Long Wildflower Poems
Long Wildflower Poems. Below are the most popular long Wildflower by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wildflower poems by poem length and keyword.
the s e a
remembers the taste
of cinnamon sunsets~
the essence of
emerald embers
and resonances of petrichor
when the tides tremble
in turquoise delight,
amidst the marine snakes
slithering through
oceanic echoes,
mirroring Medusa melodies
in envious tones.
and as the morning
stars nestle in the
wildflower warmth
of the honeyed sun,
wine-red ink
flows within midnight
vines in vain,
aching to be heard,
while the jealous jasmines
jinx the sanguine spirit
of January garnets
I wear in
grace and gratitude.
yet if my sky knows
not the colors of darkness,
would the moon still
be my poetic savior?
silently sewing sequins of solace
to the fabric of love,
floating like cosmic candles,
elegantly emanating
perfumed perseverance
for I am the silhouette
of the horizon
wrapped in a plethora of
p e a c e lilies,
sprouting in the
glistening garden
of gossamer verses,
finding roseate reasons to rhyme,
when eclipsed
is the luna-light
and monsoon monsters
are the cynical spectators,
knocking on my canvas
with needles and nails
sharpened with
paper-thin confetti
of resentful remorse.
but I ponder,
will the blind still feel
the storms I breathe
and the strength I wear
to waltz through wicked weeds,
eager to chain unspoken needs?
this is me running from the toxic rain,
pushing me back into
the twilight zone,
where I surf
through nothingness,
engrossed in timeless trust,
tied to written tranquility,
manifesting magnetic waves
of inner truce and magic
as the sea remembers
the serenade of serenity
and the sky knows
the metaphors to merge
winds of love and
waves of kindness.
As heartrose epitaphs
swathe earthly echoes
with swelled up w a v e s
of spiritual sirens,
sea-fairies collide
with honeysuckle footprints,
traced by mint-green manta rays
along aquatic vessel of karma,
pumping a nascent wilderness.
In shawls of raven wind,
my silhouette is a blood moon,
mirrored in mermaid's emerald eyes
'neath dove grey midnight,
flowering from skulls
like love's last smoke,
as sciaphilic pulse evaporates ~
and rusty rains of remorse remain.
Grieving wanderlust
waltzes in my
metallic burgundy veins,
as butterfly oracles flip
and seraph's saga
swirls in a torrential topaz turmoil,
inscribing truths midst
ignited bohemian serenades.
Winding moonlight
around fingertips,
ivory threads of harp
dance in fluid palms
as liquid sun, floating in dew,
melts upon titanium tentacles
of wisteria archangels.
When water hymns
hibernate in silence
and marine prayers
s u r f in surging eagle blades,
I pirouette as
an amethyst-opal whisper of wound
in white-washed warrior skin,
for, every crimson corpse
is a thumping cyclone,
burning within sienna sand.
Ancient memoirs
cascade like
tea-lime a s h drops,
upon shipwrecked lotus leaves
where the third eye slumbers
in talisman petals,
and heartbeats bubble up
as breaths of a
windswept vagabond.
So, in fears of ruby-fire r a i n,
I'm forlorn and found,
my soul chakra is sewn
with stelliferous canopies,
and within dolphin lullabies,
jeweled life gently sways.
Homing perfumed stars
in tulip temple,
I'm Athena's spirit~
a wildflower d a w n,
fading beneath
samurai cloak of
caramel flakes,
unfurled from pistachio sepals,
my honey pink aura
cradles tiger-lily sunbeams
upon eyelashes,
as f a t e flutters...
in timeless,
watercolor wisps.
My words are under fire
by the PC police for hire
the outcome appears dire
as the stakes keep gettin’ higher
so I write with tongue in cheek
daring them to take a peek
and in reading loudly shriek
we must stop him – he’s a freak.
So the game of words progresses
in a quagmire of word messes
before magistrates in dresses
an inquisitor confesses
that the words are but a token
it’s the idea that they’re spoken
and our PC rules are broken
from the doldrums they have woken.
As their fire licks the pages
listen to the flaming sages
burning in their PC cages
cursing censorships dark phases
first its promise to empower
those held hostage in the tower
so that now they can devour
the soul of each wildflower.
So beware their flaming curse
as they plunder rhyme and verse
and the muse slowly coerce
with virtue’s piety perverse.
©9/12/2018
for – Playing With Words Under Fire Poetry Contest
I was having a heavenly day far from city noise,
when a north wind swept me up, swirling and twirling;
and tumbling, I found myself under a tree branch,
beneath cool emerald leaves in a country wildflower field.
Nearby, a raging stream flowed on it's twining journey,
and a blue butterfly lay frozen in place, broken on a rock;
waiting to die, I listened to the birds twittering brightly,
and whispered to blue butterfly, I will not leave you.
For hours I stay in this serene rural place of beauty and death,
but my weary eyes closed and I had a dream of gliding;
then, the sun caressed me and butterfly wings of blue,
with delicate hues, only the Lord above could create.
The sun rose higher in the azure sky and she waited,
then, she lifted up in a gentle swirling breeze;
and blue butterfly hovered, hesitated, then was gone,
from this heavenly country idyll place far from city dwellings.
