The Daffodils Are Gone
On the daffodils
The morning dews
Dry out slowly
Now, blow if you will
Humid wind
The daffodils are gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On the daffodils
The morning dews
Dry out slowly
Now, blow if you will
Humid wind
The daffodils are gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Morning Moment
the old woman wrapped in
wrinkled skins
passes by the garden of
daffodils
tended by my wife
in her mid-forty
the usual good morning are exchanged
she is shaky and i think her bones
rattle her back arched perhaps
like a gate of the chinese temple
in macau
the daffodils do not appease her
anxieties anymore
her children gone on lives of their own
their own children and affairs
are their own concerns now
she walk away carefully and slowly
to avoid another fall
i can see and hear
my wife has again sighed three times
to the wind
as she looks upon
one wilting daffodil which she thinks
is infested by
a fungal colony...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Purple Daffodils
Sorry purple daffodils,
I have got to go.
Across the pond of crocodiles,
All the way to the misty isles.
Of neon priests,
And rotting feasts,
And every thing for the beasts.
Sorry purple daffodils,
You are going to die.
There is nothing i can do,
And I'm to scared to lie.
So i sing good bye to you
And hope that you die fast.
The friendship with the drugs,
Just could not pass
Sorry purple daffodils,
But the world is pretty bad.
All the creatures and silverware give you there condolences
And the Ughetrillzad
Is coloring the ground crimson with tears
Shouting all our fears
Farewell purple daffodils
You had a nice run
While there are some things you lack
Go out in style
You are not coming back.
poem by Gabriel Crow
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Those That Merely Wait And Unmoved
walking, just walking, sometimes just this
no thoughts, no decisions, just plain walking
you see the light of the day
striking on the trees and plains and the daffodils
you are not part of it, you are just walking it
you are met by the wind from the mountain
you are not talking you are not interested about
what this wind these trees these daffodils are bringing you
you do not show any interest at all about some leaves falling
the light spreads and sprawls on the grass and sand and pebbles
you are not dazzled you are not completely covered by light
you are just walking, stepping into God's own creation
spectator, just plain walking in, not involved, not commenting
just plain watching, those that crawl and sprawl, those that stay and leave
those that simply lay themselves as plain receptors, grass and sang
mountains and trees, and daffodils, those that merely wait and unmoved.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Daffodils
Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils - but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please,
For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!
And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy
The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!
My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?
If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go,
And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams shine
Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Spring Flowers ~ Daffodils & Jonquils
Brightest flowers of early spring
Daffodils and Jonquils
Shout seasonal joy aloud
These lovely flowers always bring
Sunshine that never will
Be dimmed by veil of cloud
With trumpets lifted to face the sun
And petals opened wide to drink
Those warming rays
Daffodils and Jonquils imply fun
Encouraging mankind to think
Of brighter days
Daffodils and Jonquils seek the sun
As it travels along
Days that are lengthening
Seeing them proves Spring has begun
And that before long
We will be summering
poem by Mary Havran
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Lucy In The Subway
Lucy sells her flowers for a quarter apiece
She wound up on the streets
She could not pay her lease
She used to want to save the world
But nothing to her matters now
She lays bout the subway station
Clad in dirty tatters now
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
Lucy holds a dixie cup
Of sixty cents in change
And if she looks you in the eye
You see that shes deranged
She flew too near the sun
And fried her fragile wings
But to her faithful whisky bottle she clings
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Daffodils
January, and the daffodils are showing their heads;
Pushing their way up from their deep, wintry bed.
At the sight of them, I can't help, but be amazed.
With them, the grassy bank will soon be ablaze.
Daffodils in January, I have never before known;
Their heads, in winter, are never normally shown.
They will soon brighten up these dark, winter days;
Adding a splash of colour to the browns and greys.
To my day, they add some much needed cheer;
I'm reminded that spring, once again, draws near.
Daffodils are amongst my very favourite flowers;
To cheer people up, they possess a special power.
Safe in their buds, the precious petals are protected;
In the winter air, a slight chill can still be detected.
In only a few weeks, their buds will be ready to burst,
And, by the sun and rain, the flowers will be nursed.
The flowers will grow up so very tall and strong,
And, together, they will create such a merry throng.
Their presence is bound to attract much attention;
Their stunning natural beauty, many will mention.
To see their finished form, I simply can not wait;
A breathtaking sight, the daffodils will soon create.
That they do not last very long, it is a great shame;
They will wilt and die, like an extinguished flame.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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April Rain
The long awaited needed rain
finally came in gentle drops.
Thirsty daffodils greedily
quaffed the tepid precipitate
while their odoriferous scents
reluctantly merged with ozone
creating a pungent bouquet
that stimulated the nostrils.
Far afield from the daffodils
robins comb the newly wet grass
for ever emerging earthworms
that are coaxed above by the rain.
Soon the tugs of war begin
between the two adversaries.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Love Come To Me
Love, come to me in rose of red,
to lie upon my loveless bed ~
now filled with thorns of passions past,
into the wind, the thorns I cast.
Love, come to me in lilac hue,
with scented breath of lilac blue
and essence of love's lost repast ~
into the wind, lost love I cast.
Love, come to me in leaves of green,
with greening leaves of emerald sheen ~
awaiting in the brambling bough,
into the wind, I cast love now.
Love, come to me in yellowed fields,
lined with the golden daffodils ~
awaiting love to come along,
into the wind, I cast love's song.
Love, come to me in rose of red,
to rest and dream upon my bed ~
with scented breath of lilac blue
and daffodils of golden hue.
Love, come to me in nature's light.
