"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "
~A Rambling Poet~
A canopy of trees
filters the sun for me,
and I am grateful...
For I do not feel like
having the rays glare
in my eyes today,
in a brooding mood I am.
The earth is damp,
drunken with dew,
I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
that not everything
is sunlight and blooms
I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
...until I open my eyes
The trees above me
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
my cold being
Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
feeding off from it,
in order to
give back to others
some of them stumble
yet most of them
I am humbled.
I am awed.
Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
from the light,
I look up again
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...
that set off
a chain reaction
--June 11-12 (2011)
Why aren’t we happy?
What is it in the most of us?
We are not how we should be
We should be like a singing bird
Who boldly, in the trees
Sings his song when fear is done
His life just flows along
He only knows the dance of life
So he just sings his song.
And yet we humans live our lives
Enfolded in our fears
Glorifying in the sad
And making this quite clear
As we always speak of doom and gloom
And watch it on TV
And always live our lives in fear
Is this the way it should be?
If only each would take a look
And see just what we be
We never see the flowers grow
Or let our hearts be free
Maybe it’s time to see the truth
Of what this life could be
If we look at life without the fear
And live with mystery.
6 August 2013 @ 1908hrs.
Why be a naked tree and endure winter's agony?
It should be forever warm and sunny...
to watch wild flowers grow by a spring!
Why be a naked tree and be unable to think?
The shine came off of her back that day
under the magnolia tree
She sprawled her arms like tree sized roots
and swayed with the swaying breeze
It was always her choice of blossoms
that seemed to bruise to the delicate touch
It was always on the day she was about to die
that she wanted to live so much
She sank from luxurious apple green
into chameleon red
as I drew her a picture of spring time
and the resurrection of the dead
The snow fell sweet on the tree that year
in a vision of rains to come
as I sparked a match and drew her breath
in the winter's fallen sun.
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
My bark is worn from time and life
My steady branches have withstood much strife
The life blood that raged in my youth
Its edges raw and at times uncouth
Time has polished and as steel has hardened
As I have stood watch faithfully in my garden
My saplings I have sheltered and nourished
Their tiny sprouts have grown and flourished
My work here is almost done and
I was content to stand silent in the sun
However, one day as I stood alone
Came a carpenter with hands gentle and strong
He looked past my peeling ragged bark and
Found my barely beating heart.
He has caused me to dream of my youth again
Of beauty, peace and the passion of men
I am his project to mold and to make
A challenge only he is equipped to take
I stand here now curious to see
What this craftsman can make of me.
You always laughed at me In that funny way of yours
Standing at the door ~ looking out to see
Wondering where you are, and will you follow me
With hammer in hand ~ Into nature decked with
silver and gold
Do you possess a loving heart with stories untold
By now they know what you are made of
Reflections that come from your eyes they see
Though they walk with you in a style of their own
Shaped into the figure of a man with beauty of a woman
A tree in the forest is cut down shaped into the form of a goddess
A goddess that will take us through time and back again
Though time is an elusive thing here as we all know
Hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold
Time means nothing when the heart is near I am told
Does a tree feel the pains of a cut as we do , I ask you
I have struggled all my days with thoughts like these
To figure out what the true meaning really is to me
If you know can you tell me too as we walk together
With hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold
Like the oak tree
Have you ever thought about?
An Oak so big and strong
With all his blessed majesty
[As nature sings her song]
His branches reach unto the sky
As he strives to touch the sun
Take a look at his great growth
Now he’s a giant one.
And yet he cannot reach the sky
Unless his roots dig far
He’ll never reach too high at all
That’s just the way things are
Take a look at a bonsai tree
Then you’ll see what I mean
Compare it with the mighty oak
And see what might have been.
It’s the same with humans too
If they strive to reach within
They’re growth will reach up very high
And a song it will begin
But if they only touch the surface
[Most humans be like this]
They’ll stay small, like the Bonzai tree
That’s just the way it is.
8 June 2014 @ 1634hrs.
The fog rolls in surrounding me,
My hand before me, I barely see.