_________________________
November 20, 2019
Poetry/Idyll/A Rural Blue Butterfly
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1199-844-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FGI Blog Series 9 - Idyll
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
A single seed was carried far from home,
When taken by the wind one fateful day.
She knew not where she'd land, how far she'd roam,
Nor what she might endure along the way.
She tumbled and she soared through skies unknown,
The gusts were fierce but soon released her free.
She fell, at last, to land on jagged stone,
Upon a cliff above the roaring sea.
She trembled, and she searched the barren ground,
A lifeless stretch, unwelcoming and cold.
No soil in sight, no flowers to be found;
She had no place to cling, no hope to hold.
The restless sea below was dark and loud;
Each breath of salty air was thick and wet.
With not a star to pierce the misty shroud,
She feared a looming end would soon be met.
Yet, breaking through the endless dark of night,
A morning glow once known to warm her field.
She stretched to meet the sun's familiar light,
Then clung to every crack the rock would yield.
Defying stone and sea, she bloomed; she thrived,
Her petals, soft against an Earth so stiff.
She made a home of stone, and she survived,
A wildflower, grounded on a cliff.
A restless wind will always come to blow,
It matters not the ground on which we land.
For even fragile roots can choose to grow,
Defined not by a fall, but will to stand.
There is not a moment that my grief fades,
for you are with me every single day;
I try to pretend but sorrow cascades_
I stroll holding a wildflower bouquet,
through the ornate cemetery archway;
I have come again Mom to speak with you_
After your death my heart and soul withdrew,
I talk but my words are- lost to the wind;
my life changed when I kissed your lips adieu,
and now love and grief is forever twinned_
__________________________
August 5, 2020
Poetry/Dizain/Lost To The Wind
Copyright Protected, 20- 1275-856-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Pick-A-Title, Vol 21 - Dizain
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Theme chosen #5 Lost To The Wind
Second Place
Duckweed and hamhock Recipes
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Written By: Staccato Tremolo
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Rubisco alluring adjectives modern slang sounds so sexy.
It rizzy charm and satisfying Piquant.Yes, you can turn
desert land into an oasis by establishing a reliable
freshwater source, building a protective windbreak
, and enriching the sandy soil with organic matter.
Southwest Wildflower Mixes,California Poppy,Portulaca,
Desert Marigold .Back to Rubisco, it is the most
abundant substance on earth.
it is found in every green thing in every
plant on this planet.Responsible for photosythersis
it will be processed to be used as a protein for daily meals
.Calliandra californica,Tetrameris tetrapter,Hesperaloe parviflora,
Caesalpinia mexicana,Hesperaloe parviflora. Phrygian dominant
and quarter tones.
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Use spinach if you don't have access to duckweed.
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Tener age must be stated and true if dating and co mingling are
in process! Ordered by the Grand Poohbah of the Order of Buffalo's.
I walked through the garden where the jasmine lies
I found the brightest star in your breathtaking eyes
When your eyes nearly uttered in my widest hour
I felt the paradise among the wild flower
Bewildered and stuck in labyrinth of your heart
I shall linger till the heaven falls apart
Abiding round your love is neither my victory
Nor I could narrate it as my story
Your presence nurtured me, and liss my soft desire
I've sailed through your cerise nose to your cheeks like briar
I watch the bare sky painting your tempting smile
Cacophony litherly upmake a melody and makes me more fragile
And in my dream- I am a native girl,
I stand on a high cliff soaring above;
the wind is whirling,
caressing me with love.
Below the mighty Ottawa roars,
above in the azure the eagle soars;
I am one with nature and have no fears,
birds are singing;
flutes are ringing,
time is ticking.
These jagged rocks my throne,
this place I like to roam;
once to the horizon was my home,
deep in my forest the paths are cool.
See the deep pool,
and wildflower jewels;
I am falling and my eagle feathers twirl,
and I wake up weeping, a lost native girl.
______________________
August 9, 2016
Poetry/Verse/My Native Land
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 816-313-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to, Contest No. 330
sponsor, Brian Strand
Second Place
My first book read
Was “Tales from a fourth grade nothing,”
Judy Bloom and the Fudge
At eight years old
It seemed mandatory to hold a cold grudge
Felt like James
Except for this Giant Peach wouldn’t budge
Now I got clarity to comprehend with my sins
And now I’m dying by the hour
Nothing more than colorless wildflowers
I can only live Monday through Sunday
Lay down and pray for a fun day
Yet I don’t really possess these qualities
Why these troublesome times bother me
Something as precious as Omega and Trinity
My love is something more than charity
Isn’t humorous
How I grew up in something as disgusting as humanity
I am but a weak and cold soul with no power
Growing in a bouquet of colorless wild flowers
And as I shed my sorrow a petal at a time
You can feel my misery begin to settle in rhymes
At the tip of a rich mans bliss
Are but nickels and dimes
Find me at the cross roads
Paying the eternal price for what our boss sold
Do I wanna grow old and scratch my beard
Sit and smile as these operators call
For my debts have been cleared
Strapped in armor, now my soul is geared
I want a rainbow I can touch
Without being at the tip of a tower
For I am so tired of living as a colorless wildflower