Tendril Poems | Examples

Love Forgets the Envy of Weeds

Untamed, wild they rise
flowers don't beg for kindness—
roots break through the stone
their petals flare, loud colors
lure bees to their greedy feast

weeds at heart they sprawl
never pleading for a hand—
only to be seen
their fragrance a ruthless lure
their beauty a cunning snare

perhaps I was born
to beg for love that I missed—
waiting in the aisles
clamouring for attention
while flowers thrive without pleas

I reach out for care,
while the ivy climbs the wall
not asking for help—
I reach out with tendril claws
but my quest is not fulfilled

where are my flowers—
gone to be weeds every one
petals fall like ash—
only weeds endure the light
feeding on what love forgets

magnifico

finding the magnifico under a rock
where a dandelion tendril, reaching
upon the cracked soil finds a bead of water
sustaining the cycle of life 
beneath the boughs of a beautiful song
to be set free upon the wind

BORN WITH HOME’S LIGHT

was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.-
Lauren Eden
Topic: Light

Suzette Prime: BORN WITH HOME’S LIGHT

A primal spark, a nascent gleam,
"Home" in the blood, a flowing
 stream.
From that deep well, a radiance 
springs,
A light that knowing instinct brings.
Each tendril born, a sunlit thread,
Where hearth and haven softly 
spread.
No searching gaze, no fumbling quest,
This inner dawn, supremely 
blessed.
It paints the world in hues so clear,
Dispelling doubt, erasing fear.
Suzette Prime, where light takes
 hold,
A story in the veins unfolds.

Southern Rata Splendour

Southern Rata (is a stunning Kiwi Tree)



Red or scarlet harlots instead...a bucolic frolic..

Tranches spread as if bulbous branches have gorgeously bled..

Overpowering flowering towers glimmer…fanciful fairytale shimmers showering...

Such vim...swim on a whim..sprouting on an outing from their pouting wooden limb....

A delight..refining..shining bright.. defining.. these bizarrely beautifully gnarly trees...

Crimson collage..insisting snarling tendril darlings..timber tentacles twisting…a magical mirage....

Marooned yet cocooned in a festooned lagoon...wouldn't barter anything…

To swoon at the miracle..spectacular boon of Southern Rata ...

Spring's Abysmal Guile

Spring’s Abysmal Guile
By Sy Roth

A vapor rises, rank as the charnel pit,
a corruption of a miasma vast,
as though some sepulcher, long sealed,
split its stony jaws to breathe.
Vile exhalation of a corrupted world.  

The reveler, unwitting wretch
treads the decadent fields where verdure writhes,
each blade a hostile tendril, squamous, cold,
glistening with ichor 
No earthly fount its progenitor.

He deems the shade of evil vanquished,
trampled beneath his hobnailed boot. 
The soil heaves with malefic will,
its roots, like veins of some primordial fiend,
pulses with a rankness older than the stars,
a stench that whispers of aeons lost.

Spring cloaks itself in verdant pall,
no bloom, but scales of a vast, unuttered thing,
its thorns a raven’s beak, evermore to rend, to sow, to bespoil.

He quaffs the tainted zephyr,
proclaiming triumph over a gloaming moon, 
Swept in the season’s unseen talons,
fathomless ennui
creeps through his sinews,
entombing his soul in an abysmal cleft unshriven.

Sun Rain Flower

Drizzle drip the rain slips
Down from the eaves 
To water a seed
Pitter patter
Meandering shower
Sullen clouds
Jacob's ladder
Seasons change
Sustaining towers
Tendrils reach
Birthing a flower
[]
a tiny tendril
Fragile and pure
Unraveling beauty
In a stunning allure
Leaning eastward
The sun crawls to show
Vibrant velvet colors
In a spellbound glow

Just A Simple Musk-Filled Muse, Reaching For The Sun

This was inspired by Silent One's poem,  
"Prisoner Of Poetry"  

Let me loose the trellis that holds on to my roses
weave every thorn I own around your open space 
I do not twine nor do I have a tendril to boast of 
but I do own beauty and the scent of Rose Khalid  

Let me penetrate your senses with my wildish ways 
cleaving shadows of your night, I will bring you day 
I am not a flower to be cast aside just like the rest   
take good care of me and I will surely bloom in May 

Let me be your muse's musk, powdery sweet like earth   
leaving trails of inspiration on your velvet book of love  
I am not a garden trinket nor your favorite rose my dear 
talk to me as if  I were a prayer, written just for thee. 

For I am no longer a prisoner of your poetry Dear One  
just a simple musk-filled muse, reaching for the Sun...

