#poem on Daffodill

[soracities]

e.e. cummings, from “in time of daffodils(who know” (in 95 Poems), Complete Poems: 1904-1962

[Text ID: “In time of daffodils(who know the goal of living is to grow)”]

[mari-876]

happy anniversary tamn!!!

thank you all for this amazing experience and THANK YOU @uhohbestie for making this incredible fic <33

[adventuresofalgy]

The following day was very much brighter, with some strong February sunshine, but also a stiff breeze. In fact the whole world seemed to be in motion, although this may have had something to do with the absence of a tripod 😀

And as Algy fluttered around the garden, he was surprised to see the very first daffodil flowers of the coming spring, for these were not the early, miniature daffodils which quite often flowered at the beginning of February, but full-sized varieties which did not normally appear until many weeks later in the year.

Perching happily on the grass to watch the beautiful nodding heads glowing in the sunshine, he was reminded of a poem written "to an early daffodil", for these were indeed certainly exceptionally early, but instead of spring being laggard, and the flowers catching the gold of an April sun, they were playing in the chilly wind of a bright early February day…

Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring! Thou herald of rich Summer’s myriad flowers! The climbing sun with new recovered powers Does warm thee into being, through the ring Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing To fill the lonely with a joy untold; Nodding at every gust of wind to-day, To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold To stand erect, full in the dazzling play Of April's sun, for thou hast caught his gold.

[Algy is quoting the poem To an Early Daffodil by the late 19th/early 20th century American poet Amy Lowell.]

[lunchboxpoems]

TO BE BRAVE, I LOOK TO THE DAFFODIL

To be brave, I look to the daffodil. A stupid flower, I’ve always thought – too eager to enter a world not fully thawed. Shrinking  after just one cold night. I surround myself with pluck. Always one for adventure: running naked  across campus into a stranger’s car as rite of passage, jumping into the freezing bay. Hitchhiking home but afraid to speak in class. To order in my mother’s tongue, my mother’s food. I let the dark take on its own shapes, unchecked. No, I am not brave, but I like the people who are. Who never overprepare or let their anxieties  stop them. For whom things always work out.  I’m chasing the high from one novelty to another, wanting adventure but so unwilling to find it on my own. Instead, I lose myself in people who live unafraid. Bravery by osmosis. This might be the truest thing I say today and it scares me. To admit that on my own, I was never wild. All this time I thought the daffodil’s dropped  petals, the green leaves that remained, marked an ending.  But underground she is rebuilding for next spring.  For when she’ll dare, again, to push through the frostbitten earth. Year after year, it goes on like this.

SUSAN NGUYEN

[dabiconcordia]

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

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 leaves in glee; A poet could not be but 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. by William Wordsworth

[webweabings]

LET US LIVE LIKE FLOWER

Flowers: White Franklinia (Franklinia alatamaha); // Purple Delphinium (Delphinium elatum); // Orange Pansy (Viola x wittrockiana); // Green Hellebore (Helleborus argutifoluis corsicus); // Pink Impatiens (Impatiens walleriana); // Blue Flax (Linum usitatissimum)

[lxvenderjewel]

my dear, my perfect darling my love, my one and only my yellow tulip. i have picked up a small case, watson.

what is it?

i’m buying you some diphylleia. something trivial, nothing to interest you. i’ll be going out to look at some flowers.

what for, holmes?

i hold you in my deepest mauve carnations. i believe i will find some clues there.

why haven’t i heard of this case?

it doesn’t exist i am lying i am making you a a mulberry i didn’t think it would interest you, watson.

hmm. well, you must tell me about it later.

i cannot you would hate me i cannot bear that a daffodil. of course.

what particularly about flowers?

shit shit shit shit a purple hyacinth. flower language.

hmm.

he knows he knows he cannot know how would he clovenlip toadflax. mm. i will see you.

don’t be late for dinner.

[loveindeeair]

All these in me no means can move

To come to thee and be thy love.

Love,

DeeSignia 🐾

[wordsofkore]

winter is here

and i miss you

the brisk air you bring by sunrise

with the honeyed dew on the green grass

just a few months between me

and the warmth that comes with the closeness of you

i miss the way you litter the fields

with the narcissi you plant from under

i miss the showers you bring after

to moisture the heart of the soil,

to feed us. oh, how much you give.

i miss the cherry blossom petals

that fall on my cheeks like rain droplets,

i tell myself that it’s a gentle kiss from you

winter has a few months to go,

but i still miss you.

12.24.23

[promptsforpoemproseandplay]

writing exercise

pick a colour and write a sensory piece about it. so, for example, 

yellow is the daffodils on a sunny May day, planted in Grandma’s garden. 

I encourage you to use all the senses, so sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. its also fun to use colour and take its aesthetic to paint a scene, like how lavender could be a picnic in April.  

bonus: considering how emotions are things that exist, you can use them too—either as the subject of the poem, or as one of the ‘senses’. write away!

~Nyx

[scarlett-ink]

“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.”

-I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

Artfight attack on @nebuladreamz (I love your Eclipse so much and any time I see the daffodils in my garden I think of Starlit Skies)

[academicstraykittie]

Daffodils by William Wordsworth

............................................................

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.

[leechteethwrites]

mini may poem

[adventuresofalgy]

A thaw was setting in!

Although it remained chilly, with persistent patches of ice and frost in the shadier areas of the garden, the weather was undoubtedly changing, and much wetter and somewhat milder air was sweeping in rapidly from the great Atlantic Ocean. The climate on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands was about to return to normal: wild, wet and windy…

Algy hopped about the garden, looking for something to sing about, for in the short, dark days of mid-January, with all the festivities well past, and the longer, brighter days of spring still many weeks away, it was not always easy to find inspiration, and he knew that many of his friends felt gloomy at this point in the year.

Hoping to see signs of the first snowdrops, perhaps, Algy suddenly flopped down on the grass in astonishment, for the shoots he had spotted were not those of snowdrops, but daffodils… in mid-winter! And two or three shoots were even showing flower buds!

Even in the so-called mild climate of the wild west Highlands of Scotland, which is supposedly "warmed" by the North Atlantic Drift, this was remarkable in January. Algy rejoiced and, reflecting that out of the darkness, light will surely come, he leaned forward to whisper some words of encouragement in their fresh green ears,:

And now my spring beauties, Things of the earth, Beetles, shards and wings of moth And snail houses left From last summer's wreck, Now spring smoke Of the burned dead leaves And veils of the scent Of some secret plant, Come, my beauties, teach me, Let me have your wild surprise, Yes, and tell me on my knees Of your new life.

[Algy is whispering the poem Spring Song II by the 20th century American poet Jean Garrigue.]

[poetrythreesixfive]

Early Risers

The daffodils sprang in December

while winter was barely new;

the earliest I can remember,

the daffodils sprang in December,

they had only decayed in September

when the summer was scarcely through;

the daffodils sprang in December

while winter was barely new.

-GeorgeFilip

[dabiconcordia]

“Easter is… Joining in a birdsong, Eying an early sunrise, Smelling yellow daffodils, Unbolting windows and doors, Skipping through meadows, Cuddling newborns, Hoping, believing, Reviving spent life, Inhaling fresh air, Sprinkling seeds along furrows, Tracking in the mud. Easter is the soul’s first taste of spring.” ―  Richelle E. Goodrich