Giant Sequoia, king of all trees!
Standing mightily against the breeze.
Home in California USA;
Inspiring beholders to this day.
Growing more than 300 feet tall;
By living volume, reigns above all.
Some are over 3,000 years old;
Their wood resistant to fire and mold.
Yet, forest fires help maintain their ranks,
As does huddling near moist river banks.
Evergreen trees with lovely red wood;
US Parks protect them as they should.
The largest among them in terms of mass,
General Sherman, in its own class.
Waterfall Tree has the greatest girth,
And Reedwood is the tallest on earth.
No matter what the type of measure,
Each tree is a natural treasure.
Viewing their presence oh-so-stately;
Centuries ago or just lately.
All flowers bloom to face the sun -
a stage of their growth bound to stun.
Each bud blooms with magnificent glory
til’ death ends their story.
Nature’s growth can stir beholders.
Flowers are truly smile molders.
The lowest spirits can be uplifted
by flora God gifted.
Flowers do face winter decay
but cycles bring no woe their way.
Blooms fully feel pleasure when in season
and know death holds reason.
Should no one gaze upon a bloom
it would still exist void of gloom
for all the creatures having need of it
fulfill each bit of it.
Decay and rebirth are the way
God’s seasons divinely display
temporary wonders for man's pleasure.
Joy holds each bud's measure.
Why does love come with crying? When its totality settles in and the sacrifice is known, how else could it be? Love, so happenstance, making itself fodder for blues music, and it will break your heart! Serving as the culmination of something larger than ourselves and making our lives worth living for. Just ask all those who have gone before us, those who have found its sublimity and those who haven't. It is what holds this world together. Boats and warplanes are named after loved ones, as the pilots might not see their loved ones again. Since the dawn of man, because of the importance of children in their lives, making love even that more iconic, it has ranked up there with wars in the eyes of the beholders, and its final beating will come with the crying of all those who loved its owner, left with but the memories of its grandeur, a simple kiss, and a heartfilled look in the eye!
What is beauty to the unseeing eye?
Why does it seem to contradict?
The beholder beholds, the beholders conflict.
Are other senses true while the eyes lie?
Listen... to the dawn arise, hear the birdsong.
Feel... the cool, naughty slide of silk on your back.
Breathe... in the sin of aged Italian cognac.
Taste the deep savor of meat smoked all day long.
I venture forth, an explorer true,
Seeking knowledge, with heart anew.
Idanre's hills, a treasure to behold,
Ancient secrets, yet to be unfold.
The people, industrious, with hearts of gold,
Welcomed me, with stories untold.
Their cocoa farms, a lush, green sight,
I harvested with them, under the sun's warm light.
Their water, a natural blessing, pure and fine,
Quenched my thirst, and revived my mind.
A healing spring, with powers to restore,
A gift from God, forever in store.
Idanre's hills, a tourist's delight,
A haven for nature, in all its might.
Longevity and prosperity, God's blessings true,
Reflect in the people, with hearts anew.
Their men and women, handsome, beautiful, and strong,
Beholders of beauty, with hearts that belong.
Producers, problem solvers, with a spirit so bright,
United in ceremony, with love and delight.
I saw a lady.
Her face was a rainbow.
Some spots were sunny, some shady.
Her glow followed her wherever she happened to go.
Didn't she look so pretty?
Her hues, to the eyes of beholders, did show
vivid shades: to some light; to others heavy
As per their dispositions, their winds of thought did blow.
Written: December 11, 2023
_________________________________________
Intricate depiction of a being?
That a single hand could create
Beneficial matters can be evanescent
When built out of yielding clay?
Molded into fiction, scales, and tails
In terms of creative process,
Ground and airborne entities
Morph into unthought-of shapes.
A refined intellect creates ephemera
Quickly under a gentle moonlight
I'm floating in the swaying elevator
Regarding heavenly breezes.
Hair converts into poet-trees from poetry
Yet untamed ideas are captivated
With the spirals and knuckles
Brilliant sculptor's vision and decision.
lifting our minds into untamed sight
Those who grasp this routine are lucky
And the beholders of moonbeam dreams
Pursue the path that moves the heart.
