"honeysuckles" poems
My youth was short and blurred.
I imagine it felt like the last few moments of Kurt Cobain’s life;
All light and no color.
Though I was born a winter baby,
Summers irrevocably held my heart.
They tasted like the sunscreen that dripped
onto my chlorine-damp lips
And smelled sweet like the honeysuckles
That strangled the Forget-Me-Nots,
Whose roots twisted between the cemeteries
Of our once-pets beneath.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
***The little snowdrops peeped through
Their bed of fresh white snow and ice
And the sign of spring lingers on the breeze
The heavenly scent of honeysuckles and lilacs
Mingle with that of lavender
And all the air holds
Heavenly scents and sounds
And the veil of celestial sky
Held birds flying in the air
On beautiful wings
And that green hill
Held a cloak
Of a thousand
Daisies and cotton blossoms
And the ocean's
Hibiscus flower
Unfurled it's wings
And sung a song of spring
With the birds that fly
Upon beautiful wings
Cool sand
Upon hot bare feet
Leaving footprints
All along the shore
We picked up
Our treasure box of
Sandy-gritty seashells
And headed back home
Looking back once or twice
At the singing waves
And the dancing palm trees
And the shore of sand
Holding countless footprints
And millions
Of dew-kissed
Hibiscus flowers
And we whispered
On the salty wind***
Goodbye
~Marian~
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
I love rain
don't you?
I think it's like a lovely lullaby singing one to sleep at night
rain is a joy not a sorrow
when you hear it on your roof at night pattering a sweet song to help you sleep
in your warm bed
the best thing about is it brings lots of fun
rain
rain on pine needles
rain on trees
rain flowers
rain on grass
rain on bushes and plants
rain everywhere
rain falling from the dull grey sky
kissing my fair cheeks
raindrops
falling from the sky
like Heaven's tears falling from the clouds
rain like dewdrops that fairies drink
rain on honeysuckles in the enchanted forest
sparkling on thick hunter green moss like beads scattered for the fairies to make petals
for flowers
rain inside the fairy ring where at night fairies love to dance and sing
with hearts so carefree
their beauty like that of day
raindrops everywhere
even in Fairyland
~Marian~
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
The lotus dances on the lake at night
under the bright moon
and the water lily ballets upon the river
the fairies dance in the shadows of the moon
the flowers waltz in the meadow
and the moon casts its rays upon the ground
making the ground look like silvery
shadows of light hitting the
waltzing flowers
the sounds of crickets and that of katydids
and nighttime birds fill the
air
and the sweet fragrance of
lavender, lilacs, honeysuckles,
and roses fill the air
and the lotus continues
to dance on the lake
to the song of nighttime birds and insects
and the water lily continues
to ballet upon the river
to the song of the flowing river
that she ballets upon
only at night
~Hilda~
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Under the shade of weeping willow trees
The air is filled with birdsong an anthem sweet and beautiful
The soft sweet song of the bubbling creek
The fragrance of honeysuckles drifts from the forgotten garden
Where daffodils, violets, and many other flowers grow
Mountains high and valleys low covered in the cloak of spring
Hunter-green cedars and deep-green firs sway in the dancing breeze
Even the lonesome desert and vast wilderness
With its pretty sunrises and sunsets bears its own beauty
Morning glories in the Enchanted Forest unfurl their soft sweet petals
At Dusk when all are sleep
Sunrays shining through the dew covered leaves of the majestic trees
Waves wash onto the sea of time where lots of creatures live
And where fishes and sea turtles peep up out of the ocean
Where palm trees grow their lacy-green leaves providing shade for all
Where rocky island cliffs hold treasures forgotten a long time ago
When pirates hunted for gold
Where old forgotten battleships are at the bottom of the ocean
And the people on them long since dead. . .
Pearls and treasures hidden from sight at the bottom of the ocean
Where dolphins sleep and play ready to save some swimmer
Sea-green coral and seaweed are pretty ocean plants
Seashells at the very bottom of the ocean
Seagulls sing to one another from the coconut trees and many other birds sing a
Tropical anthem blending with the sweet perfume of hibiscus and a lone tropical girl
Plays a sweet song on the ukulele
And the horse gallops on the sandy shore happily enjoying his freedom
And the world to all is beautiful
Tropical sunsets blazing dark goldish- orange with the silhouettes of palm trees
On the beautiful rocky island
And the world is hushed to sleep with the tropical lullaby of the singing waves
When the world awakes with dew the sweet hibiscus
~Marian~
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
God paints a sunrise in the east
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Dewdrops kiss the flowers
And last Night's raindrops
Drench the fresh earth
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
The veil of Heaven lifts
And shows fluffy white clouds
Drifting lazily by
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Buds unfurl their soft sweet petals
And the smell of honeysuckles
And millions of other flowers
Fill the air of Dawn
With a heavenly fragrance
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Flowers waltz in the meadows and fields
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Sunrays dance through my window
Filling my room full of light
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
All is beautiful
~Marian~
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
I stir the pool water
with a basket attached
to a stick
little whirlpools form
where I once was,
disturbing the even
distribution of tiny
white particles on
the water’s surface
the whirlpools *****
them in, but does
not drag them down
I smell chlorine on my hands,
a deadly poison I deal with out
of necessity
I smell the honeysuckles growing
on the chain link fence, a beauty
to every sense
the sky is gray and turning dark
with night
the pool is blue and cold with it’s
lack of sunlight
the trees are green
and their wood is
brown and while I
stir tiny whirlpools
in the pool floating
with tiny particles
I take a deep breath
and decide I will
enjoy all of this
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
The fairy of the midnight moon
She hides in those luminescent rays
Her wings are made of gossamer
Accented with beads and glitter
The fairy of the summer's moon
Wears honeysuckles in her hair
She dances upon the tops of trees
Smiling from her haven in the stars
Is it any wonder that she is bright
After all she lives hidden amongst
The same stars you see each night
For she's the fairy of the twilight moon
~Marian~
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
with water color ink
made permanent with a pin
an emerald garden grew
from the surface of her skin
the sight was divine
the branches aligned
& through the cracks
poured sunlight in.
