Vicissitude II: Spring
The picador sun retires
And pants gloriously in his throne
His sweat quenched the drought;
Ocher turns to green and yellow
Marauding with the superfluity
Of palettes soused in nubile flowers—
A chateau of jaunty heraldries
And in the subterfuge of its alleys
I trampled in a quaint boudoir;
A loquacious room for a witling orchid
In the labyrinthine contours of the heather
I strife, I stride, I earnestly bristle
The verdure of saccharine spring time
But the pristine panoramic scene
Diverges a tatterdemalion man
Lost in dainty blossoming days
So I sifted through the prairies,
Ran across turfs, knolls, and valleys,
And slumber with a wilting orchid
The maelstrom of iridescent petals
That dabs the flagellating thorns
Oscillates like the sun and moon
With soporific lulls and inebriated
Pangs of melancholia in gnarls
Chagrined by the superfluity
Foreboding the dawn of debauchery
In the bosom of a redolent spring
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
A Love Spring
So Spring warm weather upon with you watch
bloom flowers: Tulip, Orchid, Cherry ect..
That awake Springtime beautiful blue sky
With me, feeling of peace with Spring
Pollen of the flowers trees everywhere
To let you know the Spring coming
Green grass with flowers fill us with joy
Outdoor full of activities
Spring gently warm our souls
To the Spring 's love within you and me forever.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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Women
The night was gravid with many secrets
And as the fecundated moon probed
Through the lattices of the branches
The giddy wind shook her lovely boughs
And the sinful fruits fell into the ground
Rapidly blossoming to become the garden
Of a woman's clandestine volitions
And women, I spoke of you:
Like a fell star, a woman can make you wish
Or make you hope and believe in promises
Without constitutions, with empty bliss
A woman will glamor and capture you
With her eloquent and elusive wisps
Like a defenseless bird, she would beat her wings
To scull her own wind and you will plead
To be her zephyr and in her slavery
You shall be ferried to a new firmament
Lamented by her flightless incarceration
Like the enigma of flowers, she exhibits her petals
Like bloomed parasols and her wandering pollens
Will smear your face with the taste of nectar
And saccharine pleasures eluding the sight
Of her perfidiously brambly thorns
The willowy night gave birth to women
In her wintery boudoir and multitude of palettes
And nurtured her antipathy and succinct savor
By giving men a sense of responsibility
To warden a woman's querulous misery
And in the vesper's open palms
We perched like contingent butterflies
So women, I speak to you:
Like a fell star, unfurl your scintillated feet
That made you traverse the misconstrued circles
Where I espied your graceful oscillation
Masquerading your inebriated staggering
Falling like a cold tear in an empty sky
Like a flightless peacock, boast with your plumes
And sing your fluently woven songs
But in the night, smear the rouge in abolition
And let me cater to your attrition,
Weave your nest and be your protection
Like the flowers of vicissitude, inveigle the astray
With your redolent entity and corolla of petals
Like a tiara or a filigree, and wither not
When the rain tarnished for the sunny skies
Reveal your thorns so I can succumb to your enigma.
poem by Norman Santos
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Melancholia
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When the lights are dim way beyond the hill
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When Im really down get me off the ground
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
In the morning time when I go outside
In the morning time its like that all the while
In the afternoon when Im in my room
Every single day, it wont go away
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
And its in my heart, when were apart
And it stops and starts, and its in my heart
Every single day its always in my way
When Im making hay, all Ive got to say
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
Well its in my blood and its in my veins
Here it comes again, when Im in the rain
In the wind and rain, well the sun dont shine
Well its always mine, all of the time
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
And its in my life and its all the time
It doesnt go away when the church bells chime
In the evening time when I drink my wine
In the evening time when its on my mind
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
Its only melancholia
Oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia
Melancholia, melancholia
They call it, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia
Call it melancholia, melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Poem
Fluffy yellow balls appear
near long thin leaves
signalling an Aussie Spring
bare branches show specks
of green - soon purple petals
will carpet my patio floor
orchid-like the humble
onion weed reveals it's
stubborn beauty
forest search for harden
bergia - purple creeper
where blue wrens flit
wonder why I'm drawn
to spikey leaf and wild
flowers Everlastings
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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Blue Orchid
You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid and turned it blue
Something's better than nothing
Something's better than nothing, it's givin' up!
