Long Water lily Poems
Long Water lily Poems. Below are the most popular long Water lily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Water lily poems by poem length and keyword.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
The universal worm has got some competition now,
since ‘Sandy’ took me out to Bateson’s dam.
This don’t include the ‘whitchys’ we get in a broken bough,
nor ‘scrubbies’ on the hooks we have to cram
to hide the silver hook
that a ‘blackie’ sometimes took,
where a ‘mudeye’ just might have a better look.
We have to have a bucket for these water baits we scoop,
and a net of fly-wire mesh across the face
that’s been tied on with fishing line, around a metal hoop,
keeping flatness of the fly-wire in its place;
so when the net is lifted
and the water’s all been sifted,
we grab our bait, and with a turn the net is shifted.
We must don a pair of waders when we wander past the edge,
for our gumboots do not have the needed height.
And as we scoop the bottom in amongst bulrush and sedge,
at first we see the shrimp put into flight;
but gambesia and ‘toe-biters’
rarely show that they are fighters,
and multitudes of water beetles, are un-needed ‘blighters’.
Now the water lily pads that extend across the pond,
offer some protection from a diving bird.
But the tangled stem’s and roots, are no barrier to squand
a chance to net amongst the water stirred.
And little pygmy perch,
arch their pretty backs and lurch.
Quickly released for they’re not in our search.
And backwater from the overflow is holding treasure too,
as it wraps the base of tussock, weed and reed.
‘Sandy’ said “In here there is yabby”, and we net up quite a few -
the ultimate of lure when a blackfish wants to feed.
So yabbies highly rate,
as the premier blackfish bait,
almost if to say; write a ‘blackie’ on my slate!
And with numbers in the bucket quite enough to see a day
of fishing in the Bunyip, Lang Lang or Minniburn,
I go looking for the wildlife that we’ve kept at bay,
when scooping water’s edge became our turn.
There’s teal, black duck and swan;
pygmy geese keep feeding on,
but shy mountain ducks have took to wing and gone.
So Bateson’s dam’s a haven from the damming of a creek,
where expanding water draws a teeming crowd.
When fishermen like us retain the chance to reach our peak,
netting better baits where there’s better baits endowed;
if we take a little care,
and we take what’s only fair;
the better baits we seek will still be there.
Why, do we call it
Something it’s not
If we’re going to name things
Let’s give it, some thought
If it’s called a chilli
Then why is it so hot
And I can say this
A guinea pig, is not
A prairie dog
He only digs holes
But this dog belongs
With rodents and moles
If you eat an elder berry
You won’t get to retire
But a taste for them
You must acquire
If I strike a ball
And this gets me pissed
In real life, I hit it
But in baseball, I missed
That horned toad
Isn’t a wizard
Not even a frog
It’s just a lizard
A pencil with lead
That’s just a myth
It’s really graphite
That we write with
A simple door mouse
Is really neither
It’s just a squirrel
Taking a breather
It’s not a firefly
Lighting the dark
It’s only a horny beetle
That has the spark
And who gives us silk
Not that silkworm
It’s really caterpillars
That wiggle and squirm
Bears have no pouch
But Koala bears do
It’s a marsupial
I thought you knew
To some this may not
Be a big deal
But wasn’t Achilles
Really a heel
That majestic bald eagle
His head is not bare
And that speedy jackrabbit
Is really a hare
A Turkish bath
Invented by a Roman
And catgut intestines
From sheep abdomen
A shooting star
That isn’t right
It’s always been
A meteorite
A peanut a nut
You would presume
Nope, not a chance
It’s a legume
A Douglas fir
Is only a pine
And that funny bone
It’s not, by design
Cucumbers and tomatoes
This is a hoot
They are not veggies
They’re really a fruit
A duck bill is not
A duck’s paper money
And bees didn’t make
My little honey
Hamburgers are made
With beef and not pork
And how come those hot dogs
At strangers don’t bark
Sometimes you get
A really dumb waiter
But not in a restaurant
It’s an elevator
Eye tooth is a dog’s tooth
But not in his eye
This kind of name
Just makes me cry
A killdeer is not roadkill
That’s just absurd
It really is
A wading bird
Duck weed is a water lily
Dog wood is a bush
An ear wig is an insect
And your ass is a tush
Shortbread is a cookie
And a jumping bean is a seed
And things we misname
Only tend to mislead
BOEMS by JA 134
People said she was ugly,
this simple girl of fifteen springs.
At home she didn’t have a mirror,
because her parents thought
her fragile heart would break
if she saw her face so very ugly.
