#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)”]

[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.

[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)

[leechteethwrites]

mini may poem

[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.

[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

[youcanthandelthetruth]

Anyway per last reblog I was idk 7 or 8? when my mom made me choose a poem and memorize to recite in front of the entire family. And I am probably going to force that on Sweet Bean too even though I hated it at the time. But I also thought it would be neat if there was a poem he knew by heart instinctively, without even remembering when he'd learned it.

[daffodilmornings]

If I showed you myself

If I bared my soul to you

Would you embrace it?

Would you nurture it and keep it warm?

Or would you shun it?

Leave me alone in the cold?

Can I trust you?

Should I trust you?

[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

[tens-girl]

Writing fluffy, romantic (eventually smutty) Valentine’s Day fics for both halves of my crossover and getting lost in Aziraphale’s appreciation of the Romantic Poets… William Wordsworth, you bastard! You can’t write about *yellow* flowers and *stars* in the same poem! My angel can’t handle it…

(Why are they all so soppy for each other? I just want to write some smut in peace, but they will insist on having feelings…)

[kyotodreamtrips]

In fields of gold, where sunbeams dance, Resides a flower, in graceful trance. Its petals fair, a vibrant hue, In golden splendour, kissed by dew. Daffodils sway in gentle breeze, Their beauty whispered through the trees. A chorus bright, in meadows vast, A symphony of springtime cast. With heads held high, they proudly gleam, In every valley, every stream. Their laughter echoes, pure and free, A joyful ode to destiny. In clusters brave, they stand as one, A testament to life begun. With every bloom, a tale untold, In daffodils, our dreams unfold. So let us cherish, in every glen, The daffodils that bloom again. For in their dance, we find the thrill, Of hope reborn, in daffodils.