Long Wildflowers Poems
Long Wildflowers Poems. Below are the most popular long Wildflowers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wildflowers poems by poem length and keyword.
“No need to hurry. No need to sparkle.
No need to be anybody but oneself.”
Quote by _Virginia Woolf
years have drifted by leaving memories ~
all my beloved have left for another realm above
but, I hold them close so they can live
in the poems that I pen . . .
muse is my instrument to writing poetry
but, at times he leaves me for the unknown _
I watch the magical sunrises and sunsets alone in awe . . .
reflecting on all the lessons I have learned
now, dads quotes inspire me
I have climbed out of dark pits with courage
with not a regret to haunt- for I have forgiven me
advise to my younger self would be to not miss a moment
for this life travels quickly and soon the days are gone
and the people . . . so speak what's in your heart now
while you still have time
for tomorrow you will look and your loved one
will be gone ~
on my long, twisted journey to the now and here
wisdom has been my gift
about life and its grief and how to grow from it
about how to be a gracious, amicable person
to be mellow and serene
quiet in a loud world ~
I close my eyes and imagine a graceful fantasy garden
and in my mind I can dwell there among the wildflowers,
a blue stream rippling, and the birds singing~ Oh heaven !
In green fields, where daisies bloom,
Beneath the vast and arching sky,
There dwells a folk, with laughter's plume,
Whose lives in simple toil imply.
Calloused hands, sun-kissed, tanned, and worn,
They tend the earth from early morn.
Their clothes are plain, their boots unshined,
et in their hearts, a warmth divine.
They draw from soil, from seed, from rain,
A bounty that the city folk
Might never understand or know,
The wealth that grows beneath the plow.
By honest toil and simple joys,
They live, they love, they laugh, they thrive.
The soft hum of the land's own voice,
In their daily rounds, they find their prize.
The endless sky, a canvas blue,
Witnesses their dawn to dusk parade.
In rhythm with the turning earth,
They celebrate each season's birth.
Sunflowers stretch to kiss the sun,
While wildflowers twine where streams do run.
They know each tree, each leaf, each bough,
As if deciphering life's own vow.
The robin's song, the thrush's trill,
Compose the symphony they cherish.
No note is lost, no melody still,
In their world, where nature's voice does flourish.
From dawn to dusk, their stories weave,
Of seasons past and memories retrieved.
Though hard their work, their spirits free,
In every moment, joy's their decree.
Some scorn their ways, their lives so plain,
"Bumkins," they jeer, in mocking strain.
Yet in their hearts, a strength does burn,
A love for life, in every turn.
They dance with breeze, they sway with tree,
In harmony with all they see.
Under harvest moons, in golden light,
They reap their treasures, pure and bright.
So let us toast to these fine souls,
These tillers of the earth, these keepers of the whole.
In their contentment, we find a clue,
To live with nature, and ourselves be true.
In green fields, where daisies charm,
Their laughter's music, their presence balm.
In simple pleasures, their legacy,
A tapestry woven, in life's gentle spree.
For in their ways, a lesson's scribed,
To cherish nature, in open skies.
In every bloom, in every bud,
A testament to the life they've loved.
The old book lies open
as if it finally gave up
trying to hold its spine straight.
A faint mustiness rises~
not unpleasant, just honest.
Someone left wildflowers on the page,
thin stems crossing the margin
like they wandered in
and didn’t bother to leave.
A few petals rest on the sentence
that once meant something important.
Raindrops cling to the blossoms,
small bright beads
that look as though the sky
paused long enough
to add its own commentary.
The words underneath don’t complain;
they simply share the space,
letting the flowers speak
in their quiet, wordless way.
For a moment,
the whole thing feels accidental
and perfectly right~
a story meeting what grows
without needing permission.