It pleasures me with every sight ~
of red, and blue, and golden hue,
into the wind, I cast love true.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Wordsworth a fortune
I wonder if Wordsworth
noticed that if he stood
very still, aware of his body
from his toes up to his head
and looked at the host of
nodding daffodils, then the daffodils
disappear into the sense
of presence as if
they were he and he they
I hope he did
cos if he had to walk home
to recollect his emotion
in tranquillity instead
of standing in it
out there on perhaps a wet day
then he’d missed something i.e.
emotion in tranquillity recollected
Not to mention surrendering
the feeling he’d lost
something since his boyhood.
Try it yourself, it might
save a lot of walking and
trying the view from over there
instead of here
and now.
[Yes, Eckhart Tolle, it’s thanks to you again…]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Spring Delirium
Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.
Hail bloom of golden promise! Hail!
These trumpets sing of hope.
To mock grim Winter's weakening flail
And shame the misanthrope.
All hail! And hail again, for luck.
Hence, cold and clammy doubt!
Come, Spring! Come, honey-bee and suck;
Into this heady nector tuck!
The daffodils are out!
Spring for the young? Ah, foolish claim.
Spring burgeons for the old,
To touch old hearts again with flame
And oust the creeping cold.
So, as each golden cup now spills
Its gladness all about,
I, freed again of age's ills,
Grow dilly with the daffodils.
The daffodils are out!
Yet, am I old? Who said I'm old?
Ah, Spring's sweet alchemy!
Gaze now upon me and behold
A recharged battery.
I waggle my rheumatic knees
And, as the years I flout,
Hot blood incontinently flees
Along my hardening arteries
The daffodils are out!
Birds call; the buds grow fat; I sing
A daft, delicious lay.
Prim primulas are carpeting
My somewhat wobbly way.
Oh, vernal verve! September's spree!
I laugh! I sing! I shout!
With dragonfly and drunken bee
I go right off my rocker. Gee!
The wotsernames are out!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Beautiful Day (2)
no rain
dews have dried up
no ripples from the pond
air still
leaves are glossing
to the sun
sky is clear
fogs gone
the window opens
to the garden
of daffodils
the sea is silky blue
no foams
seagulls fly to the north
boats sail to
deep oceans
the ants gather
morsels
and the grasshoppers
and crickets
join in the singing
welcome a brighter new day
for the darkness is gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Carlyn's Poem (1976 chapbook) (density ****)
'Seven Golden Daffodils' came to me
And peace to try at poetry
'Seven Golden Daffodils' touched my days
A life reshaping in new ways.
Orange sun and frosted mount
Emerald isles in silver laced seas
White sloop from fable named Halcyone.
Wine that caught the fire's glow
Enchanting melodies from silver strings
Golden flames - cracked sparks to fling.
Faces that returned a smile
Friendship warming as a child
Flying feet on oaken floors
All of this and even more.
poem by Bill Grace
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Dafni
tea of blue smoke, tobac, a
clean-boned man, the
wave, its guilty slope seaward
the jerky fiddlebow and a palm
leaf deftly seduced-
blow, blow little wind
-quae Cnidon
fulgentesque Cyclades et Paphon...
little wind, little wind
combed sand of burning symbol
reedy alphabet, old crow's
garment, tasseled for battle camel-
trodden seaward: io!
diva.
listen, the wind
slowly, this morning, one
sees it again:
ruddy Barbarossa
eluded of bottom
gasping Saleph water, the blue
un-beginning, un
ending.
wind, animateur, blow
little wind
poem by Robert Dickerson
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Watch The Wind Blow By
Creek goes rippling by
Ive been barefoot and all day with my baby
Brown leaves have started falling
Leading the way
I like it best just like this
Doing nothing all the way
So lets lay down in the tall grass
Dreaming away
And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you
And watch the wind blow by
And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever
Like the clear blue sky
Slowly, theres only
You and i
And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by
Girl, you know you told me not so long ago
To let it come, then let it pass
And all your troubles and your sorrows
They wont last
So let me kiss you now, little darling
Beneath this autumn moon
Cold wind, another season
Will be here soon
And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you
And watch the wind blow by
And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever
Like the clear blue sky
Slowly, theres only
You and i
And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem At The Approach Of Spring
It's spring. I suppose I ought to be impressed
By snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest -
Quite frankly I detest
The whole goddamn scene,
I'm sick of every platitude
That betrays some soppy poetic attitude -
I'm feeling quite depressed!
The world is young again and green
But, what the hell,
I feel about a hundred years old!
Yes, I detest
The way the poets are so obsessed
With snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest!
I suppose you've guessed
I've lost my poet's interest
In life and growing things,
The way the blackbird sings
And builds its nest,
I am a man apart
And nothing will ever comfort my empty heart.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Self-forgetfulness
....Gentle smooth touch
Of flower petals,
Swallowing the kiss,
An angry buzzing bumblebee
Fluffy and painted
Like in a thousand colors
Leaving the pollen
On the fingertip,
Inhaling the pollen
For tasting the flower,
Sitting in that field of daffodils,
Yellow daffodils,
For dreaming love
Until self-forgetfulness,
For waking up,
The dew shining on the leaves,
The breast caressing,
Tasting the milk,
Caressing the skin,
Long hair touching
The increasing beard
And the flower flavor,
Flooding the mouths,
While kissing
And bearing all these....
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Absent Place—an April Day
927
Absent Place—an April Day—
Daffodils a-blow
Homesick curiosity
To the Souls that snow—
Drift may block within it
Deeper than without—
Daffodil delight but
Him it duplicate—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
poem by William Wordsworth
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