Forsythia,
Perig3e
Perig3e
Mar 21, 2012

Forsythia,
here blazing out,
in,
is it tractor,
   center stripe,
      or school bus yellow?
A distant cousin to the olive tree.
Would that a rioting branch,
when offered,
would never fail to restore
tranquility and peace.

Forsythia enflamed,
Keith Collard
Keith Collard
Sep 15, 2012      Sep 16, 2012

Forsythia enflamed,
with unbudded rose,
together in bed,
together they grow.

thorn on bark climbed,
coming of red rose,
but yellow flames,
outed long ago.

Fiery petal pendant,
and rose hips,
in same bed,
but never to kiss.

Together in bed,
hugging in the cold.
no more vain red rose,
no more gold to behold,
but together in bed,
and together in the end.

basking 'neath forsythia,
victoria
victoria
Mar 15, 2013      Mar 15, 2013

Bereft of beauty
these distorted yesterdays
I run till I drop
basking 'neath forsythia,
heralding in seasons joy.

like thirsty, overheated forsythia, one
cyrus
Jun 16, 2011

one halcyon summer, when
we strung ourselves out on fat couches, wilting
like thirsty, overheated forsythia, one
hundred or more crimson carcases found themselves
turned upside down on my floor. ladybugs discarded
from the designs of nature. i swept them under the bed.
i promise, when you die, i will not flick you out of sight
with a careless index finger (there will be sorrow, outrage, and flowers
picked clean of aphids).

hat has fallen from the branches of the forsythia

Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl--
The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia
Beside you...
What is all this?
I know how furiously your heart is beating.

hat has fallen from the branches of the forsythia

Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl--
The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia
Beside you...
What is all this?
I know how furiously your heart is beating.

forsythia bushes,
Ronald J Chapman
Ronald J Chapman
Dec 5, 2014

When it is springtime, I open my windows wide.
The smells of flowers and cut grass are such a delight,
When, they come inside.

What does Spring smell like?

It smells like;
forsythia bushes,
daffodils, crocus, tulips,
cherry blossoms and cut dandelions.

What does Spring smell like?

Spring smells like;
The wonderful smells of;
laundry drying on the clothes lines,
rain,
fresh breezes,
and dirt.

All the smells of springtime,
are all so excellent, fresh, new and
such a delight!

© 2013 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

FUN Spring Song! - (Spring is HERE!)
http://youtu.be/_ZXdJ46IX0I
#flowers   #winter   #spring   #trees   #seasons   #cherry   #frogs  
Awakes the Forsythia bush;
Timothy
Timothy
Mar 10

When daffodils bloom once again,
And the first pipe of the Wood Thrush,
And gentle soothing falling rain,
Awakes the Forsythia bush;
When Iris blooms unfurl and gawk,
Then at ev'ning sings the Nighthawk
Pzeent!
Pzeent! Pzeent! A melancholy sound,
While bats after insects fly 'round.

When perfumed laden breezes blow,
And roses bud and lilacs too,
And grass is cut and still doth grow,
And gardens sparkle like the dew;
When Red Fox calls and starts to stalk,
Then at ev'ning sings the Nighthawk
Pzeent!
Pzeent! Pzeent! A melancholy sound,
While bats after insects fly 'round.


~Timothy~

© Timothy 10 March, 2015
buds of forsythia
Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt
Apr 13, 2014

Central Park transformed,
a natural stadium
of tourists, strollers,
drunk on:

spring beer Buds,
or
buds of forsythia

maps upside down,
smiles right-side up

Amazing,
they don't even notice,
'walk on by,'

the white shirted, black suited  
unicorn playing the accordion


or the

violinist
imitating Charlie Chaplin,
playing both her instrument and
her hula hoop,
simultaneously


ah Central Park,
your air is like
a first cup of spring,
a first morning coffee,
a fresh breath of
a special new,
if you know
how to
just be,
in NYC

Just another true tale of life in Manhattan...come walk with us...

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/482482/in-my-sweet-city/
king clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Patti Masterman-Heterodynemind

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.

 
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