Queen Anne's Lace
Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth--nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
thefield by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--
or nothing.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Related quotes
ThisFlower
ThisFlower
ThisFlower
This flower had a yellow center white lapetals
with Violet edges each little part a much larger
representation of this whole thing was not
as big as mye own hand eye devised a plan quite
similar to pulling stem from apple reading
alphabetic eye have to get to V for Violet
but instead of tempting fate or GOD or Jesus
his own SON or human reflex eye placed no letter
on this game but gamely twisted this flower
in a circle flicking petals in the air until
to mye surprise only one remained with
yellow centered white for love with Violet
edges this Symbol of our love this Flower
stem of green to base this Flower on,
this viable of love.
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
The Dead Flower Bed
A Flower Loves
Eye saw the flower bed as eye walked bye it looked so empty after storm has come, on close inspection there was three plants still thriving there in hopefullness and love, whiteflower looking all better, one purple flower plant blossoming, and a forelorn dandylion
without seeds but steadfast in his love in the center of the flower bed between the daughter and his love, after bad weather gone.
Love remains the flowers fade but love still stays even inside the dead flower bed. A flower loves.
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am your Flower
a beautiful flower waved in the wind
bent with the breeze.
you came along, and, noticed it.
stooping down to kneel in the dirt,
you examined its petals
felt its delicate leaves.
you picked the flower,
broke its roots,
and placed its unchained stem into your clasped hand.
you carried the flower with you
showed it to friends, acquaintances,
made everyone take notice
of the beauty you found.
and strangely enough,
this flower did not wilt,
but remained strongly vibrant
in its glass of water
as you carefully attended to it.
yet as the year continued,
you worried and wondered
if maybe your choosing of this flower hurt it.
was it meant to be connected with the earth?
should you have stood and turned away
without choosing this flower
and picking it up for your own?
was your breaking of the stem a mistake?
should you have left it?
these questions filled your mind.
yet your flower remained vibrant and strong
in her glass of water.
confined, no, now free.
and freedom brings its own nourishment.
nourishment that cannot be found
attached to the ground.
you chose the flower above the rest,
and picked her to be yours.
will you keep me?
you have freed me.
my glass of water is refreshing.
your hand clasping my stem is enough
for me to stay and choose you
above the sun, more than the soil,
i cannot wilt if you take care of me as you have.
for a broken stem and a chosen flower
cannot be returned.
i must be kept or left to die.
poem by Lors Dilouley
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Elegy To A Bee
I found a bee upon the grass
Who faced his final hour
And cupped him gently in my hand
Then set him on a flower.
A sweet white rose that nestle him
In petals, cotton soft,
Whose fragrance, as he breathed is last,
Bore his soul aloft.
And though his tiny body lies
Within the roses' breast,
His spirit shines, his song still hums
In every flower he kissed.
poem by Karen M. Stakem
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A Flower Standing in the Dew
A single flower that was standing in the dew
Enduring in the mist
With the most spectacular hue
I walked away only to turn around
I bent over
To cull it from the ground
I couldnt let it stay
I had to take it with me
Seal it air tight in an album
So I could always admire it's beauty
That's why I looked twice
when I saw the flower again
No stem or petals this time
What I discovered was a friend
One who is just as marvelous
as the flowers hue
I couldnt pass by
So I turned around and chose
How precious you are to me
Only God really knows
Beautiful, delicate
Yet you still remain strong
A single flower standing in the dew
A flower
A flower
You
poem by Jamie Ellen Christian
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To The Eyes Of The Newcomer
a green plain
a series of hills
some big mountains
tips reaching the clouds
the sun shines
the wind blows
a leaf falls
the first touch of the hand
on the petal of a white flower
whiteness
and blueness and scents of flowers
and trees
cool, warm,
in solitude
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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M2...
of what use is the
whiteness?
the purity that you
have maintained in the color of your
soul
of what use is the red
in your center?
it is just a piece of art
pure aesthetics without any function at all
forbidden flap
full of flimsy fabrications
you cannot put salt in a flower and
say you want to preserve it
like some sort of peppered pickles
white soon shall turn to a bruise
freshness into a contusion
ponder upon the shortness of the life span
of the butterfly
get wild like a snake
bite, bite, if needed, bite the delicious apple of discord
savor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mauve Basket
Purple like a tulip in a spring field. Swaying calmly with the wind, under a violet sky, beckoning you to come closer, and closer. A Mauve Basket coming closer and closer.
Then a hand picks the plum flower, covering the tulip with warmth, and whispering it's secrets to it.
The flower looks back at it's past home, a wild violet field, waiting to get placed in the purple pocket, but instead finds a new home, in the Mauve Basket.
poem by Vindya Pon
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White Flower
White Flower
By: Adam M. Snow
Let bloom my lil white flower;
for you, my love will shower.
You're still but a seed;
I can see you're full of creed
You are also young;
there's nothing left unsung.
