A flower for the night
I dreamed about a magical garden
where an assortment of flowers grows
with the most beautiful colours and hues,
delicate leaves and shapes
and as a full moon arced into the sky
throwing its golden rays
buds opened one after another
and the air was filled
with the most lovely scent
and that I found you
next to a pool with drifting lotuses
opening their cups
and when I opened my eyes
you lay beside me
and the scent was still in the air
and it was almost if we were still there.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
You Are The One That Brings Joy To Me
With the rays of the sun starting to shine this morning,
when the garden was full of flowers with opening cups,
my heart was confused and without speech,
when you took a shortcut through my thoughts,
I was waiting for you to come home
and I had expectation and hope
but when the time drew nearer I was somewhat stripped.
With the rays of the sun starting to shine this morning,
the beauty of the flowers were disguised in the early twilight
but already the birds wanted to chat
and like a teenager in love I was somewhat stupid,
when the garden was full of flowers with opening cups.
Time suddenly elapsed far too quickly
when suddenly you were coming along the road
and I was wondering how things between us would be,
my heart was confused and without speech,
then a leave was circling twisting round and round
while a weaver dipped its head in the drinking bowl
and you were far prettier that the most beautiful flower,
when you took a shortcut through my thoughts,
when the gate suddenly squealed while opening on my property
with a cloud hanging white like a giant pillowslip,
I realised that you are the one in all of mankind
who brings joy to me, when the day started to end
with the rays of the sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Extreme Tenderness
As rough as the sea, as sweet as an apple tree
As bright as the stars, as violent as mars
As dangerous as Africa's big five, you're the adrenalin that keeps me alive
As magical as the full moon, as captivating as a flowers first bloom
As beautiful as a pearl, as elegant as the tango's swirl
To a hunter, the trophy of a grizzly
Nothing compares, you're worth much more to me
As hard as a moon rock, as exotic as a peacock
As high as the shadow of the twin towers, as lovely as the scent of wild flowers
Like everything with no limit, my heart is full…because you fill it
poem by Renee Maritz
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In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Air
Like fresh blossoming flowers on a spring day.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the smell of rain right before it pours down.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the aroma of a hot apple pie cooling on the window seal.
Her scent is in air.
I try to cover my nose with my shirt
but her scent seeps right through it.
It is in the air.
I try fanning it away
but the more I fan the stronger her scent lofts in the air.
I decide not to fight it anymore and I inhale her scent.
It first suffocates me but then it sustains me.
To me her scent is love and it is
In the air.
My Flower
A scent lingering in the
room
has led me to this very bloom.
A scent so fragrant,
A scent so grand,
A scent so strong it could
spread across the land.
A shade of golden-brown
is something that will not make me frown.
A flower so beautiful,
a flower that's for me
makes me bend on this very
knee.
The allure, scent, and attraction
is enough to control my very
action.
Don't worry, she's not only your flower,
she's my flower.
poem by Casey Jarrell
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A Fresh Flower Blue
It's a fresh flower blue.
I wrap it in a sheet.
I love its scent, it's hues.
It sips the mist, the dew
and leaves an odor, treat
It's a fresh flower blue.
Its pets, the bees and crew
they meet, they greet, they eat.
I love its scent, its hues.
From dawn to dusk they woo
and bask in rain or heat.
It's a fresh flower blue.
There's a flower for you
There's one for me. A treat!
I love its scent, its hues.
The day I say adieu
I send you one so sweet.
It's a fresh flower blue
I love its scent, its hue.
poem by Agatha Lai
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A Gift
See! I give myself to you, Beloved!
My words are little jars
For you to take and put upon a shelf.
Their shapes are quaint and beautiful,
And they have many pleasant colours and lustres
To recommend them.
Also the scent from them fills the room
With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.
When I shall have given you the last one,
You will have the whole of me,
But I shall be dead.
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Flower’s Name
(after Robert Browing)
I
Through this garden her steps swept
before she opened the gate,
where roses with dew wept
and not a moment longer she could wait,
while there was something gracious in her walk
before she stopped a moment at the letterbox,
in the distance children’s voices she heard talk
while her arm brushed against the snow-white phlox.
II
Her feet carried her in ready steps as she passed by,
saw red carnations in a row
and her eyes sparkled bluer than the sky
while she felt a gentle breeze blow
everywhere flowers and buds did God praise
in their beauty almost casting a spell
while they were blooming for days
with more loveliness and vibrant colours than anyone can tell.
III
She found a flower much more lovely
than any other one she had ever seen
while bees were circling it lively
and to smell it she was keen
but did not know the flower’s name
while it was something precious that she did found,
the flower was blushing as if it were aflame
where it was growing in bloom upon bloom from the ground.
[Reference: “Garden Fancies: I: The flower’s name” by Robert Browing.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dreaming of That Day
I've dreamed of the day we meet,
I've dreamed of the look in your eyes,
I've dreamed of your smile,
I've dreamed of holding you under the moon lit sky.
The feel of your hand,
Your scent in the air,
The sparkle in your eyes,
The moon glistning in your hair.
