One April day when spring was in the air,
I stepped outside so I might relish it.
I came upon a cherry tree so fair,
beneath its limbs I was enticed to sit.
I fell to sleep inhaling fragrant bliss -
the vision of the tree still in my brain.
I dreamed one sweet, pink petal, like a kiss,
fell on my cheek, and soon there was a rain. . .
A rain of lovely silken blossoms! Then
they softly made a pile upon the ground.
Warm wind embraced me; that’s the moment when
I woke to pink resplendence all around!
Upon a bed of petals I then lay.
Inside a dream I had no need to stay!
Alone atop a hill,
an ornamental willow
dances in the breeze.
Long limbs form a lovely gown
that gracefully sweeps the ground.
Adored by the sun,
the willow is not weeping.
She blooms rosily!
April’s first shower has passed;
for the sun alone, she shines.
The Solo Dancing Ornamental Tree (new title for the sonnet version)
An ornamental tree with willow leaves
upon a promontory stands alone.
In April’s breeze, each limb, cascading, weaves
with fragrance. She is dancing on her own.
I wonder how she came to be at all.
Her roots lie in a solitary place
where few traverse to spy her - lithe and small -
there moving in rain’s aftermath with glee.
In small degrees, the sun has climbed the sky.
No longer pallid, he is smiling down
upon the swaying willow. By and by,
Her graceful limbs shine like a lacquer gown.
Her lovely blooms have opened to expose
The splendid blush of buds with hue light rose.
The old twisted tree burrows into dreams,
more frightful here than in waking hours,
a wicked darkness pulses from harsh seams,
displaying its paralyzing powers.
Those gnarled branches are filled with sharp fingers,
clashing loudly in the wind's fervent fray;
over the whole valley this sound lingers-
is the only defense to kneel and pray?
Courage must face this tree with sharpened axe,
cutting through the thick bark, once and for all,
felling this fright, so the town can relax,
relishing in that evil monster's fall.
Please brave 'cutter, unleash those mighty blows,
and make sure that no new offspring there grows!
Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love -
released to serve another destiny -
in turn, will be the better than above.
Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.
LONG TO BE RHYME
For often through the way I feel
An idea to try and win your heart,
Unspoken action this the deal
Of simple mind no a la carte.
Because life I know soon to fade
Token symbol of you and me,
Somewhere to muse, feel love in shade
Of our moments together free.
Oh I know I could never be
Yet try I must stand in your life,
Sturdy foundations yet still free
Throughout all kinds of weather, rife.
Powerful touch of kindly prune
Such dignity with bloom the key,
When snipped away to nature's tune
Oh how I long to be your tree.
LONG TO BE SONNET
As spring did pass into summer’s full bloom
To stand with arms outstretched in seasons all
As the seasons knit like the weaving loom
Through the cold of winter, strong through to fall
Its strength and character for eons stand
The unkindest cut that will ever be
To not love and support this tree so grand
And not to kindly prune the fruiting tree.
The strength of sweeping boughs as arms held wide
My heart grows secure within those limbs strong
As arms strong, my dreams to be held inside
Standing folded in your boughs is not wrong
As a strong longing to be my fruit tree
I beg of nature that you fruit with me
© Mandy Tams 5/09/2013
© Harry j Horsman 5/09/2013
For Shadows Contest. Team Work
There’s a path of flowers I glide across
Such a beautiful color made of gloss
Orange pieces of delight made to pass
Within this meadow that is long to last
The blades of grass are surely tall with pride
Turning colors from green to brown inside
There’s a lone tree in the sight of the field
Where orange and red leaves become its build
Flowers impact this field in retrospect
Looking at it from my past with respect
Power of the flower is prominent
Secure in my heart which is dominant
Orange is the color of the plant’s choice
Field is glad of their presence, they rejoice
Beneath the weeping willow
A gentle figure swings
Her dress of white a-billow
While soft and sweet she sings
She sang within this bower
What song I cannot tell
Her hair bedecked with flowers
Blue Canterbury bells
And on into the gloaming
Is heard this pleasant sound
When stars begin their roaming
She lets her hair unbound
Then o'er her form the willow weeps
The night is still -- the child sleeps
It’s a dimly lit, darkly entombed spot
Here sits a lone black weeping willow tree
Night encroached leaving nothing you can see
Its cold, nothing about this place is hot
Not a ray of light surrounds to get caught
Evil basks within the nooks quite empty
She sits, there on a stump she sits flatly
Devoid of emotion, hope isn’t brought
Expressionless she stands with great power
The tree bows right to her beck and call
She stands mighty and tall like a tower
Grove seems to be protected by a wall
All who happen to see her would cower
All she sees is hate, her soul crushes all
* Left over Halloween poem, I forgot to post this, enjoy!
( A Shakespearean Soonet - with 14 syllables- rhyming abab,cdcd,efef,gg)
My balcony was covered by a huge sycamore tree,
My constant companion during the snowy Maple days,
Memories come as insects around a flowering tree
Turning my gloomy days into that of glorious days.
First candid approach in medicine to initiate,
Hippocrates sat under sycamore tree to explain,
As Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree to meditate,
Nirvana or the enlightenment of mind to attain.
Father Cavanaugh aptly called it ‘The tree of vengeance’,
Othello’s Desdemona sat sighing by sycamore,
Flying to Egypt Virgin Mary rested under once,
Known to be as crann ban “money tree” in Iris folklore.
To demystify health care and known to personalize,
My sycamore exists to socialize and poetize.
Fifth place winner in
Contest: Shakespearean or English Sonnet in honor of John freeman
Stuck like glue to the branches are snowflakes
Vibrantly white, glowing, gives more than takes
The sun comes down into a reflection
Bright shining light from its destination
Brilliantly the sun tries to melt the snow
The freezing temperature makes it slow
The sight so bright leaves a lasting image
One that will sure bestow on this visage
The tree's covered in white from head to toe
Holding firm with all its might, that of snow
Creating the perfect scene before me
Matching joy in my heart by what I see
Earth's become a heavenly place of rest
Looking like beauty has produced the best