Short Thistle Poems
Short Thistle Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Thistle by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Thistle by length and keyword.
I found me self in a pickle
When I sat on a thistle
The pricks went in
I started to scream
They lied, they said it would tickle
God never promised you and I Eden –
Only thistles, but even a thistle
Will grow tall in shaft and be edible.
Was that not sufficient for Adam?
purple thistle grows like a giraffe
dandelion not as tall, by half
weeds will grow eight foot in one night
easily crowding out a garden’s light
A song trickles from the thicket...
bouncing off the cowlicked grass.
It tilts its beak toward my whistle...
re-branding the day
"Bull thistle magic".
In fields chasing my youth.
Endless expanse of buttercups thistle and daisies.
The sun to my face.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Educated Br Reading Each Epistle
Were educated reading each epistle;
Jesus was stuck with every thistle;
Crucified;
Died;
Wind would sound like a whistle.
Jim Horn
Everything in my yard can grow
Except a thistle
Because of their mean thorns
I put on gloves and eradicate them
I have stepped on these thorns
And I do not plan to again.
our yard is creeping with dandelions
clover and wild thistle growing too
soon it will be camouflage for full grown lions
black pumas, spotted leopards and king of the lions too
“Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow."
– Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Red roses rambling over an old sandstone wall…perfect.
Dug up a thistle today
Planted a rose I hope will stay
Giving color and perfumed scent
Making life become a mint
Of happiness, joy, and beauty
To fill our life and make enjoying our duty
Desperate wisps of love,
floating through the air.
Like thistle seeds,
waiting to land.
sowing a new meadow
in the hearts of all
Hours upon years,
waiting for _____.( enter your love here)
Form:
Upon his saving grace I bred,
Who bought my pains with the tears he shed;
In tears and torment of thorns and thistle
He wept and died in a cursed, cruel castle
Where he bought my pardon with his blood
Upon his saving grace I bred,
Who bought my pains with the tears he shed;
In tears and torment of thorns and thistle
He wept and died in a cursed, cruel castle
Where he bought my pardon with his blood
As thin as a thistle Santa in chimney got stuck
In the passage heavily blocked by years of muck
struggling through the soot
Santa fell down like a coot
And came out looking like a dark fancy duck.
Thistle's when i'm prickly down
Upon your silky pappus.
Ither on over
Your showy
Purple flower head.
Onorpordum Acanthium
Is where i quencheth
On the pointed end
Of a prickspur
Not knowing the time.
the Scottish thistle
strong , tenacious, beautiful
just like my mother
~~~~~~~~~
02/01/2020
this was written to be a tattoo.
to compliment my thistle tattoo I
had done when my mother passed away
I’ve got a penny whistle
I made it out of tin
I wander through the thistle
And traipse across the glen
A tune for bonnie lassie
On this wee flute I built
Soon as I get untangled
From the briars in my kilt
Things are not like they used to be
way back when.
We are not as young and spry as
we were then,
and the Golden Rod looks paler
than when
we blew thistle down, in the field
as children.
© cghjr Sept 17 2012
Here lies pretty Martha Anne McBanes
She never sang verses, only refrains
While attempting to whistle,
Pricked her chin on a thistle
And died of an infection in her brain.
written March 3, 2022
honey loaf? honey thistle? honey suckle?
I stare at the renegade tree
She has exploded with tiny bright orbs
smaller than marbles, deadly, poisonous berries
this tree will be here many mountainous lifetimes after I am gone.
Like the Oriole to the thistle,
we are drawn together in harmony;
a family gathering, gives birth
it is in the sharing, that we are
sustained.
1-13-2022
Bite Size Poem #32 Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
.
in a nettled field riddled with foxtail that pricks the sun
a Popsicle wrapper clings to a thistle in sweet surrender
remembering the yesterdays of bare feet and blue jeans
Sword flashing fire flows
leap lurch land on pipe led toes
Down hill slicing foes
The title comes from Scotland's flower
The picture is a young wild clansman
with a shiny wet sword
led by bagpipes like a wind blown thistle seed
One tiny purple pom becoming
food for butterflies and thought
stretches out her long lilac colored fingers to get her first taste of the sun
she smiles as she blooms
The tiger swallowtail flutters excitedly around her, announcing her arrival
Walk with me where wildflowers grow
among weeds and thistle in the meadow.
We'll share memories from years gone by.
Then, hold hands beneath a lavender sky,
and make a wish on dandelion wings of gold.
That's how they come true, so I've been told.