Long Wisteria Poems
Long Wisteria Poems. Below are the most popular long Wisteria by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wisteria poems by poem length and keyword.
~ (~) About a teaspoon it takes me in the morning-coffee-that-is. (~) ~
~ (~) Cream more, sugar, a little-less, though truly I still do prefer my cup fresh brewed... its
superb when piping hot you know it sure is tasty. (~) ~
~ (~) Searching through those IM's e-mails trickle-trickle-hiss-bubble-pop-pop love-is-groovy
you bet man red lights hot lights an honor yes-I feel they're all an-honest testament that
hollowed ground is sacred... . Illuminating one and another their shadows dandling-along-a-
part-of-the-simple-collection-of-rain-puddles offering-their-jest, and from the beginning you-
know-I-believe they all exist as one light dancing together-until the very end. Because as
they vary; pale shades of poetic Grey, they carry for me of feeling but one of two tones
jocularity;
bitterness... . (~) ~
~ (~) Intoxicating really the harshness of Winter-fervency-of-Summer sweet rejoinder
cultivation of all our prayers... Spring... ! (~) ~
~ (~) Took a stroll amid the saffron all grown up in the Autumn laying down beside the day
lilies wisteria grace gently caressing them enchanting... . (~) ~
~ (~) Vibrant I find it all to be so very encouraging. (~) ~
~ (~) Looking now the frost once thick-crisp driveling down beading up upon the many grassy
shoots tulips lavender flower the mighty pines-now-reflecting-a-dewy-vapor, refreshing to the
touch, taste; hues of virtue mirroring this, glistening-upholding-all-things, in-their-
timelessness. (~) ~
~ (~) Life evolving hope offers this proposal questions often posed answers granted remain
open... because I believe peace and freedom this way friend are forever evolving,
while love all year 'round, it waits... pondering-this; as it deliberates... . (~) ~
~ (~) Like glistening crystal pools of alabaster sands scented-up diaper dusty-talcum baby
baby powder, funny contentment privy-so-privy I love the way newborns their eyes tend to
wander as they coo, all jovial, and-warm... surrounding all they know of God themselves in
the wake of the room... . (~) ~
~ (~) The birth of enlightenment a burst of individuality in every glance; I can't today but
maybe you, tell me now God is a farce, remaining kindle to the kind-less...
still the kinder... . (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcGJb-mPMmg
To the Invisible Friend
The dredging decades have floated by like drifting clouds in the beckoning western sky.
Hello dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm hope that you are satisfied and settled inside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
We spent months hours and minutes tangled together in a passing parade of exquisite time.
We ate a plethora of flailing foods together inside the old quaint cafes in busy Uptown.
We talked unceasingly under whirring ceiling fans in the yellow eating breakfast rooms.
You and I drove in suspended romantic time down the Harbor lanes at prying midnight.
You pressed your tresses and closed your eyes upon my shoulder into the late kissing night.
What has happened to your young voice and your shy waves to me from the darkened distances?
We have moved away from each other in decades gone by like skiffs in a crescent watery breezeway.
We have left behind a thousand inter crossings and a hundred by crossings with suspended ecstasies.
So sorry that had to happen to you that morning in October when the sky hi jacked your future days.
Look to the west behind these eucalyptus trees that now cast long August shadows at twilight.
Look to the blue-laced north now and rest your tilted head upon my shoulder as it leans westward.
Sorry you’re dead now as you sleep in your grassy bed of jealous roses and wailing wisteria.
Sorry I had to see your white-sheeted body on the evening news lying there amidst the tragic landscape.
But now dear dead ghost whose faraway voice I can still hear even now from talks in the old evenings.
Did we not take long strolls on old cracked sidewalks under a curious canopy of jacaranda blooms?
Did we not seek and grasp great silver moments in the green-drenched darkness of hot skin and tears?
You and I know of those secret dances with the music turned down low in the swallowing darkness.
You and I remember the long floating ride down the deserted boulevard at prowling midnight.
We were irresistibly falling in love with the idea that this sensual drama in the dark would never end.
Goodbye dear dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm and final hope that we’ll meet again outside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
As light plays upon the dark, that moon through stained glass windows
cutting a swarth across cobbled floors.
It seeps into the cracks like it's found home at last
How a distant piano to a curious ear attracts
a de'javu moment and yet it is unwritten.
You follow the fleeting seeking some origin
reaching out for inspiration as if it were original sin
All recitations from what remains unwritten
Those words hidden under the tongue just below the surface of a heart.
Contour of an image meant to be lived, yet remains unchanged, namelessly forgotten.
Its a melancholy of indecision climbing the walls of narrow passages like wisteria
you adhere to the impulse to cover all that once lay bare.
I drag tired fingers around the next bend, the next barrier
is more impressive than the last.
