Beeches Poems | Examples

The Magic Feast

I saw magical faeries. 
Tripping in and around
Sparkling wings shining 
In the dazzling sunbeams
That transversally filtered
Through the mighty beeches
Of a Bavarian forest.

A royal feast proclaimed.
The mighty Queen arrived.
And took her place on a throne
In a prominent part of the glen.
Sumptuous abundant delicacies 
Appeared out of nowhere,
Cheeses and pixie pears,
And saffron flavoured cakes,
Plus, milk laced with honey.

Enchanting lively music 
Advanced towards the glen.
Happiness and Felicity
Thrilled the expectant audience.
Soon, darkness fell around, 
But innumerable, bright glow worms
Lit up the secluded grassy glen.
Dancing thus began in earnest.
Until they tired out and all returned
To their cosy leaves to dream
About their lovely Fairy Queen.

The Golden Oriole Found - A Fantasy Story

Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung. 
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches 
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water. 
There was a calm tranquillity about the place 
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance 
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.

He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman. 
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body. 
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose. 
He did not move but stood mesmerized, 
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice. 
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole. 
Come, sit near me 
And tell me how you found this place."


To be concluded in Part 3

a tide ease

the ocean-tide-ease beeches
of...
peoples paper litter-at-shore...


stan sand

A Fragrant Lily Field By The Serene Bay

I'm standing on a fragrant lily field
by the serene bay towards midnoon,
falcons gather by the splashing rocks
with eyes that scare away hungry larks;
they must catch their prey and be fed:
they'll attack with their claws a buffoon
who laughs and breaks the stiff stillness,
stumbling down the shell-strewn dunes! 


One can see the wide wings of geese
that flap hard against the spiritless air
before encountering the menacing storm;
they faintly honk over the grove of fir... 
then, they vanish from sight to divert fear:
happy was their spring and they did perform
eloquently to delight senses and release
a sound merrier than that of a flycatcher! 


The sea-breeze turns into violent gusts,
they roar bending beeches and spruces;
drowsy seagulls feel the blast of incoming rain,
they refuse to leave their haven huddling closer....
thinking it won't last to endure useless disdain:
should I heed the warning and run faster than a deer?
I have a half mile to go before I can defy the insidious threat;
my clothes are getting drenched, but I don't show any fret!

WINTER SLUMBER

Hallows Eve to Candlemas
the sun now turning
 south,alas;
November sombre,December dark,
January,February
         cold and stark.
Catkins litter 
the forest floor,
beeches 
    shed their leaves galore
Gales melange the mix
 decay brings 
nature's bionomics

Hexagon pointed stars 
move and shift 
to  patterned powdered drifts
Rain filled days 
of slush and muck
webs on shards
 of gossamer 
stuck
Twilight months 
     in winter shade 
'til the snowdrops
 matamorphise 
in the glade
the tiles dusted with snow
trickle down rivulets 
fill the rain butt
winter blankets
upon the dark earth
snow falls icy blue

Breathes of Evening

Color of life , O breath of evening! 
Thou are roving in the meadow;
Reddish reddish leaves are shivering:
Under mighty windy shadow

O the yard that dipped in showers! 
In the shades of hazy bowers;

Meadows thou art rustling, waving! 
With thy daisies, lilies
myrtles?,
Singing cuckoos in a craving:
While naughty wind there whistles;

Bubbles winking in the rivulet
Put they question, what is life? 
Hazy beeches  whispered murmured :
Life is nothing but strife;

Hearing it the bubbles vanished
Was it life that they cherished? 

It is evening, shadows listen! 
Night of life therest reaching 
All of us in dust of channels
Withering suffering, coming going

Beauteous Nature

Beauteous scene of scented spring
Farthest from the world of men
In the sacred breath of woodland
Singth therest lark and wren

Shades of beeches, pines and birches
With the shades of Autumn mingle
As in hut a silent damsel
Cooks and embers shine in ingle

Cuckoos, beetles, fish and cricket
Look at wondrous lake and murmur
God hath sent for us a mirror
In the nature holy bower
Therest heaven's morn and sunset
Dewy gems on earth they shower

Tender wind it singth on timbral
Leaves in it afloat and dance
Hearst thou the flute of Shepherds
By the magic hands of chance

Nymphs and deities therest Rowan
In the eve in afternoon
Row therest in lake of woodland 
Lady of the haunted moon

Beauteous art the hearts that ever
Worship in the nature yard
On the sedge on mossy velvet
In the temp of Holy Lord

Beauteous Nature

Beauteous scene of scented spring
Farthest from the world of men
In the sacred breath of woodland
Singth therest lark and wren

Shades of beeches, pines and birches
With the shades of Autumn mingle
As in hut a silent damsel
Cooks and embers shine in ingle

Cuckoos, beetles, fish and cricket
Look at wondrous lake and murmur
God hath sent for us a mirror
In the nature holy bower
Therest heaven's morn and sunset
Dewy gems on earth they shower

Tender wind it singth on timbral
Leaves in it afloat and dance
Hearst thou the flute of Shepherds
By the magic hands of chance

Nymphs and deities therest Rowan
In the eve in afternoon
Row therest in lake of woodland 
Lady of the haunted moon

Beauteous art the hearts that ever
Worship in the nature yard
On the sedge on mossy velvet
In the temp of Holy Lord

There's Nothing In the Night Like the Sound of the Wind

When all the land is in repose
There is a noise, as nightfall shows,
A noise to stir the sinews of your mind.
And those who hear it at its best,
(Who know its sound, as others rest)
 May thank the Lord, he made it for mankind.

