Short Burgeons Poems

burgeons’ aroma
  myriad hues of festoons
  mother earth’s birthday

Spring Haiku - Traditional Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin 
Syllable count : PS
Date: 29-03-2021
Placed: 5th...

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Sorrow is the one thing we show
Like a tear I caressed your face
Life unkind burgeons
wild shadows
hoover nye

A light may
shine one day
Don't torture your mind
Ride a carousel that never 
touches the ground...

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As is the generation of leaves
So is that of humanity
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground
But the live timber burgeons with leaves
Again in the season of spring returning
So one generation of men will grow while another dies...

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As is the generation of leaves
So is that of humanity
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground
But the live timber burgeons with leaves
Again in the season of spring returning
So one generation of men will grow while another dies

Adapted from The Iliad
Homer...

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Beauty burgeons
 From the soul like a rose
 Preparing to blossom
 And give out
 Its loving scent around
 Without a thorn
 Upon its stem


 When you tear
 Someone's heart apart
 The soul is smeared
 By the fear
 Of what is to come
 When it comes to blossom
 There will be thorns
 Upon its stem.


 Free Verse © CarolineCecile - 04.06.12...

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then ...
I close my eyes
to find the forsaken
dancing like a gypsy in my skin
but unreachable
the prayer I breathe
lost to time, like weep to rain
yet ... it burgeons
there - in the never-black
that smile ...
floating your face like a lily
tender lashes above
butterflies, waking the day
a call to worship
of the faultless bloom, white as lies
tempting as a truth
and sweet as ...
death.








...

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Like any transition Summer springs from a bud and burgeons into bloom, fulfilling the legacy of nature's constant change of state. Gone but remembered. 

From frolicking in the sweltry sun to a cooling composure - the questing quill sows its elucidating wisdom to embark on a final journey - crafting the legacy. Gone but remembered. 

Autumn! Season of fecund harvest when poets forage for mocking muses amidst the gaudy palette of fading charm. Gone but remembered....

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whate'er the sun
      hunts up the sky
         is meant, as lace
   to grace the eye

in dazzled dreams
      that dance a-sea
         and weep that fills
   the rills and leas

for what light paints
      in day's dear death
         can gift one’s gaze
   yet steal the breath

as eve’s dark bloom
      thus burgeons, ours -
         sweet butt’ry moons
   … and silvered stars.






( for the “No 1256 New Poem Only” Poetry Contest, Brian strand, Judge/Sponsor )
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