Litte frogs hopping along by the water, as you wish, growing wilder by the day in May
My chin will tell the truth: stick after stick of your namesake disappears in the kitchen, but we don’t welcome you there unless tamed and sad in a jar trail free, little leapers, in a spill of sunshine across the open field
May flower mania continues! Thank you for reading!
Says Bee, with glee: John Jacob, is that you? . . . . Ah me, I see, I mistook you for Daisy. Butterfly and I came flying by, for a quick visit. Whatever your name is, we think you’re sweet, and could play in your purple frills all day.
Channeling Emily here – plus how great is the suit on the guy in the photo?? It’s an old photo, but then again by now this is also an old poem! Thank you for reading!
waves of blue following the highway’s undulation a lupine ribbon drawn across the hill country brought on by autumn rains a sky-shadow trailing underneath the stars
official mascot of the vernal season protected, revered immortalized in every art especially family photos where posing groups leave behind flattened sections soon to be filled by flattened patties left by the soft-eyed grazers whose great warm lips enjoy this new offering each spring
Texans know this one well! I grew up reading Tomie dePaola’s Legend of the Bluebonnet, and it haunts me still. Here’s the legend if y’all are unfamiliar with it. Thank you for reading!
Oh proud grand worshipper of the sun! Girasole, rotating on your mighty stalk to follow the rays you adore while on the garden floor where your admirers walk: your seedy remnants lie when your blooming day is done
Showy knot of gathered shame don’t punish us with your absence for such a slight as this trowel’s disturbance
Mischief peeks out from among your skirts, where your eye hides, bashful – I see you pretending to not see me, your pentitent gardener
I give you my slight bow in return for your precious head, Olympic daughter, bring all your glory to the golden bowl, be the centerpiece of my patient table, let your bright bloom be my heart’s physician
Today’s poem is steeped in the language of flowers – since this was a year ago, I will admit I don’t remember writing it, but I can guess that I did a lot of digging around in obscure references for this one! Thank you for reading.
sweet scented beating heart of passion named deliverer of 1000 declarations and 10,000 apologies the thorn in the side of lovers a petaled face among the brush wild, ready to peck at the pride of the faint of heart
Flower poem #1! Part of my process in writing this poem, and all the ones that will follow this month – after I’d randomly come up with a flower for each day – involved reading up on the meaning of the flower. The Victorian Language of Flowers fascinates me; I love the idea of receiving a coded message in the gift of a bouquet. Here is an article that I don’t think I referenced but still will give you the gist. Thank you for reading!