A heaviness as moisture clings to the air,
Ghost like shadows from trees that are bare.
I walk forward I don’t want to look back,
I grab a new card from off of the stack.
I think of it like turning over a new leaf,
I take a deep breath and hope for relief.
I turn the corner there are lights shining bright.
Blue lights resonate and glow in the night.
A Christmas tree lit, entirely in blue,
Like a beacon in the fog it shines right through.
The Christmas tree lights shine much like my hope,
I try to break free with some slack in the rope.
They bring a smile and fill me with content,
As the fog thickens the lights don’t relent.
They seem to glow within the fog,
I lose my bearing as I trip on a log.
I feel like a ghost upon a canvas of white,
It all disappears within the confines of night.
I hear a bell from a church on the hill,
Its haunting sound from what was still.
It seems to call to me to just forge on.
All of a sudden the ringing is gone.
I stand in darkness just me and the fog,
Something awakens, memories it jogs.
I think of my journey and all I’ve been through,
What has been done and what’s left to do.
It hasn’t been easy though it’s not bad.
I have fond memories of great times I’ve had.
Still something’s missing as I look for the door,
I know it can’t be like it was once before.
The winds picks up, adds a chill to the air.
It awakens my senses so I really don’t care.
I stand at the threshold to the future and past.
I will simply step outside, the shadows it casts.
There’s one thing I know for sure
I’ve said it many times before
When it comes to knowing, I just don’t
I’ll never say ‘I know’ I won’t!!
No me I know nothing at all
Excepting ‘life is beautiful’!!
Some great power did make it thus
And in that power I do trust.
I see the flowers, I see the trees
I feel the breeze just flowing free
I see and hear the birds that sing
And to my heart all of this brings
A smile just like the morning sun
I’m so in love with the ‘power of one’
The truth it lives within my heart
As I proclaim it with my art.
My heart is always open wide
I sit in silence, look inside
And understand what life’s about
I have no knowledge, have no doubts
It’s written in my deepest core
The truth, I cannot tell you more
For words so clumsy, cannot say
What’s in the soul, there is no way!
I write this poem from my heart
So glad that fate gave me this art
This gift of writing truthfully
I cannot lie, I cannot be
A man who says I really know
Yet deep within my heart I glow
I have within me so much joy
And this, no power could destroy
6 October 2014.
If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.
Dangling from the tree I can see,
Broken wind chimes that still sing.
They just hang on by a split string.
Sending a harmony of tunes to thee.
Their tones and vibrations are a bit broken for me.
I listen and I ponder for what tunes they can bring.
From the tree they will sway when they can swing.
Bits and pieces are released through the air and flee.
Caught in the wind is it’s vibrations.
Carrying signals of great magnitude.
Funneling clouds into new creations.
Bringing air into a brand new mood.
Broken wind chimes can still sing a song,
But their messages are scattered all along.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
Like a bird
Like a bird up in a treetop
This little bird I know him well
This creature it be me
I sit here with my pen in hand
And sing so crazily
With symbols shining out like gold
I give my song to thee
These words, they be my message
I sing them to the sky
One day his body will be gone
But the words will never die
They well up from my very soul
Without no help from me
I am that bird up in a tree
With his lone symphony.
And lord, I like to share it
I will whisper from the stars
And tell the world I am this bird
Send vibes out wide and far
That sing about the journey
The only one I know
As I’m sending out my story
In words that make it glow.
5 August 2013 @ 1755hrs.
Questions for everyone
Has anybody ever sat?
In a garden filled with flowers
Have you felt the magic there?
Have you felt the power?
Have you sat there with the body still?
And the mind too, just the same?
Have you ever lost yourself?
As the mind stopped playing games
Have you seen those magic colours?
And really seen them too!
Have you felt the touch of the morning breeze?
Have you seen the way she do?
Touch those branches with her glory
Make them dance in the morning sun
As the sparkles nearly blow your mind
And you’re the holy one?
Have you ever heard the dove’s warm Coo
And that deep, deep ravens croak?
Have you seen the mulberry tree?
As she dons her summers coat?