There’s an attempt to grasp something in the lapse between thoughts
to trade abstract beliefs for the tangible, it is enough to inspire devotion.
a shadow climbs the wall only to stall in its climax
abiding but a remnant of the unwritten.
Something is always left in these corners where candles aid their illumination
and thoughts drift elsewhere in the dancing theatre of undefined movements.
The unknowing becomes vagabond to the warmest of comforts.
You find yourself in these blankets of cloud cover observing holes in the disguise.
The veil suddenly lifted, experience immediate, no longer a stranger
so you can gaze upon these mirrors and hasten that journey toward home
Home, your feeling is kept fleeting, A temporal haven so you can continue repeating
these steps that lead you towards the perfect escape.
Always almost there... In this world of smoke and mirrors
Trapped in illusion that holds time obscurely
"The Unwritten"
So we bend beneath the wing of watching eyes.
Trenched in the words of silver tongues, frozen by the voice of awkward edges
For if the unwritten were to be before its time, If it were to flee,
to break free and roam; Become the breeze through these hallowed halls
of desperate belief.
To write the unwritten...
Then though they'd cry and shout and leap, No wall could stretch from sea to sky
Nor any kingdom stop it.
It is etched on the soul more deeply than stone
And we have given it a name...
Our Destiny
The Joining was one of subdued elegance. Seileach insisted on the ceremony being held in the Keep. Jessica was beautiful, beyond beautiful, she was exquisite. Her long red hair infused with sky blue Blåveis and white bell shaped Liljekonvall mingling in a beautiful waterfall along the right side of her head. Rødsildre weaved through the intricate braids that Chroí sculpted through her tresses, the pinkish flowers softened against the brilliance of the natural highlights in her hair with a crown of fragrant red Vivendel circling the top of her head. When Joulupukki saw her slowly walking down the winding staircase in the vestibule, her long azureus gown flowing like a stream down the stone of each tread, he was struck dumb. As she passed from step to step, the living hand rail bloomed deep violaceous coveys of wisteria flowers, a gift from Seileach's Forest Elves working in coordination with the Garden Elf. The whole ceremony felt like a dream. He listened as her bare feet tapped gently against the stone of the foyer tiles and crunched as she moved into the sand path of the courtyard where she joined, arm in arm, with her father who guided her from sun to shade and without any reticence placed her hand in Joulupukki's and stepped away. They stood beneath the willow tree and pledged their love and loyalty to one another, and, at length, were greeted by the numerous elves that lined the path winding through the Keep from the vestibule to the courtyard and back into the Great Eating Hall, where a feast was laid out for all of the village elves to join in the festivities.
Many years peacefully passed as the Elfin Clans' Council refined their guidance of the elves of all six clans, each clan developing their own council that took deference to the lead of the Council of Six. On occasion Joulupukki was asked to offer his opinion and vote on a difficult issue on which the council was split. There were elves that were elected to the council who were hungry for power but none could muster the votes to gain control before their term came to an end. Eventually Seileach was relieved of his position as Elder Councilman and Ceridfen took over. Lumi, at the request of his friend Joulupukki became a member of the Village Council and eventually the Council of Six.
Mary Lou Sims was young and enterprising, like stars routing dark;
Or mauve dawn on the verge of discovery, awaiting time's remarks.
Mary Lou's best friend was Cora Mann, ever since sweet childhood;
When they'd sat in zesty school together, in the town of 'Wildwood.'
They dreamed of opening an antique shop, like an old rose garden;
Awash in butterscotch sun's long memory, scents roaming, wanton.
Other friends visited Mary Lou frequently, like frilly clouds visit sun;
Avid for frothy, plum memories, like formal moon, beyond the fallen.
Family favored Mary Lou with visits, on flowering Fridays of her life;
As raspberry filled a backdrop of days, and plumed flocks were rife.
She lived in the house of tasks and haste, like pink stars, ever shining;
Or butterflies laboring in flowers, near the place of wisteria, climbing.
Striped scarlet seized colorful dawn, on a street of transient starlings;
Where sassy Mary Lou resided, when ravens spread their dark wings..
And neon hues lit noisy nightfall, when nomad neighbors came calling;
In now moments of now and then, when time notably, stops crawling.
'Elephant foot' plants shook earth, while swan flowers glided, moonlit.
Then 'mermaid plants' dove at dusk, as weeping begonias cried a bit.
'Sorceress blue rose' bewitched all, as jade spiral cacti dizzily twirled;
And 'curly locks orchid,' combed her tresses, under starlight, pearled.
Mary Lou and Cora, were closer to their dream. A loan was approved;
And Mary Lou wrote a note to friend, Cora, like colors of joy, suffused.