She liked to be alone
with herself, often going out,
to swing her legs in the clear water
of the nearby placid pond,
and play with the floating water lilies,
but never ventured to go in the deeper
waters for she didn’t know how to swim.
One full moon night
when the shining water was calm,
she saw the pond turn into a mirror,
reflecting her ugly face
onto her shocked eyes.
She then decided not to look
in the water mirror ever again,
but would make a special mirror
of her own that would show
her a beautiful face she longed to see.
She earnestly did this
polishing a steel plate
with the sturdy stems of water lily,
and made the magic mirror of her own,
where she saw her smiling face
as beautiful as the flower.
She then told people,
her mirror could magically turn
all faces into lovely flowers.
People said she had become insane.
This made her inordinately sad,
but found consoling refuge
and joy in her image she saw,
smiling like the water lily
in the magic mirror
One spring, in the gleaming twilight hours,
when the pond water was rippling the hues
of the setting sun, she was plucking the water lilies,
her magic mirror she carried always with her,
slipped from her unwary hand,
and as it submerged and disappeared
in the deep waters,
she immediately plunged
on an impulse in the pond,
and sank with the mirror at the bottom
and lay motionless to see
for the last time her smiling face lying beside
her magic mirror.
On her sixteenth birthday
people found the pond
covered with blooming water lilies,
they said beautiful.
__________________
January 14, 2023
Contest : Metrical Tale
Sponsored by : Hilo Poet
On Praising Ladies on their Qualities in the THIRUK-KURAL: Canto 112, Nalam Punainthu Uraiththal, K1114 and K1120
[Please see "introduction on the plight of young girls" in the previous post on this Canto 112: K1111 and K1113, and please note that they were (and are still from all accounts though less frequently) given in marriage by parents who pay DOWRY in the form of cash and property to the bridegroom, despite the fact that the law frowns on such practices since Independence.]
K1114: kaanin kuvalai kavilnthu nilan nOkkum
maanilai kanovvEm enru
The lotus*, seeing her, with head demiss, the ground would eye,
And say: ' With eyes of her, rich gems who wears, we cannot vie.' (Transl. G.U. Pope)
If the blue lotus* could see, it would stoop and look at the ground saying, 'I can never resemble the eyes of this excellent jewelled one.' (Transl Drew & Lazarus)
Should the water-lily* be confronted by the resplendent gem-decked maiden, it would droop down, eyes downcast, thinking the comparison futile. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
K1120: anichcham* annaththin thuuviyam* maathar
adikku neruñchip* palam
The flower of the sensitive plant, and the down of the swan's white breast,
As the thorn are harsh, by the delicate feet of this maiden pressed. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
The anichcham and the feathers of the swan are to the feet of females, like the fruit of the (thorny) Nerunji*. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
(Such the beauteous form of the maiden) that even the anichcham* and the swan's downy fur* are but caltrope thistle* thorns pressed on her feet. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* Here the use of imagery drawn from nature (flower, bird, plant, fruit), supposed to be ethereally delicate evoke poetic effusion (to the Tamils of yore), offset by their relegation to thorns by comparison to the maiden's feet.] T. Wignesan
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
I have never seen anything quite like you. No man is immune to your beauty,
but I happen to be the one with an immune system that withstand your attractiveness.
Oh yes, they say a rose is the most beautiful flower in the world,
Yet roses knows that you are the prettiest creature ever made on this earth. When you flaunt your beauty, I bloom a million times like water lily in my mind
You are exceptionally pretty, but you are more unique like a passion flower. Everything about you is gorgeous, but when I look into your eyes I see pure beauty with no disguise. The way that you smile at me flashes back the attractive picture of you which I saw when I was a fetus in my mother’s womb.
And if beauty was air, you would be the cleanly oxygen that I breathe into my lungs. At night, I used to rely with the moon until your striking light skin complexion made me to realize the inventor of light.
I like to dream, to close my eyes and weave silent worlds,
where silence flows like a silk river under the moonlight,
but when I dream of love, a gentle story like the whisper of the wind,
my heart trembles like a water lily on a glassy lake.
Not that I have been betrayed by shadows or abandoned by wandering stars,
but I have watched love unravel like a spider web in the wind,
felt the lies hidden in smiles that dissolve like mist,
and I wonder, will I ever find someone to soothe my longing?
This question weighs like a river stone on the bed of my mind,
the answer always unclear, shrouded in the fog of doubt and fear,
perhaps the only certainty is that love may never come,
like a siren's song lost in the endless wide sea.
I have seen too much pain, broken hearts, shattered promises,
dreams of smoke scattered by the wind of indifference, people falling,
love has been a game of mirrors for others, a dangerous dance,
and I never knew how to dance among reflections.