And radiance and reverence
Are all that one can know
Have you ever sat there in the garden?
And watched the morning flow.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘’’’’’’’’’’ ‘ ‘
Those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down
auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony.
Auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity
tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight.
Tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight
and whispers of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep.
Brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
and wafts of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep
as full season of fall sheds life’s leaves to pray.
Spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
as full season of fall seems to shed life’s leaves to pray
those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down. ~
© rights reserved
By: nette onclaud
Sometimes, I really do not care
About anything at all
My mind goes kind of quiet then
My mode is kind of cool
And all I really want to do
Is sit here looking in
Forgetting all the world outside
Forgetting all the din
There’s a time to send ones energy
And circle it around
But then there comes a sacred time
When the harmony is found
Waiting there within the dark
To hold one cozily
A time to be in her soft clutch
And bask there happily.
Then when the muse has been recharged
It’s time to wander back
And let the words come pouring out
Cause just along the track
The wind, the flowers and dancing trees
Have replaced the mystery
So now the words they may flow free
With much more energy.
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
I do not know?
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Those blessed wetland trails.
The sun is shining lazily
The sky is azure blue
As green leaves dance with the morning breeze
The birds be singing too
They sing a serenade of bliss
And peace is all around
As all along these wetland trails
Blue lupins can be found.
The perfume heavy in the air
It speaks of wild geraniums
The young ferns looking soft and green
And all those tall wild gums
Give out a rather pungent scent
A smell I've learned to love
As parrots screech in blissfull joy
In those trees there high above.
The lake, she glimmers neath the sun
As the ducks give lazy quacks
My feet scrape on the sand and gravel
As I stroll along this track.
Trees all gnarled and and twisted
Form a tunnel just for me
Oh I could write forever
But for now, I'll leave it be.
Calamity strikes under the calm of fog,
The man breathes in the misty water.
His thoughts dissipate with the touch of dusky light,
Her auburn hair flares behind the rose of cherry blossoms.
Their fingers caress at their tips,
A consciousness already bonded eternally.
Branches of cherry blossoms rest upon their cold heads,
Notions forbidden and a desire remains suppressed.
Their lips turned to poison,
It crept and tangled deep into their minds.
From this moment forward they were consumed,
Forever doomed to think the same.
The tree stands still - its eyes perturbed,
The green shrubs, the amber buds,
Surroundings bustling and lively,
It stands placid, as almost dead.
True nature it has not revealed,
The mute damned to sit still,
Words rush and glimmer in poetic verse,
No sound crosses its rough lips.
Century withered and silently crossed,
The tree stands still yet even now.
The aging man, his worn axe glistening in dawn,
Slashes down the tree, its roots bare.
Now knowledge sleeps in the soil, the soil remains untouched.
Time drones slowly on
Each day...an eternity
Snowflakes change to frozen rain
Leaving icicles on the tree
I barely notice spring's approach
Budding branches on the tree
Or summer's sun-kissed bounty
From the garden planted for me
Fall arrives in all its glory
Nature's artists on a spree
Painting glorious colors
For all the world to see
I do not see this beauty
The golden leaves upon the tree
To me it has no relevance
For you're not here with me
The sand is flowing slowly
Through the hourglass of time
Now the days fly by too quickly
Soon the tolling bell will chime
But I cherish these fading days
And our promised rendezvous
When the last grain has flowed
Then I will be with you
For John Freeman's contest (your best shot) _
Copyright©2004 Beatrice Boyle
(All Rights Reserved
It was Christmas Eve; I was a prisoner of my own divide.
Lost in mind, clad in drunken sadness, caged up inside.
Alone and forlorn my thoughts laden with whiskey lies,
Memories seem so distant, only a week since goodbyes.
Christmas tree glistening, blurry in my vision of tears,
Flashing lights bright, neighbors Christmas party cheers.
No presents or joy in this household upon this night.
Sorrows, misguided gulps of liquor, cloud my sight.
Heartbroken, gloomy devouring the demon filled drink.
No more, no less, my eyes roamed over as I did think.