Mary Lou gathered other letters to be mailed, and also the one to Cora,
With joyful news of the rest of their lives, like mulberry skies of aurora.
She toted and mailed the letters, using a basket, of yellow and green;
Yet, with no word from Cora, worried she was having doubts. Unseen!
But, elation returned when a boy rang her bell, with the letter she'd lost,
For, some acts of kindness are so great, that you could not place a cost!
'A-tisket a-tasket
A green and yellow basket
I wrote a letter to my friend
And on the way I dropped it,
I dropped it, I dropped it,
And on the way I dropped it.
A little boy he picked it up
And put it in his pocket.'
Isabel was the youngest of four children, dwelling in a large old house,
Nestled under the burgeoning oak trees, in green spring, of no doubts.
Isabel's parents were devout churchgoers, insisting upon going weekly;
But, Isabel often preferred playing, like dawn, pink sun, shining meekly.
Theirs was a tight knit community, the kind everyone wants to live in;
Like orange butterflies, calling on red flowers, of golden days in a spin.
Isabel and funny friends flew blue kites, under floating clouds of fluff,
On finer days, foreseeing furious storm, betwixt yoyo's, bikes and stuff!
Fleeting faddish colors flitted summer gardens, as bug eyed frogs leapt,
On flighty days of family visits, and gloss sunshine, where the ages slept.
Isabel lived in the house of now and then, like a rare eclipse of wonder;
Or the burgundy roses of seldom, evoking the green spell we are under.
Scented sincerity wafted from still blooms, on the street of sunny views.
There Isabel's family lived sparkly lives, like yellow stars, in sweet youth.
Nice music came from treetop nests, in shady niches where it was born;
When nonchalant neighbors came casual, and geese honked their horn.
'Pink powder puff' flowers applied talcum, as 'rattlesnake calathea' hissed;
And 'purple daydream' dozed away, its fragrance and beauty, very noticed!
'Weeping blue wisteria' was melancholy, although sun was shining orange;
And 'blue waterfall' bellflowers cascaded, like a couple, taking the plunge.
Sunday came and Isabel was pouting, as she would be in church for hours!
And she wore a long face to Sunday school, like dissent among the flowers.
But, Sunday school was so much fun, and she had forgotten it was Easter;
And the Lord's face was smiling down, and her unhappiness, released her!
They all had a snack and played a fun game, singing and clapping along;
For every warm heart is happiest, midst melodious voices, raised in song!
'If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it,
Then your face will surely show it,
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.'
Line of inquiry:
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude”
~ Unseeking Seeker
******************
Are we perceived as hostile beings
by flora that we tend in our gardens?
If we intimidate petals of peonies
each time we walk past their stems,
we should make amends and ask for pardon.
Is the pink tint of their blush mistrust of us?
Withering zinnias and wilting wisteria!
We wouldn't want to burden them with fear
when we speak of how lovely they'd look
in a crystal vase, set upon our parlor mantle.
To ease their worry and not cause their tears,
in our pockets, we don't carry pruning shears.
We personify flowers as if they have feelings—
but do our innuendos have that effect on people?
We label shy ones as loners or 'wall flowers'
who pull back, often going unnoticed for hours.
Do some of us unintentionally cause that reaction?
If this proves true, we need to take a moment
to have in depth contemplative consciousness,
a change in our stance and make an atonement
if it's determined we're at fault— guilty.
If so, our aura indeed has need of correction.
One that shows us emanating a kinder reflection.
The one who wilted as we passed by—
was she the shrinking Violet we refused to see?
Would we bring her heart joy if we paused
and spoke to her with a gentle greeting?
Words that would give the fragile one cause
to not think of us as hostile and vile?
If a kind word is spoken with a sincere smile
wouldn't those greetings be worthwhile?
It's plausible that we'd then have a pleasant scent,
the treacly aroma of consideration and love.
Time taken to say, 'hello' would've been well spent.
Hold out a hand as a metaphorical invitation to dance.
It might give a wallflower the confidence and the chance
to stand tall and no longer cringe at being approached.
If we've been at fault for diminishing the smile in souls,
offer them emotional strength. Be someone who consoles.
her untamable sakura spirit
glows like sweet scents
of petrichor peace,
perfumed in jasmine water,
whilst there’s no path
to golden rays of sunlight,
she shines for the elite vines
trailing through silver
gates of heaven.
and when the sky is a sea
of lilac lanterns,
and mauve mists,
shifting amidst
raining rhinestones
etched with mood-swings,
she remembers~
God as the choreographer
the mindful maestro,
tranquilizing trees tangled
with roots of torment.
but chocolate cosmos
remain blindfolded
by pearly lilies,
as the salmon-hued
bird of paradise
blossoms from
neglected lines
of caramelized skin,
she still sprouts in solitude,
delicate but
powerfully growing
from sepia roots
of grief and regrets,
lessons learned
through wisteria wisdom
earned from
turmeric truth,
and holistic hymns of the
almighty that echo
in captivating cadence~
as spiritual songs
of sepals flourish
amidst withering petals,
there her frost-bitten
soul found a healing field
in a poetic reverie,
where lyrical lines
float above mulberry meadows,
sowing hyacinth herbs of kindness~
painting petunias in patience,
silently sprinkling
enticing anemones
as an inevitable sign
of eternal hope to freedom.
