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"bluebells" poems
Every day you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water, You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands. You are like nobody since I love you. Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The rain takes off her clothes. The birds go by, fleeing. The wind. The wind. I alone can contend against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry. Curl round me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes. Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your ******* smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans. My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. Until I even believe that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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315.3k
Every Day You Play....
Every day you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water, You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands. You are like nobody since I love you. Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The rain takes off her clothes. The birds go by, fleeing. The wind. The wind. I alone can contend against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry. Curl round me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes. Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your ******* smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans. My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. Until I even believe that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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The burning flowers underline the sunset and  Dash before the fire (k)night catches them. Ripe berries cheaply tremble  but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating beneath. Crumbling flowers crumb the floor And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal and crimson dust. Bejewelled in Scarlet, the air, as the (k)night approaches, grows colder, Unsure of whether he will bring solace or strife. In his chariot he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells. Stars fleck the (k)night like freckles and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely.  The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils Which diminish as dawn approaches so their Tentilcles droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink. And so the (k)night rides on into The frivolous sunrise. The lowing, glossy calves in sage beside the ***** fields cast a beloved ambience  As though we are safe in the knowledge that the sky will remain forever topaz and the leaves forever emerald.
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Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
The (k)night
Beyond the sea, a white rose stands outside a vase, away from hands. Too pretty for a picture frame, a large bouquet, or window pane. Still growing, life is hers to gain: the warmth of sun, the cooling rain, the water droplets, oxygen; beauty will flourish best with space. A trademark warmth she wears so well like sun rays on a daffodil. She laughs like shamrock by the well, as infectious as a breeze among bluebells. I see the child inside your cries of joy, behind your smiles at boys. Beneath the skies, above the noise. You breathe in life, and it's all yours.
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Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Flora for Finola; A rose with few thorns
*Down a peaceful, quiet lane The two-story farmhouse awaits Bathed in evening hues Of rich lavenders, pinks, And dusty apricot The lilac scented breezes blow Whispering stories of summer Let me dance in pastures Of buttercups and wild daisies Where horses graze contentedly And Virginia bluebells sway Where time becomes stuck And lets me live this golden moment Just once more* ~Marian~
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Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Spring Wishes
~~~~English~~~~ Such beauty takes away my breath As the sunrays shine across the peaceful path The trees of this forest sway and nod in the dancing breeze Which caresses my cheeks Pastel clouds in the watercolor sky Makes the forest with its path beautiful And birds sing and warble in the tall treetops God alone creates this beauty The bluebells bordering the path Are kissed by sparkling dewdrops And snowdrops have long come out of Their veil of snow Lacy green leaves from the blowing trees Provide shade in the sweet summer And the breezes provide coolness on a hot day At this lovely place of beauty ~~~~French~~~~ Une telle beauté enlève mon souffle Comme les rayons du soleil brille à travers la voie pacifique Les arbres de cette forêt se balancent et hocher la tête dans la brise dansante Qui caresse mes joues Pastels nuages dans le ciel aquarelle Rend la forêt avec son chemin belle Et les oiseaux chantent et modulées dans les hautes cimes Dieu seul crée cette beauté Les jacinthes qui bordent le chemin Sont caressées par les gouttes de rosée mousseux Perce-neige viennent depuis longtemps de Leur voile de neige Dentelles feuilles vertes des arbres de soufflage Fournir de l'ombre en été douce Et les brises offrent fraîcheur par une chaude journée À ce bel endroit d'une beauté ~Hilda~
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Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
The Path Of Sunrays
JANUARY Delightful display Snowdrops bowing pure white heads To the sun’s glory. FEBRUARY Fresh green buds appear Indicating spring will soon Energise us all. MARCH Lambs gambol in fields Frisky with the joys of life Bleating happily. APRIL Bluebells stand so proud Beneath trees now sparsely dressed Fresh green leaves unfold. MAY Much awaited sound Echoes heard amid dense trees Cuckoo has arrived. JUNE Parks and gardens burst With sounds and vibrant colours Perfect harmony. JULY Beaches become full Of families having fun In sand and big waves. AUGUST Ripe golden harvest Burning sun in azure skies Labours rewarded. SEPTEMBER Swallows congregate On telephone wires ready To migrate down south. OCTOBER Red and gold leaves fall, Crunchy as cornflakes beneath Feet on a crisp morn. NOVEMBER Frosty webs sparkle In the early morning sun Brightly bejewelled. DECEMBER First few flakes of snow Dust gardens like icing on A chocolate cake.
