Long Trellis Poems
Long Trellis Poems. Below are the most popular long Trellis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trellis poems by poem length and keyword.
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I open the door to search for the source
But there's no sound of it now...
Weeping that used to creep over the stairs, climbing trellis and vines
Climbing onto the porch roof, and into my room
A looming invisible smoke, that would choke me with grief,
Like a thief in the night, engulfing the room where I stand
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Sounds of weeping could be heard with a far, but familiar dread
that sped through the night, remaining a bit out of reach
but dying at the foot of my bed
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It would come like a child, crying in the dark
calling my name, lamenting the cost
of a light that was lost
a voice losing sight in the shadow of grief
that fades in the soft morning dawn
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I stand in the door, and realize, of course
the voice of the wind
is my own
~
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Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
She was an orphan with an ax to grind wanting nothing from no one.
Gifted with flaming red hair and freckles she was quite the eye full
Each day she ducked around in rubber flip flops picking remnant leaves
and discarded petals from the ground, in her neighbor's backyard, .
One tiny bud
cute little boutonniere
fell to the ground
Like herself this tiny petal had seen better days. Tucking it in her smock
she scrambled on her knees in another patch to find more of them.
another petal,
she began to melt
beneath a fractal sun
Juniper Bleeding Berries they nicknamed her cuz her lips were always bloody and chewed. Also known as the hairy red fairy, they poked and taunted in a jail called Reyhanli.
she found a bleeding red one
mad as hell
with a shake of the trellis
she spilled out the rose petals one by one. Without a sound they fell, never stood a chance. Picking up an handful of soft crumbled petals she tucked them in her smock. Bet they felt misplaced there in her sandy pocket, Like herself she thought as she left the others behind, to mulch and rot inside the ground.
In the jubilation of the trellis
tossed emeralds and raspberries
gleam like comets
as cumulus crescendo
with April's piercing cornflower.
A determined wind
carries the masses' clatter
beyond cinder block walls,
hueing the landscape
with colors of redemption.
Daisies' and irises' imperial trespass
reverberates as umber trunks and chartreuse shoots
oracle forgiveness of crystal sins,
foretell magenta angels' coming
among a psalm of peonies.
Dusk's mauve whispers
sunshine’s lambent verses.
I shall dream in morning glories
and dandelion flowers
while floating on lissome breeze.
Around me, a trellis, with a bounty of thorns
adorned with lush roses, and I feel I'm reborn
Awake, or a dreamland, I cannot be sure...
There are blue skies, above me, and a caress of the sun
It's as if I'm transparent, and my mind is a blur,
vague pictures, old memories, which I cannot secure
They confuse me, yet free me, from winters within
I'm out of the darkness, from the clouds of despair
The admirable beauty, impossibly soars
with a staircase of alyssum , sweet mosses, and more...
trilliums, wild ginger, sweet violets, adorned
garlands of daisies, and lavender floors
The sky is a blue sea, I want to explore
Birds sailing along, and I envy their wings
But with my eyes closed, I am flying and free!!
Wake me not, if I'm dreaming, I will rest on a star
And dream of the roses, that climb to the clouds
The voice of an angel, tells me I am allowed
to sleep with the knowledge, I can fly in my dreams
and escape to the place, where worry's not found
Around me, a trellis, with a bounty of thorns
adorned with lush roses, and I feel I'm reborn
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Spring slips those neo-leaves on protuberance-limbs.
Youth is adorned with buds and flowering whims.
Poppies drench an infant’s eyes and awaken sleep.
Spiked trellis dreams sow garden-beard whims.
Blackbirds scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind.
How cleverly they remember your namesake whims.
First walking stick, unbridled from bark, boggled the mind.
Pet rocks, pop rocks and chia pets - purchased on whim.
The scent of lilac, honeysuckle and a thunderstorm,
Fresh dirt, the taste of mud pie, every childhood whim.
Butterflies flocking, shepherded by an animated sun.
Symmetry of wings, color wash flutters whimsically.
Now the visionary dives into a wide berth of gospel hymns.
Her desire’s to raise up the Springtime, praising at whim.
2/13/2022
“Let all thy joys be as the month of May, And all thy days be as a marriage day."