You are my lil white flower;
you shine this very hour.
You are gentle to the touch;
you mean so much.
You're the reason why;
I refuse to die.
You are my lil white flower;
for you, my love will shower.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink Flowers.
Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?
This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?
Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?
(Dedicated for my pink flower date)
poem by Aron Lelei
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A White Flower Blooms Against A Blue Sky
let me not think that sooner
this flower shall wilt
let me fathom the secret beauty
of its whiteness
against the blue sky
let me savor the opening of its petals
in slow motion
let me think of time that way
let me not be the rushing of the air
let me move like a snail
let me taste the delicious syrup of the honeybee
the white flower
the purity of your intentions
the blue sky
the beauty of your sorrow
time like a scallop
seasons like seaweeds
the hermit crab moving and meeting the huge wave
foams, and murkiness, and then you wonder where are these things
these thoughts
after a storm.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life is Like A Flower
Life is like a flower.
It starts out as a seed,
Then a root,
A stem with a leaf,
Leaves and then a beautiful flower.
A baby.
Then learns how 2 talk,
Then the child is a flower.
Life is like a flower,
You are a flower
poem by LeLe Gallon
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My Little Flower White
Out of my little window, In the green meadow
Grows there right, my little flower white
Be it sunlight or the moonlight
My little flower white, always shines bright
Red or blue, rain or dew,
My little flower white, I love you
poem by Titus Menezes
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In Back of the Real
railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem and
corolla of yellowish dirty
spikes like Jesus' inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying under
the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Behold The Flower Of The Waterlily
Behold the flower of the waterlily
The pretty pretty flower
Below the surface is a long long stem
That from deep, floats the flower high
You can't just have the flower, no no no
It cannot be with out its deep reaching stem
It's anchored with integrity
And with out what's underneath, she will die.
poem by Stevie Taite
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My Purple Orchid
Once the maturity of balmy embrace is in purple
Smile is still too sweet though you have no dimples
Love from you is soul and mind refinement
Hand-touch can be more than beatific achievement
My purple orchid makes me the luckiest girl ever
Twice the royal flower is delicate some time longer
My purple orchid charms me some way meaningfully
Creating love for someone no more logically
Someday later I will find my finest gentleman
Complete with a bouquet of purple orchids in his hand
A rare and magnificent flower preserves true love
A light color purple, happiness I won't get off
poem by Renny Puspa Sari
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A Beautiful Flower Blooming
A withered flower blooming again
breeze shook the flower
the sun is shining on flower
rain water to wash the dust-filled flower
abort storm petals
storm that renders the flower petals
polling beetle sucking painful
flower that bloom so bright today
beauty exudes an aura of coolness of the beholder
spread the fragrance that invites a bee to touch
although many other flowers around it
bees sucking the flower first
choose to suck and touch the flower
lately the flower
always bloom radiate beauty
a bee was not able to get away from the flower
a bee sucking the beautiful bloomington
always produce the honey taste good
really beautiful relationship between the flower and bee
both are very compatible and complement each other
poem by meti Rahmawati
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The Bent Flower
There once was a flower,
Who, at an untimely hour,
Began to crook to one side.
The poor little flower,
Would no longer tower,
In the field full of green grass and snow.
But from yonder came a man,
With nothing but a pan,
And sat by the badly bent flower.
And the man sat with the flower day and night,
Helping it get through its plight,
But came the following day.
That within an hour,
The man who sat with the flower,
Was gone like night during day.
poem by Tro Missaelian
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The ROSE Healing - God's Design
When spring comes to us,
Scent of flowers in the air,
A tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design.
Perfect in His possession,
Always in His hand,
God unfolds the petals,
The secret's unknown to me,
The tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design,
Unfolds with perfection,
The rose in His hand.
As my life lies before me,
With it's joy and distress,
He is always near me,
Unfolding all life's petals,
The flower of His design,
Forever in His hand.
poem by Eva L. Shaw
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The Story of My Flower
Born a lovely flower
Watered with fresh water during rainy seasons
Sprinkled with just enough during the droughts
The flower lived to blossom
With scented petals and green leaves
in a pot so large to take all it could bear.
One sunny day
the pot with the flower was shifted
shifted to a completely new location
where it was deprived of the sunlight
and the abundance of water.
Necessary it was
A new start in a life supposedly so complete.
Time went by
Nevertheless, the flower continued blooming
The petals now larger
The scent even more appealing
The flower survived even without the bare necessities.
The now sensitive flower
Soon attracted the eyes of predators
A simple glance to start with
Then became a soft touch
Followed by multiples of rough care.
Soon the flower started to lose its shape and form
Being given insufficient supply of water
Inappropriate fertilizers
And most of all the wrong attention.
At last it withered
After long hours of torture
Long days of loneliness
and years of abundance
it turned yellow, then brown
Finally, what remained was just a lifeless stem
standing in an old dirty pot.
poem by Alexandra Isnard
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