Gotta make up for something
Try getting the truth from showing up
How dare you?
How old are you now anyway?
How dare you?
How old are you now anyway?
How dare you?
How old are you now anyway?
You are given a flower
But I guess there was just no pleasing you
Your lip tastes sour
But you think that it's me just teasing you
You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid and turned it blue
Get behind me!
Get behind me now anyway!
Get behind me!
Get behind me now anyway!
Get behind me!
Get behind me now anyway!
You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid and turned it blue
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Capeweed
Originally from South Africa and quite pretty indeed
Those flowers in Spring that cover the paddocks they are known as capeweed
With bright yellow petals and a dark brown heart
From all others quite easy to tell them apart.
Unwanted in Australia or 'twould seem that way
About them the farmers have no kinds words to say
But like thistles they survive deadly toxic spray
Though quite pretty to look at on a bright Spring day.
No strangers to the paddocks they are quite well known
And they have a beauty that is of their own
In late Winter and Spring in abundance to be seen
Their bright yellow flowers dapple Nature's own green.
The farmers cannot kill them off though hard they do try
And with each passing year they seem to multiply
In the paddocks they seem to dance in the breezes of Spring
When the weather is warming and the nesting birds sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sunset Pedagogies II
The scripts that built bridges toppled
Into the famished and oceanic mouth
Where every sunset soused its itching
I searched inside every vacant room
And marauded transparent dooms
Where I may find you flaying colors
Or flitting among flared starlights
All these corridors stood in the semblance
Of your open palms, echoing your psalms
To steer my feet into the end
Of this labyrinthine pondering
And self-pitying and destructing
And in my hopefulness I nearly forgot
The boudoir of yellow petals that was cloyed
By crimson laces and fervent kisses
Is taken to an odyssey by an exonerated sea
And the lighthouse remained unlighted
So in this labyrinth I tried to find
My own room instead and tried
To find my sleep, my lullaby
Without your affable camaraderie
Basking in a brazen sunset
To let go of the brambly bouquet
And be the departing phantoms
That I mused and confounded.
poem by Norman Santos
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Tale Of An Alley Cat
There are effectuating things in the world
That makes you want to reside forever
Inside a conch shell's emollient whisper
Like the collision of acquiesced stares,
Or a bathe in her cold residing sweat
Or in a fountain of warm promises,
Or the memory of your fingers tinkering
With the resonance of wind chimes
As it desired to be entangled with a clandestine
Console bigger than the big screen
Until, the world topples into latticing alleys
And in every atrium of the heart
These lovely things encumbers the blood
And mold into loathsome reminiscences
And terrorizing acquaintances
For an astray alley cat.
Now the moon hung by a taut noose
And the stars shiver with decadence
I take its toll, pummeled by emblematic senescence
And morph into an alley cat scavenging for melancholia
Benumbed to the wintry hostility of the night
From sleeping in wet rooftops or asphalts
And despondently cowering vicissitude's blight,
Tailored to the day's superfluity of infernal fire
Stalled in the spiteful stares of nonchalance;
And the face of melancholia I do prefer
Grazed pristinely in a dismal penumbra
And effervescent like the sporadic fireflies,
Which is unsurpassed by the entente
To a chrysalis of a constant stoic slumber.
And as I saunter past the elusive light
In the geodesy of my tales, I am an alley cat.
I would welter past the sundered edifices
Envisaging the distances of your lissome fingers
And reckoning how I can never fill the crevasses.
I see you in the puddles, by the shattered windows,
Or the daze beneath a flickering lamppost
You are always the mistral gale of the city
And the subtle denunciation that drove me
Into the filthiest cul-de-sacs of verve where
My moans could never reach your palms
As they attend to stellar lantern charms,
And the tempest rain never sojourns
Even if the clockwork of my human soul
Had long been devoured by the impasse,
Where the sun would never winnow and stay,
Where I deny the pangs of loving the city
From the breast to the pockets that had kept me.
I plead guilty for desiring you in plenitude
And don more of horrible humanity as I envision
Us lying on my bed, as I stroke your rasping hair
And sap the pulp of your redolence, in the least carnal fashion
Until you achieve a hiatus from the beating
Because before you built a city all over me
You were once a tatterdemalion alley cat
And I had loved your flaws yonder the perfection.