My greatest imaginations,
Couldn't compare to the heart i'll soon meet,
Im dreaming of that day,
To embrace this lady so sweet.
poem by Richard Goolsby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem of Love on a Spring Morning
When my eyes
For the first time
Chanced upon your eyes
Haven’t I seen
A familiar flutter in the lashes?
Yes, I’ve known
The zigzag pieces
Trying to arrange themselves
In different combinations
Into a perfect symmetry of
Ethereal grace, translucent beauty
Till the flutter of this moment
No more will people call me mad
As when I went about
Sketching in the thin air
My blunt fingers trying in vain
To give you a form
How I wish
This mortal skin was all eyes!
I’ve not known love
Is this...?
Not to indulge in the polemics
Of whether it’s human or divine
I simply know
It as beyond the skin confines!
Each flutter made the long sown seeds
Crack open, sprout and bear buds
The latent buds bloomed into flowers
Of unsurpassable hues together throwing up
One unique scent that’s you
I bathe in the perfume
In my primordial glory…
05 Apr 2011
08.20hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Long Yearning (Sent Far)
When the beautiful woman was here, the hall was filled with flowers,
Now the beautiful woman's gone, the bed is lying empty.
On the bed, the embroidered quilt is rolled up: no-one sleeps,
Though three years have now gone by, I think I smell that scent.
The scent is finished but not destroyed,
The woman's gone and does not come.
Yearning yellows the falling leaf,
White dew beads the green moss.
The Magical Night of "Sanziene"
It's a magical night in the enchanted garden,
and it's all a deep mystery,
Slowly, from the stars descends a gem,
opening a gate from heaven, again.
Wrapped in steam and light,
fairies dance in silver dresses,
and golden flowers in strands fade,
It rains blessings on the earth.
The air tremble with a song,
and mysterious dances start in the meadows.
The Earth and The Heaven are in harmony,
in the magical night of Sanziene!
But, we have a Gate that opens to Him unceasingly,
and the magical night is an eternal Morning of Grace,
for our Lord, the King... has risen!
He gave us Heaven and Eternal Life as a gift.
It's a magical night in the enchanted garden,
and it's all a deep mystery,
I hear Him among the stars, my tender Father
whispering; You will soon be with Me in Heaven!
The Heaven Within Us
Opened heaven... the heaven within us.
I do not know if in some magic night the heaven opens and the fairies descend to us to give flowers perfume, to bring wealth and fertility, or to give healing power to the plants... but I know that for us the heaven was opened once and for all and remains open to any prayer raised with faith at dawn, to every song of praise in the middle of the day, to every cry and every tear sometimes in the darkest nights. I know that He came down to us, The Son of God, gave His Life for us, gave the color and perfume to flowers, brought liberation, freedom, healing, and peace. He was reconciling the world to Himself. Heaven is eternally open for us, and even more, we are carrying heaven within us. When we say a word of encouragement, when we erase a tear, and we cry with those crying, when spread around us smiles, when we help, when we forgive, when we love... we open the heaven to others... the heaven within us.
poem by Marius Alexandru
Submitted by anonym
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The Key Note
I dreamed I was dreaming one morn as I lay
In a garden with flowers teeming.
On an island I lay in a mystical bay,
In the dream I dreamed I was dreaming.
The ghost of a scent-had it followed me there
From the place where I truly was resting?
It filled like an anthem the aisles of the air,
The presence of roses attesting.
Yet I thought in the dream that I dreamed I dreamed
That the place was all barren of roses-
That it only seemed; and the place, I deemed,
Was the Isle of Bewildered Noses.
Full many a seaman had testified
How all who sailed near were enchanted,
And landed to search (and in searching died)
For the roses the Sirens had planted.
For the Sirens were dead, and the billows boomed
In the stead of their singing forever;
But the roses bloomed on the graves of the doomed,
Though man had discovered them never.
I though in my dream 'twas an idle tale,
A delusion that mariners cherished-
That the fragrance loading the conscious gale
Was a ghost of a rose long perished.
I said, 'I will fly from this island of woes.'
And acting on that decision,
By that odor of rose I was led by the nose,
For 'twas truly, ah! truly, Elysian.
I ran, in my madness, to seek out the source
Of the redolent river-directed
By some supernatural, sinister force
To a forest, dark, haunted, infected.
And still as I threaded ('twas all in the dream
That I dreamed I was dreaming) each turning
There were many a scream and a sudden gleam
Of eyes all uncannily burning!
The leaves were all wet with a horrible dew
That mirrored the red moon's crescent,
And all shapes were fringed with a ghostly blue,
Dim, wavering, phosphorescent.
But the fragrance divine, coming strong and free,
Led me on, though my blood was clotting,
Till-ah, joy!-I could see, on the limbs of a tree,
Mine enemies hanging and rotting!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Key Note
I dreamed I was dreaming one morn as I lay
In a garden with flowers teeming.
On an island I lay in a mystical bay,
In the dream that I dreamed I was dreaming.
The ghost of a scent-had it followed me there
From the place where I truly was resting?
It filled like an anthem the aisles of the air,
The presence of roses attesting.
