and elephants,
Emeralds and sapphires, diamonds,
The light from which all life is born,
Sunflowers and rhododendrons,
The atolls of the Pacific, California,
The sun that holds nine beautiful planets, in a vacuum,
He gave us everything,
Billions of galaxies,
The complex nature of time and cords,
Why don’t we name him,
God or otherwise, Zeus or Buddha,
To name is to give hope to the rhododendrons,
to the smallest of ants,
It’s giving honey to the buzzing bees,
to enlighten the unfortunate and the mad. It is to admit that
Whatever we do, he will have the last WORD.
Oh, oh! pity party
I want my old house back
I want it summer
windows open curtains fluttering
in the ocean breeze
I want my carpet sofa chairs
desk etagere
coffee table piles of books
and magazines
I want my little kitchen
chopping block island
glass-front cabinets
with the Chilmark pottery
I want my garden rhododendrons
Montauk daisies
the curved path with
axioms carved into flat stones
I want my white-fenced yard
garden shed made by
the Martha’s Vineyard High School
carpentry class
I want my wide-railing porch
settee swing and chair
blue and white striped cushions
flower baskets hanging all around
I want my friends, my neighborhood
ocean beach plums wild grapes
for the picking
I want my old home back
the question was, should we cut down
the tree in the back garden, to make
our designer garden look good. The oak has
held its corner for a century at the least.
Removing it would make it all plain and even,
would lessen the leaf fall each year, that clogs
the drain, the pond and the gutters.
not to mention the shadow it casts on our
south facing roof and solar panels. The garden
would look great, without it, with new marbled
black and white flooring, new fences,
and a host of plants, lilies, roses, rhododendrons,
and new lights and water features. We would be the
envy of our neighbours. That of-course was the chief
claim of my wife! Mrs M would go green, even red perhaps! wife here had a white cheery laugh!
Our two children would not have it cut. They have known the Oak since they were born, played with
grandma under and around it. And the squirrels that
run, up and down it. The robin nests, and the blackbirds. The wood pecker is a regular visitor. Many carrier pigeons, abandoned by mankind, sit on it.
Each tree my son said supports over 300 species!!
Yes, said my daughter! Mum, we are not letting you
cut it down to please your mundane crowd of jealous friends. I agreed in my heart but did not take either side.
love prevailed, tree remained. The gardner made a special swing for it! Mrs M loves the swing most when
she pays us a visit. Mr. M and I play chess under the oak. Years have gone by, children have left home,
Tree still stands, shielding us from the wind and weather. designer garden is faded and needs a face lift, but that will be after our time here is done.
Nigh sultry and warm as was month of June,
The mist with wafting wind played hide and seek,
You, beds of Rhododendrons joined in soon,
All ruby red, filled with fragrance at peak,
To intoxicate all who passed nearby,
And yet alas, save for some birds and bees
Few on this wild terrain ever did nigh,
Your heady scent O Flowers, lost in breeze.
Feel not, O Traveller, sorry for us,
Poison on us repels people to move
Away, and keeps us safe, well in focus
On my life’s key mission, call it first love.
You feel, we flourish and then fall in vain,
Birds and bees faithful still to us remain.
____________________________________
Sonnet |09.07.2024| flower