But even in my fanaticism, you were the cold rapine
Of my facilities, you were a burglar cat, or perhaps
A rapacious tigress and your lurking camouflage's the interstate
That I can never lose, for I can never have
Albeit, your fangs are still locked on my neck
Your heavy paws on my chest
I would only have my dying self
In your alleys, left to bled.
Abandoned by any feral pride
I have accustomed a life in your shadows
Hunting for the varmints, but not for starvation
Rather, for perseverance of my scarce territory
In the arms of the lovely city
That never heeded and cared for me.
The alley cat hollered for a hunger
For that part of himself that whittled and
Frittered away from the consciousness
In coming to loving you and not loving you
For in loving, you would know too much
Until you know too much that you do not know any more
And in these times where the tears would not come
To wash the qualms of a lost love;
That part of himself that had wafted too far
In the chagrined darkness of the interstate
The lion's valiance halts
And he becomes an alley cat.
poem by Norman Santos
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Holiday For The Forgotten
Here, have some of my holiday,
Reveling in the blares of soliloquy
And watching the stars shift their bones
Waiting for the first signs of dawn
And laying awake in your bedroom
Until the sunspots would fritter away
Again, back into the Mobius Strip
Of impassable holidays.
Come take a seat in my banquet
A hollow table for eight people
With sutured lips and eyes,
A superfluity of feast and revelry
In a plethora of emptiness,
That would keep us bloated
All through the gaudy merriment
Of the dilettante eve.
Succor in the warmth of an empty hearth
And be accustomed to the comport
Of the bleak echoes of silence
And let us open the presents
That we wrapped for ourselves
And the unanticipated letters
Of coveting unfettered friends,
Inebriate with the pangs of jealousy.
Evocatively, inexorably,
A surfeit of effervescent air
Can suffocate the trampled ones
Whose names were not inscribed
In the jaunty arms of carousals
But we, we will breath our own air
With the cinders of schmaltz flair
Cordially inviting in the holiday of the forgotten.
poem by Norman Santos
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Lillian
I. PROEM.
This was a sweet white wildwood violet
I found among the painted slips that grow
Where, under hot-house glass, the flowers forget
How the sun shines, and how the cool winds blow.
The violet took the orchid's colouring,
Tricked out its dainty fairness like the rest;
Yet still its breath was as the breath of Spring,
And the wood's heart was wild within its breast.
The orchid mostly is the flower I love,
And violets, the mere violets of the wood,
For all their sweetness, have not power to move
The curiosity that rules my blood.
Yet here, in this spice-laden atmosphere,
Where only nature is a thing unreal,
I found in just a violet, planted here,
The artificial flower of my ideal.
II. CHRISTMAS-EVE.
April-hearted Lilian,
April with our love began;
Winter comes, but April violets
Linger on.
So the fancy of an hour,
Born of sudden sun and shower,
Braves the winter, and has blossomed
Into flower.
poem by Arthur Symons
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The Magıc of Spring
Winter,
suddenly turned
to spring.
Flowers
burst into
bloom.
Lilacs
in the
mornng
Fragrance
filled my
room
The magic
of spring
was
present
Of sunny
days to
tell
It's entrance
severed my
yearnngs
I remember
well.
poem by Heather Burns
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Wild Daisies
They are Nature's natural survivors though they seem so dainty and small
And they bloom in all Seasons and weather In Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
With yellow hearts and snow white petals the wildflowers everybody does know
Even on the coldest days of Winter they bloom in the shade by hedgerow
Wild daisies distinct from all others the flowers everyone recognize
They close their petals to the night air and open their hearts to the sunrise
Even in the coldest days of Winter the wildflowers one often does see
So dainty looking yet so hardy they always do look disease free
When I was young in depths of Winter they bloomed in the fields far away
The very same species of wild daisies I see in the town park today
They must have been around forever the hardiest of little wildflowers
They even bloom in the coldest of weather in the sleety and wintery showers
They are Nature's natural survivors the poets their praises do sing
They bloom in all Seasons and weather Summer, Autumn and Winter and Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Orc
The fight for normality
It seems she's losing
Gray may the clouding be
She's still an orchid.
The sun may rain red
But she's still an orchid.