the honeysuckles oozed
the hollyhocks seeped
as chartreuse hummingbirds
dank nectar through their beaks.
by her favorite birthmark
hanging from a tree
was a silver web of silk
gossamer and dazzling.
with each image set,
pressed onto her skin
her flesh turned bright red
like the rosehips near her ribs.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
she wandered the fields
curiosity in her eyes
honeysuckles blooming
welcoming springs arise
her feet skid gentle ground
stumbling over crumpled petals
leaving all but a sound
clouds waving to her surprise
treetops hang under concrete walls
love developing in simple tone
she built her home of bricks and sandy shores
Apr 29, 2020
Apr 29, 2020 at 8:30 PM UTC
Inspired by George Ella Lyon's poem Where I am From
I am from cul-de-sacs
From skinned knees and seven speed bikes
I am from the bewitching perfume of the osmanthus bloom mingling with freshly mown grass
I am from the familiar music of the bubbling creek and the cardinals song
the swish of a golf club and the thud of a soccer ball
I am from hot pavement on bare feet, the taste of honeysuckles, and reaching pine tree forests whose invisible trails and clearings became my secret empire
I am from airplanes and home cooking
From Mary and Mark
northern accents and southern hospitality
I am from "use your manners" and "Not enough month left at the end if the money"
I am from sunday school and patent leather shoes that pinch my toes
from a prayer before dinner that is carved into my brain
I am from poland
from poppyseed kuchen and kielbasa
I am from my grandmother forgetting baking soda in the bread
and then... years later, forgetting me too.
I am from my grandfather's sense of humor
and his unwavering stubbornness.
I am from too many cousins to count
from pinched cheeks and "How you've grown!"
I am from piles of unfinished photo albums
brimming with new adventures, frozen faces, and old memories
I am from the path I carved for myself with tools that my parents bestowed upon me.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been fill’d with flowers,
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.
You have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
You’ve heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round:
Each ****** like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown’d.
But now we see none here
Whose silv’ry feet did tread
And with dishevell’d hair
Adorn’d this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock and needy grown,
You’re left here to lament
Your poor estates, alone.
2.1k
You are my girl of the honeysuckles
And you enchant the hummingbirds,
You enchant them with your sweet words,
Your sweet words like honeysuckles perfume the air;
There are flowers in your golden hair.
I love your lips of cherry red,
Such beautiful ideas fill your head,
You are a magical girl, as enchanting as it may seem;
You are the girl in my dreams.
Butterflies are not afraid of you,
They love you and I do too,
You are such a beautiful girl;
My honeysuckle spreading happiness wherever you twirl.
~Marian~
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
Part I
*Meadows of flowers,
Fields full of golden-brown wheat,
Through the countryside.
Poppies, marigolds,
Daisies and honeysuckles,
Very soft and sweet.
Breezes stirring grass,
Softly they caress my face,
With their gentle hands.
In the cool-sweet day,
I sit until the sun sets,
Until the day ends.*
~Marian~
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
Honey beads up in its combs
Honey combs his short summer hair
Honey runs thick in heat like this
Honey runs for miles on County Route Eight
Honey-bees cling to our window screens
Honey shut the screen-door when he smelled rain
Honeysuckles grew on the side of our road
Honey had a roadmap open on his knee
Honey-bees know when the summer is ending
Honey will wait out by the car for me
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
Moby **** geometry, physics.
Study every subject everyday.
Homework is an indicator of future success.
Success is not necessarily happiness but it helps.
Freedom is to formulate your own definition of success.
Happiness is an imaginary tree, its own reward, and a fact.
Facts and fiction may be memorialized in memos or found in dreams.
The story starts thus: Each summer the honeysuckles and the
huckleberries . . .
The web is that extra brain we've all been dreaming of having.
Like jumping 4 meters or flying without a plane.