So I hide my heart, like a forgotten treasure in a castle of mist,
because the truth is I am afraid, afraid of the shadow game,
where I will be the one who gets lost, the one who leaves without looking back,
already too broken to shatter under the weight of other lost dreams.
Dreaming of love would be like dreaming of a rainbow in the midst of a storm,
an illusion that unravels under the weight of merciless reality,
leaving only the echo of a melody I will never sing,
while my world of dreams slowly sinks into eternal silence.
The summer fog has not yet lifted from the enclave. The candyfloss glow of the sun suspended above the horizon of the valley in the Jock of the Bushveld Concervancy where I have made my new home reflects on the ghostly blue of the dam in front of my house.
early morning
dense fog blanket--
burn off reveals
One of the nesting pair of fish eagles does a low flyby. The distinctive call of the fish eagle is synonymous with Africa, pulling on my heartstrings like no music can. A primordial longing fills my very soul. Banished to purgatory for the best part of my life, this paradise is my just reward in my autumnal years.
young fish eagle—
shadows cast by papyrus
teem with silver carp
An African Jacana teeters with its long toes on the emerald green leaves of the pink water lily flower. It pecks delicately at something at the edge of the flower, before taking flight; long legs dangling behind it like superfluous appendages—its sharp, ringing tone cleaving the morning silence.
a black mamba
slithers off the jetty—
tropical winter
I am not alone; a blouapie (marmoset) with his distinctive cobalt blue and crimson genitals surveys my progress along the path to the jetty. Damp, golden leaves carpet the pathway, the pungent smell assailing my olfactory receptors, alerting me to the many unknown vegetation growing in abundance on the embankment—names of which I need to learn and applications I need to discover.
long winter of
dormant passions—
spring stirs in loins
A is for Annie Apple Blossom she buds in the Spring.
B is Betty Baby Breath she's such a dainty thing.
C is for Miss Candy Tuft pink-cheeked with hair of gold.
D is Debbie Dandelion who never does what she's told!
E is for Easter Lily she's as white as snow.
F is Francie Fairy Bells who ring-a-lings where she goes.
G is for Ginny Gardenia perfumed oh so sweet.
H is Holly Hocks a Tomboy, she has two left feet!
I is for Inca Lily dressed in colors light.
J is Joanie Jump-Ups, Johnny's little sister bright.
K is for Katie Kangaroo Paw her nails are painted red.
L is Lila Lady Slipper who stays too long a bed.
M is for Merry Morning Glory dressed in pale blue.
N is Nancy Narcissus who trumpets ""toodeloo!"
O is for Olivia the Ox-Eyed Daisy dolly.
P is Patty Petunia, her pancakes are a folly.
Q is for Queenie Anns Lace her dresses all have ruffles.
R is Ruby Rose-a-lee who almost always shuffles.
S is for Sandy Snap Dragon tall and thin. petite.
T is Tallulah Tulip her clothes are so off beat!
U is for Uma Umbrella Flower, sweet and sunny.
V is Vicky Violet she plays with Easter bunnies.
W is for Wendy Water Lily she'd rather swim than dance.
X is Xana Xmas Tree in Winter she's entrancing.
Y is for Yani Yarrow, a girl so bonny fair
Z is Zelda Zinnia, she pinning Yani's hair.
All our girls are fine and strong, so beautiful and brave
Not a single one of them would think to misbehave!
Bio: Wise woman.
She moves in silence like a jasmine breeze
through a moonlit garden walk
She doesn't journey like a star
with a lustrous shine in a celestial sky
But just like a little rock
a little limestone rock
that crisscrossed muddy rivers
and made it to safe shores
A lifeless rock so fragile
not sturdy yet still strong
Her beauty doesn't shake fresh dewdrops
from water-lily leaves
Nor does it make blushed plum buds fall
from murky forest trees
But when his mind is filled with thoughts of her
Oh how She gets him on his knees
She lurks deeply in his soul
Her eyes,a golden tint of fireflies
glowing into his own
She kills him with her smile
like hundred nights before
and thousands moments gone
Then walks away from the forbidden door
Her fingerprints She leaves
over his lips,across his cheeks
and all her perfume in his sleep
So every woman that ever goes to him
to tease him with her kiss would know
It would never be,no it wouldn't be
His arms belong to their once upon a memory
She is the owner of his heart
and would never set it free
She,She is still his sweetest dream
His saddest song,an empty verse
The sound of a child's laughter
and chapters in between
She is still the wild street flower
The promise made to last
The lady of his life
The woman from the past