All them foreigners that move here
they always tell me that they've come
To search for open spaces
‘cause cities made ‘em feel so numb
They came out here to Montana
to a place where they could feel free
To bulldoze out the pristine streams
and chop down the Aspen trees
To tear away the lodge pole pine
ponderosas and tamarack
Dig away the mountain side
and cram their houses back to back
They flatten out the rolling hills
to build a shopping mall or two
Built all them buildings so damn tall
their blocking out the mountain view
They've taken all the wildflowers
and laid down asphalt and cement
Put solar panels on their roofs
'cause that’ll save the environment
Should a deer wander into town
they want the law to do the deed
Because having wild critters around
is something that they just don't need
They say that they feel better now
with all the beauty they can see
Just sitting in their sealed off rooms
watchin' nature shows on TV
No more ghostly figures
No more skeletal tangle
No more ice with her
No more pain in the ankle
Children of the sunshine
Buildings smiling with the scent
Hands of yours and mine
Into the breeze they went
In the strawberry shade
Liberally birds make love
In the bough and grassy blade
Whispering sunlight from above
The kids ride their bike
Compete with the wind
I ride too when I like
Pictures of the cherry lined
The hearts as free as the toes
Barefoot go the boys and girls
When they will return nobody knows
The wind sits in their curls
Leaving the room they go to the beach
Old uncle Fred and aunt Hilda
The butterfly in their speech
From the boat waves Agatha
You dance with the mild sun
Wearing wildflowers in your hair
In your blood the dreams run
The music is sweet and loud there
Let's collect the pine scent
A little drizzle drenched
With the rains our time spent
Our fingers all unclenched
On the Jacaranda carpet
We will play the violin
A new music we will start it
Taking the cue from your chin
June 13, 2018
For Summer Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Nayda Ivette Negron
after the rain, wildflowers bend like
wilted men wrapped in age and bliss
fragments of longing and belonging
in wet that sustains a warming world
to bring elation with green fields
in a mission of beauty
daisies poke through tall grasses
picketing the field with star shaped heads
and yellow centre discs
that make the world manageable to hold
gadflies of growth
with white petals plucked by
wooing hands to know
the alignment of love
greenery with life within
overstuffed
drenched hazy
a tangle of vegetation
all of it deflecting woe like voices in a chorus
finding one's self in the mix
June 2023
Across layers of magenta mountain side
I can see open space to walk and explore
With no restraints, not a single reason to hide
I watch as wildlife run and fly, freely evermore
I hear the sigh of the gentle breeze
As wildflowers sway in its caress
Dulcet birdsongs echo through the trees
With a melody only they possess
The feelings of freedom rise within me
With each fluent note of the bird’s song
I fly with my dreams as far as I can see
Wildflowers touching and clapping along
As Magenta mountains blend in with the sky
I can almost see eternity
As I watch the dance of a butterfly
Nature’s beauty set’s me free
I am free on the wings of butterflies
As light illuminates my life today
I am free in the sapphire skies
Magically I flutter and fly safely away
Heidi Sands and Joseph May
*Acknowledgement to Poet Joseph May: It was a pleasure again, to do this collaboration with you. :)
7/24/17
Men of cloth
Men of faith
Against all evils, lost hopes
Choose the light and will of the gods
They stay
Where all others flea
They reflect upon lost causes
Yet give of heart and sweat to the poor
They are not brave hearts
They are but kind souls
To the last breathe
Weep not for these heroes
The village adores and praises
For kindness transcends religious teachings
To cure and heal is god's gift
And natures way of life eternal
Pascal’s wager in the minds of a few
As old men contemplate
Wildflowers who by the grace of god, receive the sun
So in fate, planted, they stay, they do not run
They are not the last or only
They are but the hope of what can be
They reflect the goodness we all desire
In love of mankind
Des hommes et des dieux, dedicated to the Trappist monks who lived in harmony with the largely Muslim population of Algeria, until seven of them were kidnapped and assassinated in 1996 during the Algerian Civil War.
The hymns of my youth have become a faint sound,
like a train in the distance lost to the night.
This road that I'm on is not homeward bound,
for I have left the path that leads to the right.
I hope my mother will remember my face
and father will forgive all my sins.
As I lay near death in this far away place,
this troubled journey will soon come to an end.
The place where I'm from has it's own charm,
with the smell of wildflowers on the soft summer air.
Rusty tin roofs and broken down barns,
roads lined with fence posts, I'm almost there.
Not much has changed since I've been gone,
I never dreamed Heaven would look like home.
5/8/19
This young pawn was homeless and exhausted.
Sleeping in an overgrown city lot.
A flat piece of cardboard for a bed.
Cattail and wildflowers for walls.
A ceiling of bluish gray.
Slow roasting over a fiery dream.
This Pawn turned into a whispering rose.
Right there on that cardboard bed...
But only when the restless mind
gave away its soul to sleep and time.
Afterthought:
***** thing, this king of circumstance.
With crown of mist and robes of black.
Comedic cascade of karmic darts.
That morph into Queen Anne's lace and metal meadowlark.
Time will never turn its bow to yesterday,
but will spin the stars into the murky miracle of decay.
This Pawn cleansed the soul of self.
Whisked away the briar.
Left its humble drool upon
the toothless mouth of yesterday....
and wore the crown if only for a day.