To fly like that must one first have homework?
Some say yes, some say don't. It depends on how you vote.
Happiness is what happens when everything that happens
Fits the time perfectly and it's all out of your hands.
Not exactly. You don't let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in
the passing lane.
You look left and right and check your blind spots.
Homework is an introduction to everything you're not
And all you do not know. It's supposed to help you learn to know where
you want to go before going where you have to go.
Otherwise you end up on Ulzana's raid
Bleeding, without a bandaid.
All the achievement in the world won't relieve your loneliness
Or satisfy your ****** longing. What girls are like behind their eyes.
Survival, procreation. That's all there is to love.
But the loved one is the one who can be trusted with your life.
Whether Christ or your wife. The Muslim moms.
On my walk in the woods I come to a sitting spot
Above a small gorge cut by a stream through hemlocks.
Here someone has left a statuette of the Buddha and the flags you see
Flapping in the wind at sky funerals.
This is a pretty good place to sit quietly and think about homework.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
I was born in a pauper’s grave,
with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate.
A passed life of exuberance,
lost like the previous days’ sunrise.
Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy.
I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart,
the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret.
I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain,
a deranged obsession to feel at home again.
Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience,
the touch of fine lace on my flesh.
There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous,
and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne,
to walk among the dead.
I cringe away from their decrepit hands,
and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath.
These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life,
I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis.
It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are,
have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before.
I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed,
with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air.
Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms,
dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees.
It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia,
but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality.
That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky.
There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby,
like a dense trail that is all consuming.
The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ******
they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat,
and no one seems to mind at all.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
*A big bad wolf chased me through the woods,
through the forest beyond my golden castle
I ran and ran and ran, he frightened me so
Now it's okay, cause I led him to my fairy friends
My fairy godmother says, "Don't fear princess,
For you darling, we shall fix him immediately
into a huge Toad eating a fly, a toad with big eyes
and never ever again will he chase you dear"
Now I wander off the cheerful little path
where the sweetest of honeysuckles grow
and follow sunlight to a little stream
where a handsome prince awaits for me*
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
Suckles at first were curst
To be the homes of flies,
And smell'd like open tombs
With putrefying eyes.
But Christ, who saves the worst
(If so He wills) from death,
Did mercy give the blooms
By giving them His breath.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 4:39 PM UTC
Jumping over the dark mahogany railroad ties that my father laid down as a barrier, I entered my favorite place. Bare toes and rough feet of my 9 year old self burrowed with joy into the wood chips that cushioned my kingdom.
The entire area smelt of damp, rich wood, always freshened by the honeysuckles sweet scent from their lazy seats on their wooden fence in the background.
My castle was wooden as well, 6 carefully and lovingly sanded steps up onto the throne where I could watch all I reigned: my dog, the four railroad ties barricading the wood shavings from spilling into the soft green grass, I could see my family inside, my house not but a quick dash away.
As the sun set, down the wooden slid and back onto the damp ground I would return inside. Smelling of bark, honey, and innocence.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
Bees buzz lazily
Sweet flowers dance in the meadow
Sunshine dances on the grass
Bluebirds call to each other
I'm sitting under a weeping willow tree
Sipping lemonade
Drinking in the beauty around me
Royal white clouds float in the deep blue sky
Honeysuckles perfume the air
Smell the scent of Summer
And listen to the creek
Its always Summer
~Marian~
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
When the summer of our youth has passed
and the bane of winter draws near,
we sit alone in opaque rooms
and crack ourselves a beer.
To the north we look with glossy eyes
yet to the south our mind wanders freer
we laugh and smile and grimace and weep
and crack ourselves a beer.
We think of days of wonderlust,
of scenes of timeless cheer
of children playing in the rain
-and then we crack ourselves a beer.
What happened to the upbeat muses?
did they take and destroy their lyre?
we wonder where the bluebird went
as we sit and crack a beer.
We haven't seen him for a time
and because of this we fear.
The gourds of innocence broke and leaked
and so we cracked ourselves a beer.
And with them chipped
we quaffed long and deep and into lands we steered
destined for hate and war and poverty
and so we cracked ourselves a beer.
Instead of honeysuckles and wafers
we feasted on bloodied deer
and watched our parents fight and die
as we cracked ourselves a beer.
Trees of mighty oak that hoisted forts
have fallen in the clear
as have the mounds of Geronimo
while we cracked ourselves a beer.
And so our friends have left us
our lovers are nowhere near
last seen flying away with the bluebird
because we cracked ourselves a beer.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:31 AM UTC
Honeysuckles blooming
In the harsh summer heat
Luring the butterflies near
All eager to eat
Honey-like nectar
An alluringly tender treat
I wonder if those lips will taste
As irresistibly sweet
Vines creeping and trailing
Covering me from head to toe
lacing into the divets of my skin
Choking me slow
A beading drop of honey
Gliding gently on my tongue
Soft fragrance lingers
All from when we were young
He is entangled in my soul
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 10:27 AM UTC