Yet I thought in the dream that I dreamed I dreamed
That the place was all barren of roses-
That it only seemed; and the place, I deemed,
Was the Isle of Bewildered Noses.
Full many a seaman had testified
How all who sailed near were enchanted,
And landed to search (and in searching died)
For the roses the Sirens had planted.
For the Sirens were dead, and the billows boomed
In the stead of their singing forever;
But the roses bloomed on the graves of the doomed,
Though man had discovered them never.
I thought in my dream 'twas an idle tale,
A delusion that mariners cherished
That the fragrance loading the conscious gale
Was the ghost of a rose long perished.
I said, 'I will fly from this island of woes.'
And acting on that decision,
By that odor of rose I was led by the nose,
For 'twas truly, ah! truly, Elysian.
I ran, in my madness, to seek out the source
Of the redolent river-directed
By some supernatural, sinister force
To a forest, dark, haunted, infected.
And still as I threaded ('twas all in the dream
That I dreamed I was dreaming) each turning
There were many a scream and a sudden gleam
Of eyes all uncannily burning!
The leaves were all wet with a horrible dew
That mirrored the red moon's crescent,
And all shapes were fringed with a ghostly blue,
Dim, wavering, phosphorescent.
But the fragrance divine, coming strong and free,
Led me on, though my blood was clotting,
Till-ah, joy!-I could see, on the limbs of a tree,
Mine enemies hanging and rotting!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To K.M.D.
In the buds, before they burst,
Leaves and flowers are moulded;
Closely pressed they lie at first,
Exquisitely folded.
Though no hope of change they felt,
Folded hard together,
Soon their sap begins to melt
In the warmer weather.
Till, when Life returns with Spring,
Through them softly stealing,
All their freshness forth they fling,
Hidden forms revealing. [606]
Who can fold those flowers again,
In the way he found them?
Or those spreading leaves restrain,
In the buds that bound them?
Trust me, Spring is very near,
All the buds are swelling;
All the glory of the year
In those buds is dwelling.
What the opened buds reveal
Tells us—Life is flowing;
What the buds, still shut, conceal,
We shall end in knowing.
Long I lingered in the bud
Doubting of the season,
Winter's cold had chilled my blood-—
I was ripe for treason.
Now no more I doubt or wait,
All my fears are vanished,
Summer’s coming, dear, though late,
Fogs and frosts are banished.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Smell Of A Woman
The smell of a woman,
When I am down there.
There's nothing on earth,
That quite can compare.
Earthy, moist, steamy, and rare,
Like tropical flowers perfuming the air.
The smell you find, at a womans core,
will make you want her, more, and more.
I can smell a woman across the street,
Way before our eyes will meet.
That delicate scent carried on the breeze,
Coming from a woman, seeking release.
The scent of a woman, when she is in heat,
You'll find yourself commonly looking for it.
And when I find it, it's a matter of time,
Till close up I smell that scent so sublime.
The smell of a woman all over my face,
The sweet scent of a woman, will have me crazed.
Don Juan Tenorio
poem by Don Juan Tenorio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For You
For you I want to sing a happier song
for you I'm gonna try to right all my wrongs
for you I'm gonna break my bad habits
there's a golden ring and I want you to have it
there's a golden ring and I want you
For you I'm gonna sit and patiently wait
it's great if you're early but if its fine if you're late
for you I feel love and I just want to show it
you're a beautiful girl and want you to know it
you're a beautiful girl and want you to know it
you're a beautiful girl and want you to know it
it's an infinite world and I want you
Once again I am opened
Once again I am opened
Once again I am opened
Once again I am opened
For you I'm waiting on the ticket line
I gotta get back I don't wanna waste time
but the people are tired and the line is so long
so all I can do is sing this song
song performed by by Duncan Sheik from Daylight
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A flower for the night [2]
In the garden we sat watching the stars,
talking softly, intimately while she smoked
and the cigarette glowed red
with her perfume and its flavour
mixing on the evening air
and around us there were flowers
opening everywhere
and some had large cups, others hanged
with petals in strings
in different hues from white, pink,
red to crimson, violet and blue.
There is a flower (whose name I know)
who showed me the most beautiful petals
and bloomed one night
in a bed besides me
in sheer nudity
with perfection in ever aspect of her body
while the full moon rose almost silver white
on a cloudless night
she was soft, firm and tender
and her lips sweet and hot
and I could not resist her,
the intimacy, the tenderness
and the love that she brought.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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The flower's scent-Sonnet
The flower's scent for the moon's highness
Is like red of hero leaving his battle far away!
Forever he lives with his induced blindness
'Cause his courage disappeared in the spring of May!
The honest Helen of Troy in her inner fire bent
Her strange memory there wanting forever to lye!
Don't blush her truth and the flower's scent
Don't ever stir the scent of any opened lie.
The indifference and the hate usually can twist
The power of the Rainbow-Queen with a false tear
The rose of the flower's sense maybe don't exist
Even when looking after them very, very near!
The realistic cruelty of any clever black heart
Is to make the sense of any blame a work of art.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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