Poppy Poems - Poems about Poppy

Sometimes I wonder, if I’m wasting my seconds trying to prove love lasts longer when you drown it with gin. Her ghost circles back— again, again— the Poppy wears a saccharine, serrated grin— (oh, how I’ve missed it) nestled among my worn-out keycaps. I didn’t mean to write her— I keep pressing delete— But she never blinks. That's when I know– I must write and write and write and...

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poppy mania inspired my kitchen I ordered a red stove toaster, crock pot and salt and pepper shakers gorgeous result...

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I wear a poppy every day And always there’s someone who’ll say, “You’ve got it wrong! That’s not the way, My man, you’re disrespectful!” You know the type. They take delight, Dictating what is wrong, what’s right. But really I don’t give a sh*te. I’m not at all regretful. “Not on your hat! It’s all askew! The leaf at eleven, not six or two!” What...

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I've been replaced by a lap dog~at least it's cute, Its poppy brooch glows bright on its dainty neck. It yaps and leaps, and like me, its poops pollute, But could it endure a long and rugged trek? I’d wager it’d fail~a weary, broken wreck....

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These are original haiku by Michael R. Burch and his translations of haiku by the Japanese masters Matsuo Basho, Yosa Buson, Masaoka Shiki, and others. Am I really this old, so many ghosts beckoning? —Michael R. Burch Sleepyheads! I recite my haiku to the inattentive lilies. —Michael R. Burch The sky tries to assume your eyes’ azure but can’t quite pull it off. —Michael R. Burch The...

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Poppy was like the old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children, she barely knew what to do. They always arrived in stacks of tens, still at home are twenty-two. Today she thought she would sneak off and take a nap, maybe two. The children were alarmed, where was mama mouse? They ran room to room,...

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I am a bright red poppy grown in gardens near and far. A Remembrance flower to honor our fallen, nothing to mar. On the western front, in the first world war. Bright red poppies like me were the first flowers soldiers saw. Flowers growing on a battlefield really did astound. We grew there because artillery fire broke up the...

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A unicorn travels through the wheat and lays its dreams upon poppy pillows, Among the echoes of time that resonate in an eternal violet dusk, Where the sky embraces the sea in a mirror without lid, And the moon is a silver brooch that captures vapors of untold events. Upon its back grow flowers of light on astral paths, Weaving...

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People of many nations Rallied to the cause United in their effort To end two World Wars. At the many Cenotaphs Poppy Wreathes are laid With two minutes silence And National respect is paid. Veterans of all generations Think of their lost friends Tears are held back as Each ceremony ends. We have kept our promise Renewed every November In spite of passing years We will always remember....

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Peacock Poppy, unearthed from the ground Many did he copy, the robin’s way around Many tweedles did he tweet–more than any other bird Poor Peacock Poppy just wanted to be heard Peacock Poppy, fluttering with sound His wings so floppy, they hardly speak a pound Many clouds did he circle–more than any other preen Poor Peacock Poppy just wanted to be seen Peacock...

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Poppy by Michael R. Burch “It is lonely to be born.” – Dannie Abse, “The Second Coming” It is lonely to be born between the intimate ears of corn . . . the sunlit, flooded, shellshocked rows. The scarecrow flutters, listens, knows . . . Pale butterflies in staggering flight ascend the gauntlet winds and light before the scything harvester. The winsome buds of cornflowers prepare...

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He came to me and gently brought, the fairest flowers of His thought. Joy arrived with euphoric mums, softly as the hummingbird hums. Purity blown from baby’s breath, ever innocent until death. Peace pervaded purest poppy, tranquil bliss nothing can copy. Happiness borne from pure lily, butterfly wings, dainty and frilly. Gratitude from feathered pink rose; praises for His blessings arose. Humility spread bold bluebells, silken as bunnies’...

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Poppy Corn, Poppy Corn Sally has a face forlorn Cracker Jack, Cracker Jack Sally has her smile back...

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Colourful meadow on summer day Blue cornflowers vie with wild primrose Perfect poppies with elegant sway Peaceful place where beauty grows. Artist ponders this habitat Colours perused with critical eye Contentment under wide-brimmed hat Silent he paints with blissful sigh. Meadow shimmering under sun Aromatic perfume does beguile Canvas reflects what nature has done Sable brush paused for short while. Pixabay image: Karsten Bergmann...

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DREAMING OF YELLOW POPPY FIELDS Soft among the yellow poppy fields, I clung to clocks of Dandelions, Driven by my seeds of youth. Breathless in their grace, They gather all, rolling in the summer hay. A bravura blow of what youth should be, Chasing down the summer's lease. Cockle shells and pinafores. On a beach of wave wet toes and sandwiches, Longing for a summer of...

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