A poetic earth that shall remain
untouched amidst the cruel wind
that blow it’s way through,
while lakes of longing
emanate soulful sagas,
synchronized from strings
of moon-kissed stars,
unfurling light when darkness
dwell upon dreary hearts.
Mother-nature, compassionate
spirit,
I hear her plea for
empathetic emeralds,
engrossed with
righteous rubies,
from topaz tenderness.
here, in singing silence,
I stretch my heart to
seraphic spheres,
for she lies in solitary stillness.
Let the beating hearts
of walking silhouettes
manifest silken fate for her
divine aura.
Rivers may no longer flow,
and flowers may
no longer be fragrant,
but faith shall
never be perished,
and the wildest forests
of her heart shall forever
flare evergreen
dreams of tomorrow.
The path led to rose bushes cul de sac.
Early in the morning, we sat down to rest.
Dewdrops are still shining on the track.
At our feet, a swarm of ladybugs, deft.
Petrichor arose as the July rains left us back.
A strain expressing your clumsy affection.
Tune into your breathing and heartbeat.
This is a dreamy time for such passion.
Flog love is bound to the cul-de-sac part.
It is essential to preserve buried emotion.
This curvy, icy nook is set in a helix maze.
Poetry and syncopation reignite the fire.
Even talking may be risky at night phase.
Shut the door if you wish to quell desire.
Light should be veiled by a smoky haze.
Platonic ties might be a bottomless sack.
Lyricism, zeal, and merit are key factors.
The outcome of love, then, is not a cul-de-sac.
if these are quickly obfuscating actors.
Intending that love is the sweetest shack
A full moon glides through winter dreams.
The cul-de-sac ice rink is nearing its end.
Facing reality while reminiscing streams.
Droplets seize their will to settle and wend.
Twilight moon shines with merry schemes.
Ashen-faced friends slow-motion blast.
In the cul-de-sac, the lovely house fades.
Sleeping flies swirl the remaining cast.
My cup is filled with an autumn shade.
Affinity seems to be a shackle of fact.
Only going out mattered, for a brief time.
Spring equinox has just been drenched.
Paddle a boat through the azure, sublime
The skeletons' soliloquy was quenched.
Without other elements, this is grime.
The lake thawed as the ice started to glow.
for the goal of exposing the ostentatious.
Cut on a slant, with a glimmer of a rainbow,
As my mother would say, you are gracious.
This is not how you wish your child to grow.
That desolate road cul-de-sac of shame.
I imagine the life I'd lead there as a coward.
Swans, a lake house, and a child on tame.
The tourmaline-dazzling wisteria has soured.
Parents were overjoyed to view the game.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 02, 2023
This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
I know you have witnessed her beauty, you have been enraptured by her presence there, although no one knows what her reasons are or do they seem to care
Every day you can find her there looking deeply into the water beneath that wooden bridge, as though she is trying to conjure up a memory that in her mind she believes still exists
No one has told her the truth as they pass her by, they just discreetly watch as she wipes away the bitter tears streaming from her beautiful eyes
They wonder why she weeps, and they question her obvious pain, but no one dares to speak with her, let alone ask her name
She wears a long, black dress as though she is expecting someone to come walking by, but her eyes never venture from the dark waters that are reflecting there in her eyes
She rarely moves only to listlessly wipe the tears away, if only they could read her thoughts the things that they could say
The beautiful white swans gracefully glide by, dangerously close to one another taking her back to a more pleasant place in time
Where she once looked upon them as someone held her in his arms so tight, and as she watches them swim out of view, she sorrowfully remembers that night
The night that her soul left her body as she looked into his eyes beneath those stars, when he told her that he must go, they were to forever be apart
She fell to her knees as she wept upon that bridge, and gave up all hope of true love, knowing now it was only a cruel myth
And there upon that bridge surrounded by the beautiful wisteria hanging down, she thinks to herself ironically this is where she will be found
Among the beauty of the waters and the bridge, and the wisteria representing immortality, she knows now why she left her soul here so that she can long for peace
Peace within her soul after it was left lying for dead, there is nowhere more beautiful than this place on this bridge where love once lived, before bitter tears were shed
So, if you see her looking forlorn and gazing out across this bridge, just let her be and say a pray for her to eventually find her bliss.