The wind may bring the stars
She'd still be
poem by Eon Ezkiel
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Black Orchid
A flake of snow within a storm
A new way waiting to be born
In a world with need of change
A touch of love in fear of hate
A rushing wind thats asked to wait
For the promises of rain
A pearl of wisdom entrapped by poverty
She gives love with purity
Filling minds with hopeful schemes
To build worlds enhanced by peace
Draped in sparkling morning dew
She expresses life anew
From the earth beneath her feet
She is a flower that grows
In love ability
Shes femininity
Black orchid, black orchid
Why did they make you begin
When they know in time youll find your truth
Before your cycle ends
Black orchid, black orchid
Why are you crying their fears
When the true reflection of you that they see
Is love besieged by years
She has touched the farthest star
Her beauty speaks of what we are
And her freedom makes us free
Her now is in eternity
Infinite to all that see
And her dreams have been achieved
Now there is a sound of laughter
Nature signs out her name
For the world to know her fame
Black orchid, black orchid
Why did they criticize
When they knew your love could cast its spell and
Consecrate their eyes
Black orchid, black orchid
Why do you linger in space
When you know in every heart that beats
You hold a special place
When you know in every heart that beats
You hold a special place
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Has Sprung
Spring has sprung
With the abundance
Of blossoming flowers
The feel of affection
With kindling of love
When two souls meet
The spring bring such delight
In the early morning light
With hearts of satisfaction
Spring brings sweet smells
Of lily of the valley
Where the green grass grows
Where the water flows
And children are playing
With fun and laughter
One would say that
Spring has sprung
With such loveliness
That can only be felt
This time of year
With such an exhilaration
poem by Scott Austin
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Spring Observations
Green slipped out from under the white -
Splashed in early other colours,
And gave up lambs, who
Bleated tirelessly on the subject.
Screams from the nearby park
Told of newly playful children, with
Bleary fathers, clattering mothers,
Undersense befuddled by a perfume -
It was the budding blossom.
And younger men perked up at
Early bosoms once again parading;
More blossom - audacious blooms:
Sexual selection back on stage.
It was happening with the birds,
Only there was more decorum,
More order - a greater sense of purpose,
Unwitting duty.
I turned over the soil - warming
Under the cautious sun -
Yellow still nubile,
Though coping with its shyness.
My first beads of sweat were oddly ambivalent:
Surging vigour forcing out the
Stubborn winter indolence.
Inside, a warming smile worked
Up towards my mouth, lips, eyes.
The kitchen window rattled:
Lunch was ready.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Spring spring spring spring
Spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Dreams
Chandeliers sputtered a flame
Sharp and slender like the footsteps
Moaning with the floorboard's slumber
This light held steadily its constant
Epicenter of proud undulations
Rocking an inebriated heart to sleep
Whilst the soul remained tethered
To contending against fear
With a hathful of daunted sneers
And flowers prancing for the winds
Of vicissitude's circles - eternal was
The quaint photographs left
Like all the phantoms that stroked
The brush from these palettes
Had it all been a long dream?
poem by Norman Santos
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I Miss my Spring
The spring takes leave as soon as it peeps
Says go, blooming flowers and giving sudden wind.
The spring comes only to maintain its rule, we cannot
Touch its deep. The spring did not sing the sky
Of the Bangladesh after the poet Rabindranath
These is no such noteworthy research is done in course
Of the short existence of spring. It is not discussed in
the seminar. Only a few poets wrote a few lines on some
poems of lamentations. We shall not get back
the spring as we the poet does. Only singing
(poet) song and seeing the yellow cloth
wearing women. We shall recollect it with
joy once the spring was in the royal throne
poem by Ravisankar Maitree
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New Spring
Spring!
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring! How wonderful is the
Spring! How majestic is the
Spring! How fantastic is the
Spring! How tantalizing is the
Spring! How glorious is the
Spring! How melodious is the
Spring! How joyful is the
Spring! How breathtaking is the
Spring! How uplifting the
Spring! How happy is the
Spring! How magnificent is the
Spring! How colorful is the
Spring! How tasteful is the
Spring! How memorable was the
Spring! How flavorful is the
Spring! How aromic is the
Spring! How sweet is
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring!
poem by Mario Saboundjian
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