- Thomas Tusser
Potency of a May Marriage
Moistened with red, white and blue, May showers.
Patriotism hitched with joyful tin cans.
Waves, like salutes, admire sailors’ flowers.
Plucky roses set sail with nuptial plans.
Warmed, as if Cezanne’s tulips upon cheeks.
They’re at the peak of a Spring storm’s blessing.
Entwined, as if on a trellis, love speaks.
Potent, tender-hearted, two souls pressing.
The impact, of each raindrop on the glass,
Harbors the couple’s immemorial brass.
The Arithmetic of Addition
While working out the arithmetic of addition,
one day I looked around
and saw mountains of power.
Buried beneath them, crushed to death,
lay a tiny, insignificant me.
Seeing this,
my own eternal trellis of Malabar spinach
covered its mouth
and quietly laughed.
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The Arithmetic of Subtraction
While working out the arithmetic of subtraction,
one day I looked at the page of my household
and found that nothing remained
that could still be called me.
Everything was new, everything was pure,
the sky was generous and boundless,
the fields stretched to the horizon,
and at the corner of my lips
clung, ever so lightly,
a Baul song.
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The Arithmetic of Broken Stairs
The more I give myself
to this arithmetic of broken stairs,
the more shards of broken glass
gather all around me.
My entire body is cut,
blood running freely.
I look at my face in the mirror
and cannot recognize
the mug staring back at me.
________________________________________
This War
In the heat of life's additions and subtractions,
the door to the sanctum
has already burned away.
Now, riding upon the chariot
of broken-stair arithmetic,
I have entered the battlefield
without shield or sword.
This war, that war,
one war after another,
a war where there is
neither victory nor defeat,
only the struggle
that continues.
________________________________________
A Happy Household
Well, how wonderful.
Now I understand.
A happy household
is seen far more often
in stories and novels
than it is in real life.
________________________________________
After the Gathering
After arguing at length
with friends over theories and facts,
I look down
and find, lying inside the teacup,
the cold body
of a social revolution.
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The Leaves
When leaves dry up,
the tree shakes them off.
Every leaf knows this.
How strange that, for the tree,
they harbor no remorse.
Why should they?
By then,
they have already become
friends with the earth.
The nebulous night lifts the onyx veil
up the crimson crown of the sky,
for the dawn to drizzle golden sequins
on the halcyon horizon,
paint purple the mauve meadow
for the dreaming dew drops
to create the lattice of luster,
where the harmonic hues dance
to the glitter of the garnet shine
of the saffron sun.
In the misty milepost
of the penultimate pathway,
at the intriguing fawn fringe
of the future obscure,
the tantalizing trellis of sunrise tinge
pulsates with dormant delight
of the forlorn tree transfixed,
silhouetted in tranquil trance
against the daybreak skyline
of transient romantic radiance,
witnessing the surreal show
of the fleeting first flash
of the sunburst day.
The satin shadow of cinnabar cloud melts,
graces my fluid face of fantasy,
making your hibernating heart feel
my sun-soaked love flows within
with the cadence of kaleidoscopic colors,
rippling through you with elegant elan.
Like a wet leaf drenched
by the shower of rhapsodic rain,
rinsed by the nascent sun’s glint,
you glow grandeur.
With the dawn of the dulcet day,
blushing with flowery flamboyance
at the edge of drifting darkness,
the ethereal sunrise spectrum
spins the solar strings
in the convoy of cloud turned violin.
It’s time for the beguiled birds
to leave their nostalgic nest,
ride on the resplendent rays
of the sliding scarlet sun.
They glide with avian concerto
on the wings of the whistling wind,
over the gilded wisps of cloud strings,
compose the symphony of the sunrise.
amongst the trellis
woven in green
thorny vines
a splash of crimson
peeks through
is this delicate rose
a symbol of love?
incipient desire
begins to flourish
within the depths of lust
allured by touch
velvet skin blushes red
through gentle stokes
passion drops
beads of moisture
beneath soft folds
a quenched thirst
climaxes
through ecstasy
then blossoms full
yet love's thorns
can pierce the heart
bleed it dry
until it withers
and dies
or becomes
hard pressed
in mind's book
as it fades to black...
June 25, 2019
A Summer Flower- Poetry Contest
sponsored by Dear Heart