Hopelessly lost in a whirlwind of memories of no more,
No more, love by a lover, no daughter to teach the score.
Left me in a house, no longer our home that we shared,
Only I and this half-empty bottle, feeling impaired.
She left me, taking my child a thousand miles away.
While here in this house of torture, me and myself stay.
Every corner a recollection blinks by crystalline light.
Splintered and speckled by the twinkling star so bright.
Atop the now barren tree which had shined with joys.
Years before cluttered with wrappers, boxes and toys
I slam a big gulp down my throat, since this was my first.
Night of my debut to the evil of whiskey blinding thirst,
Never before had drunkenness been a quest or even a try,
This night she devoured my soul, not wanting ever to cry.
Intoxication was a desire, though not ever beyond joy.
My virgin body of drink has choked me unable to deploy.
Sour mash tears wash down my face, wiping my eyes.
I hear my built up agony; pour out in inhuman cries.
User Name Cecil Hickman
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever
I do not know?
Today I saw a tree trunk,
Growing through a fence.
Metal bars pierced, as it grew,
It almost didn’t make sense.
Sap oozed out its flesh,
Where the spike had bored.
Victim of its own success,
As if it had fell upon its sword.
I wondered if the tree was wise,
That growing meant having to agonize.
The tree didn’t seem to mind though,
As it stretched toward the rainbow..
the apple tree greed
the apple tree greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and
his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in
ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in
selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my
teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the
core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is
being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big
its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from
branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine
no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the
wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces
vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
He Created the Tree
He molded and built
A small lonely hill,
That He knew would be
Then He made the seed,
That would grow to be thorns
That would make
His Son bleed.
How can you be so numb
When you've been so well fed
Bless me, bless me is
All we ever hear
One Tree Hill
When will the seed
Grow into a tree in you
LIKE FALLEN LEAVES…
Here in the winter of my long lived life,
the leaves of my head now fall to the ground.
Destined like leaves of trees gone dead,
the winter winds will soon blow my dust around;
and like fallen leaves, I’ll be done with this world’s strife.
Oh but when the scythe of time snips my thread,
would if I could be like leaves of trees---
who in due season, go happily to their death:
leaving their wooded---naked bones with nothing left
but the bark of reason guarding their earthy homes
through whose lonely arms, the chilly breeze freely roams.
Yet, for these trees, another season comes like the mornings’ dew;
And they shall rise up from winter’s purgatory and begin life anew.
And though the sojourn here has had its moments of despair,
the flames of love, faith and hope have always been there.
So when I’m gone, weep only tears of joy for me;
for I know why the empty cross was made of the wood of a tree.
‘ ‘ ‘’’’’’ ‘
evening hangs on gray-haired tree
stems more frail than autumn’s veins
a falling rakes damp secrets
moist enough to weep
tales glum circles on old trunk
peeling all barks like droplets
wisdom of tree bears comfort
for night hearts’ lament
, , , ,, ,
* remembrances of teenage times
when i spoke to a tree and spilled my guts
under its shade
Contest:Brian Strand's Any Verse of Yours/ max 12 Lines
By: nette onclaud
Were I to decide today, I might choose the simplest way….
Yet, I cannot but think that I’d regret losing the experiences I would get.
Water, bends and flows and trickles through every crevice it can find….
Taking the path of least resistance to wind its’ way towards it’s’ goal.
Yes, water is flexible, as we should sometimes be….
But water evaporates.
Now a tree, yes, a tree….
A tree stands tall, reaching out as far as its’ limbs allow, so it can caress the heavens.
A tree forces its’ roots deep, often ripping through concrete to remain firmly planted….
A tree is stable, strong, almost eternal…
It only fades when it must make room for another or when felled by an axe.
Were I to decide today, I might choose the water’s way….
But a tree’s life, I bet, would make me that much happier yet.
When spaces are filled with loneliness,
I am not alone.
I talk to the Trees,
I listen to the birds,
All of them.
People walk by,
They fail to see us.
I can't make myself move,
I don't want to.
I talk to the Trees,
Just like me.