Bound - Truth Finds Victory

Truth Finds Victory

Victory alone is a silent inner joy
But, in a twining moment
We align as one
To conquere a step
Anew

An inkling
Perhaps a tendril 
Pushing upward
To reach
A pivotal role

Unity does link like mined souls
Calculating a formula 
To find the perfect mold

Beneath the sun of multitudes
Lifting skyward without adieu
We grasp hands of the believer 
Intrigued by a lesson
Set forth in facts of truth

The Artist And The Winter Vine

She is eighteen and tattoos are the latest rage." I'd like a tattoo please" she asks. I see a young girl in a messy ponytail and wonder if she'll pick something gaudy, then I will have to oblige.  
The boldness of youth
can appear so uncouth
yet reveal so much truth.  
"I want a tattoo of a winter vine.  One that won't fade with time" As the machine begins to “buzz” the armature bar hits the coil and I begin to work. Stretched on her upper arm I notice the discoloration of skin, a slow petering  bruise. 
Eyes color of snake
she is all heartache 
I take a break...
"Why did you choose a vine?" I ask, as the coil tattoo gun soothes her ears.  "Last memory of my mom is from a trip to the winery.  She told me the sap sinks into the roots and the vine falls asleep until the next year.
the tendril climbs 
this is her time
not mine 
From her handbag, fifty old crumpled dollar bills.  " How much do I owe?" she asks.  I say " No charge." She smiles and then leaves, as if on cue...

Pushing Dead Daisies

The skin remembers, even when the mind tries to forget
Scars etched deeper than bone, a roadmap of agony
They say time heals all wounds, they lie
Time only buries them deeper under the layer of lies
I used to feel joy and sorrow, life danced with empathy
Now? A hollow echo in a vacant music hall
Hope, they ripped it out, tendril by bleeding tendril
Left a barren landscape, scorched earth where nothing grows
Callous they call me, emotionless, a monster forged in fire
They don't see the demons I carry or the ghost at my side
They see the wreckage of the person I once was
Before the darkness claimed me, before all hope died
This echo resounding with the ghost of all my screams 
All that I still try to bury in the darkest part of my soul
Only the screams refuse to stay buried, pushing daisies 
Ones that are already wilted and dead as they rise
Sadly it mimics us, sadly I am dead yet still alive
In search of the light, a light I know will never shine

Never Losing Sight Of You

Never Losing Sight Of  You 
Telescopic moments in full view 
seen through the senses of a gathering flute
I remember the fresh linen scent of water 
the herbal essence of blossoming trees 
The way your white beard caressed me,  
like the whispering winds of, ...slow time

Meditative apparatuses, (pause) none 
only the sound of your breath as you exhaled 
brought the instrument to life..
As the orbs circled your frame you swirled
into oblivion,
leaving me sitting there 
                            like a wisp of a breeze 
                            a tendril of smoke
                            a shred of light 
I listened to your melody from a bird's eye view  
floating up, never losing sight of you.

Tendrils of Hope

I have always envisioned hope as feathers,
thanks to a favorite poet, but as time goes on
and life flies by
I realize that for me, hope has tendrils

As layers of life accumulate,
tendrils of hope climb and grow
when a layer of pain develops
a tendril will sprout

When a loved one spirals and
scars accumulate,
a tendril appears and will
reach for the sky

When a loved one dies
and leaves you to sort
through the ashes of life,
a tendril will shoot forth

When a heart cries out
to the one who created it,
a tendril will reach all the way
to the heart

Moonstone Melodies

the undulating current of love
   ripples through our hearts
beneath a black sky draped in a glittering mass
   mingling with moon glows
painting an abundance of light, trapped in our eyes
where a talisman moonstone enters our souls
like a translucent gemstone of pearly lustre
that lifts our lifeblood of internal desire
our lips merged in a plush tendril
melting into a singular tissue
from this lover's web of emotional exuberance
   and ethereal light within
that our hearts inhabit beneath this celestial sky
this blissful serene realm draws us closer
to a harmonious bond of enchantment
born from moonstone melodies and romantic grace

What do you do when you know see and are everything

Are we just Gods Lego’s and time.it’s morning play
So the pros and cons of death
Pros…………………….Cons
No debt……..,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, maybe more debt
No work today…………..,,,,,, or ever again
Never need to walk……………..forced to never stop
No thoughts I think………………wait what if we ………………………,……………..become thought 

Worry gone…………………,,,,,,……get worried
No people………………………………sharing a ………………………………………..bubbling cauldron …………………………………………with lots of them
Miss light…………………….. ………yeah I am kinda ……………………………………………with you there

Miss Tracey ached as she giggled at my errors
Did you know if you rotate a shark 3 times it faints
love to see someone disprove it

No winds tendril-led………………I’m from Scotland
trail………….,…………………………won’t miss it
Raindrops fall…………………………..just to fall again
Snow flakes float……………………unique becomes 1
A smile……………………….,,,,…hiding
No sound……………………and you were there…..but
……………………………….you were a scarecrow
You keep her busy I will phone the hospital

Somewhere………..,………Nowhere
Reins Boughs

No regret……………………………..Every regret
I’d miss seconds…………….you might become them
Never fold clothes………………the fold closing

Garden of Greed

  I’ve been deceived by golden buttercups~
dipped in chamomile incensed rain,
while butterflies slumber on poisonous petals,
oblivious to the weathered garden of greed,
where I’ve seen more than words can tell,
for not every vibrant vine nor tender tendril serves honey.

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