She hums and blows her gentle breezes,
She comes and goes just as she pleases,
Purrs pastoral verses as her theme;
And when the twilight tones the air,
Then, striking strains are ever there
For one an' all who worship her esteem.

Her voice caresses mighty trees,
And bends their limbs with awesome ease,
Oaks submit and beeches stand-a-quiver.
She stings their leaves when passing through,
Then, sings a chorus, just for you,
A symphony so shrill it makes you shiver.

At times, if anger should prevail,
She tests her truth and blows a gale,
She proves the very essence of her skill.
She musters substance all around,
Her lusty bluster puffs, profound,
She punishes the ground with all her will.

But she deems it daylight soon
So, she chants a discrete tune
And gifts a temperate ballad, gladly bright;
And when the storm departs the earth
She whistles warm for all she's worth;
There's no sound like the wind makes in the night.

A Trip To Louisville

NB  This is a repost original was deleted.  Unfortunately I was without an internet for two days and I am truly blocked.  I am sorry but I shall probably miss some poem.  I can't help it.

How pleasant it was to drive out of Louisville,
Accompanied by my dearest lovely sweet Jill.
Quickly we found a vantage place upon a hill.
A stunning scene before us was a joyful thrill.
A hillside green with ferns growing near a rill. 
Dotted here and there birds flew with a shrill,
Sometimes finding some rest on a far-off mill. 
I saw that some people had planned a landfill,
Big beeches, hornbeams, bushes of cranesbill. 
But red dusk fell, Jill and I felt the subtle chill,
To a cafeteria we went for we had time to kill.

Musing On the Scene Below Me

How lovely to spend time
On a hillock overlooking the bay!
The ruddy sun just warms enough,
So I’ll enjoy my perfect day.

The sea is not perfectly calm.
Waves roll towards the beach,
What are they whispering to the sand?
What thoughts I wish I could reach?

There on the other side of the lake shore,
I spy a fascinating pristine vale
White beeches cover most of the land,
Except for a cottage that stands in the dale.

It is the place I want  to go
So I take a leisurely walk 
Ignoring the restless harbour bars 
Avoiding friends who would want to talk.

The air is fresh in the awesome vale,
I watch a hawk attack a sparrow,
But my mind is on the cottage,
As I wend my way though it is narrow.

She must have sensed I was so near,
As she comes out and there we kiss.
I hear the dulcet sounds of mellow tunes
Euphoria reaches its peak, my mind in a mist.

Inside the cottage lavender perfumed,
She brings me the delicacy of an ambrosial repast.
Satiated we rest on a soft sofa 
My dearest love reaches its peak at last.

By River Banks

By river banks I saw such scenes
as might enchant an angel's gaze.
They gladdened many a childhood hour
and filled my youthful heart with praise.
Onwards, onwards my bark glided,
where waters flowed by open leas,
past greening woods where lad and lass
cast apple blossoms to the breeze.
Onwards, onwards, my bark glided,
on the gently lilting stream
past fenced gardens, stately houses,
rewards of toil with due esteem.
Past beeches, bays and boughs of ash,
past golden leaves on many a tree,
onwards, onwards, my bark glided,
onwards, onwards, to the sea.

Haibun and Haiku 2 In 1

re-post inspired by Constance contest

WINTER HAIBUN

Hallow Eve to Candlemas,the sun now turning south,;November is
sombre,December dark,January,February cold and stark.Catkins litter the forest 
floor,beeches shed their leaves galore.Gales melange the mix,as decay brings 
nature's bionomics.Hexagon pointed stars move and shift ,into a patterned 
powdered drifts.Rain filled days of slush and muck,webs on shards of gossamer 
stuck.Twilight months in winter shade until the snowdrops matamorphise in the glade

shapes spread statuesque

foliage in Winter clothes-

melancholy me

Rooting For 8 To 5

The beeches

Three queenly beeches on an English hill,
Tree spirits, sisters, who kept watch for centuries.
Root ridges cross and knit a wooden carpet;
Bare branches tangle, twist, and leave a mosaic,
Like stained glass windows, of pale April sky.


January 4, 2017
For contest Rooting for 8 to 5
Sponsored by nette onclaud
1st place

And As Trees Bloomed, So Did Love In Us

That was the place of our first encounter, a grove that
painted our inner feelings, much more on these smiles
lit by sunshine; that was our favorite refuge when spring
gave us her wonderful gift, and dreaming we fell asleep.

Both moon and stars gleamed over us and thin clouds with their gentle
caress awoke us to pretty moonlight; and having forgotten how to get 
back home, we decided to stay and spend more time in fervent kisses.. 

Fireflies seemed fairladies ready to grant wishes, and our only wish was
to add another romantic night, but stars jealous of them asked the calm
wind to blow, and it loudly blew dispersing them in the beeches above.

That sentimental adventure not planned, but merely fantasized
became real and remembering it now with extreme, nostalgic joy:
it binds us even more to the tender memory of the eternal spring;
a spring wild and young, and as trees bloomed, so did love in us.


Written on 6/7/2016

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