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Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
A Year in Haiku
There's a meadow past the village On a hill...where magic swarms You can see it on a summer night When the clouds predict the storms Life from time eternal Starts appearing in the field Gnomes and bluebell fairies and the magic that they yield You can see them from the village Dancing in the moonlights glow You can see the lightning jumping You can see the ebb and flow The pixies and the fairies Folk who are part of their own world Light up the distant meadow As the magic is unfurled Daisies and soft bluebells fill the meadow in the sun there is clover and some dragonflies And young children having fun The magic folk are hiding Lights are hid, and tucked away Until the humans in their world Pack to end the day It's then, from down the village That the meadow lights begin Where the magic lights the sky up In the early gloaming din If a human breaks the borders Coming out and much too near The lights go dark...and silent For the magic world has ears There are sentries in the meadow All unseen to you That alert the makers of the lights When the humans are in view there is magic in the meadow magic lanterns are set free where the world becomes a canvas Of dancing lights for all to see
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Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
The Meadow
The sun on my tongue tastes like home, like childhood, like all the happy parts, like warm syrup running down my spine and my worn feet, on grass, thistles, bluebells, your bed, springing up to touch the wooden ceiling later to be found peaking out from the duvet as I was waking up to rain early and smoke from the chimney across the way and looking over to see, on the night stand, steaming tea and sticky-sweet buns that taste like the sun, and you.
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Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Grass, thistles, bluebells
early dawn rises bluebells elegantly chime breeze awakes petals
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May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
[early dawn rises] haiku
Sunrays are slanting through the trees While the sweet tiny bluebells sway In sweet summertime's blowing breeze Sunrays are slanting through the trees While the sweet tiny bluebells sway In the warmth of the tender day Sunrays are slanting through the trees While the sweet tiny bluebells sway ~Marian~
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Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Woodland (Triolet)
Blueberry bluebells sing, imperceptibly sighing against a backdrop of quiet cerulean. You know it is Spring when their hazy grasses sprout beautifully thick in the blades between the primrose, and when the sun infuses shafts of bronze to the lilac through the giant ash's baby leaves.
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Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Spring x2
Gliding through the fog, She comes to the clearing, Bluebells, Bluebells everywhere, Violets and bluebells, You can almost hear them ringing, Ding-a-ling, Ding-a-ling, The breeze whistles through, The newly sprouting trees and seedlings,
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Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
Bluebells
As I flit from A to B - Candleford to Larkrise Laurieston to Gatehouse of Fleet I flit, spit from A to B Calling all Bluebells assist me in my move -11th May, '11 Let Fairy Fawn be fair and true and pure with humility For his Fairy Lu - La Fee Lu could get so blue if he is not on time All praises Bluebells He is here T'was but a year since I'd wished upon a Castramond Bluebell in April 2010 And now we sit in utter Bliss Ensonced in historical Dunblane Fairy Fawn paints on and on And I just sit, dismiss All negativity, anything dark I know that light will disperse the unhelpful hearse darkness, death and dour ways Disolve in the sun this late spring morn Let Bees Browse among the Heather Blooms Like love now maturing from twenty-eight days to a year and day 4th of the 4th 2012
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May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
Castramond Bluebells Calling
The sun is shining through the trees Tiny rain-washed bluebells Are growing at my feet Birds are calling to each other Moss is growing on the ground And lichen on the trunks of trees Dappled sunshine lights my path Ferns are showing off their green lace And dewdrops are sparkling on the grass While the sky couldn't be a bluer sapphire hue A path of cherry blossoms in bloom Tower overhead Their sweet fragrance dancing on the breeze A circle of mushrooms Is where the Fairies dance each night That is where I dance too Today is such a lovely day Spent in my enchanted Woodland ~Marian~
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
The Woodland
Spend time with me by the bluebells. They look so beautiful, Just as you do and should know. I want to be with you by bluebells. I want us to look beautiful together, Just like bluebells do. I really do love bluebells. They come with childhood memories. So walk with me through the bluebells. I wish you could see their beauty in me.
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
Bluebells
i met a boy once with bluebells for eyes a cold blue sparkling in his sockets a cancer toyed with between his fingers truth in his want but a false fidelity manner like a court joker and name fitting of an aristocrat were you embarrassed of me too you were so prone to hiding things i flowered as brightly as you we spent such short time together growing at a slow pace of course i made it a tall tale cherry lipstick across his face like an explorer flagging the wonder of a new continent like a killer especially with blood staining their fingernails unable to hide their crime and their cruelty but i guess that was foreshadowing
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Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
bloom
Make this want wither, O Rain! Dig a brook hither In my vein, And plant on either side Of my pain - Swaying thousands Of bluebells. LazharBouazzi (December 15, 2017)
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Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
Evensong to the Rain
a perfect half hour drive with a perfect sunset keeping me high and a perfect soundtrack buzzing in my perfect battered car down a perfect country lane lined with green waves and soft bluebells smudging the hard lines of winter away the air is still cold but this evening is too perfect to notice or care and i realise i have been driving with a smile greeting stranger's stares.
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Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
Perfect
Pine trees sway in the bitter cold wind, And Jack Frost has come to stay, Always to the earth be kind; Whether at night or day. Snowdrops awaken from their sleep in a bed of snow, And bluebells awake with jewels of sparkling dew, And through the trees sweet breezes blow; And daisies wake anew. ~Marian~
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Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Winter (Part I)
When I wander among the swathes of  Bluebells I am minded of a  nascent  variety creeping in amongst our beloved ones, Spanish shifts of hue in the Weald of traditional  Kent. I swear some sad maid riding on a basket bicycle scattering new seed how unpatriotic !
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Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
Bluebells
It's 5:11am. A pretty time. The street lights outside, in my dipped  valley lane, glow orange against the soft, warm, gloomy shades of morn. The pretty pitter-patter of rain I can hear on the roof is adorning the bluebells in crystals which will twinkle when the wild wide world wakes.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
5:11am
The purple haze of heather had dwindled in the sunshine. Bluebells were breaking too, their florets a flutter. Smoggy incense rolls in off the horizon smoking over the crumbled mountaintops, their peaks unable to break the surf.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
Stifled spring
Seeing we never found gay fairyland (Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon) And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned; Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned; Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune; Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon, And from high Paradise are cursed and banned; -Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance. Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us. To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence. Are not girls' ******* a clear, strong Acropole? -There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole
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5.1k
A New Heaven
In a dreamy woodland There's a cottage just for me And it's waiting there now Beside a peaceful stream Where quiet maples grow And deer are not afraid Where mushrooms grow in sweet silence And sunlight glistens amongst the leaves There's an enchanted cottage Hidden in those shady woods Where running cedar And lady ferns intertwine Where tears never fall From any eye That is where my secret abode Is found in shadowy canopy Of sun-dappled trees Where dewdrops passionately kiss The demure bluebells Where breezes whisper Through tall, swaying pines And rustle ancient autumn leaves From many seasons ago Where time stands still And woodland fairies dance Where willow harps are played Echoing in dreamy breezes Through the trees and dancing through the air Waltzing with the butterflies Touching the lemon citrus sun With fingers of gold And spring days bygone That's where you'll find me Dreaming riparian Scent of petrichor Healing my soul In summer woodland yonder ~Marian~
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Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
In A Dreamy Woodland
It is seven this crisp April morning. In woods before the rising path reveals the heath, there, no there, just there are the first bluebells. Most still hide their pendulous bells in sheath-like petals. When open into a bell the end flounces, splits, curls back on itself. Then the petals reveal their delicate shades of light-thriven lavender. The stout purposeful stem meanwhile allows a gathering of bells, no, a necklace of bells, bells laced around the neck.   I cannot look at this flower without knowing it is the colour that so often graces your purposeful frame, arrayed in the simplest clothes, so often in layered friendly shades; so often falling, loose, quiet, light-enhancing as your blue with grey with green eyes that hold my gaze in pillow-closeness, in that magnification of those intimate moments when one can only whisper.   The common bluebell is the first whisper of summer. It is Endymion, of the bower, a 'bower quiet for us and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing'. In that mornings’ moment I am John and you ***** May we this vernal evening sit together as the dusk gathers darkness 'and with full happiness. . . trace the story of Endymion. . . the very music of its name gone into my being'.
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Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Bluebell