Beauty and the eyes
are shared beholders --
As to flower is her
natural response to rain
and sunlight, so the bud
spreads even wider
at the christening of our
admiration –
it is like
the peacock dancing for
his mate, sashaying his blooms –
the male widow
performing for his widower,
sensing in such rapture a gateway
to even higher immortality
We live and die for our gifts
rising from the pangful ashes
of death for far greater glory....
The rose burns her brilliance
our passions responding
to such sacrifice with as bright
an eyeful fire – one lives
aflame when living, trusting
in the graceful salve of divine
perennial –
moon peers from heaven
shrouds of light clouds obscure not
his curious view
romantic couple
strolling along moonlit path
love's peace enshrouded
cautious eyes uplift
shadow darkens moonlit face
bunny burrows deep
precision vision
owl in a moonbeam races
dinner escaping
couple's hushed visions
awed sighs beneath desert skies
eyes beholding peace
Eight decenniums ago
A woman sang near a riverbank
A wife's longing for a husband in imago
A soldier far away bearing no ankh.
Katyusha was her name
A well-loved dame
Left by a husband in war
Defending his country in tar.
She and her husband only wanted peace
For the world to see and feel
No soldier will die for callous frontispiece
Than become an image of New World's heel.
Katyusha will live in memories and dreams forever
Singing for women and wives of soldiers
Serving a country under God not sever
With a song to linger in the beholders.
courage lies in the eye of beholders
but unfriendly fire had blinded her sight
collateral damage in the face of a battle
long lost shrapnel in hollow sockets
visions of compassion dissected by slaughter
thunder of warfare in bullet proof darkness
03rd August 2021
Contest Bite Size Poem No 16
It Comes Without Trumpets
No fanfare, no golden light that we know of.
It comes without a pale horse.
Sometimes silent during the night,
perhaps peaceful but perhaps not.
No one knows the dreams at that time which could presage it,
Leaving behind only silence in the morning forever.
Sometimes in a crowded busy space
surrounded by strangers rushing past,
who then hesitate, starring at the crumpled, inert form.
Or sometimes perhaps alone without any eyes to see.
Or sometimes in a surgical suite
where unexpectedly you recede from time and place
floating as masked people rush
to staunch the flight of life
as the futility timer blinks inexorably,
until everything vanishes, and there is only muted silence.
Or sometimes in the comfort of home
surrounded in your bedroom by children and grandchildren and vestments.
As you embrace, the embrace, of who comes for you.
Surcease from pain, tears of beholders.
There are no trumpets,
No pale horses, no boatmen.
You merely retreat from the book of time,
Lingering, then, only as a memory in others,
Who also share a common destiny.
Written in their own book of time.
David Holmes
April 27 2021
Awareness,articulated,emphasises inherent intimacy,communicated eye to eye.
everchanging yet underlying the movement here and there.Engraved forever,catalogued in human memory,available on recall.Translucent interplays of light,figuration in transition,precise palpitations of pure delight sound in the beholders ear.Testaments of th transparent,and the temporal,all too soon
evaporates before the eye.
My flower lies within, a sight that few have seen.
Protected and hidden by sharp thorns and leaves of green.
An innocence ripped away at a very early age.
My flower's locked away in a cold and lonely cage.
Pain and loneliness now partnered with a lost child’s soul.
A broken heart now pleading to once again be whole.
Looks can be deceiving a flower hidden forever be.
Most will see just thorns never looking in to truly see.
It dwells within the darkness overlooked and locked away.
Living without light, in my dreams it does gently sway.
Maybe the day will come when my hidden cage is found.
I hope true love’s key will set me free from the pain that surrounds.
This land has many flowers some of their beauty is hard to see.
Many eyes and many beholders, from sea to shining sea.
Beauty is seen by all, but noticed by just a few.
Stop and smell the roses, may their beauty see you through.
*The Flower, The Thorn or Both Poetry Contest*
7-7-20
You may not be a star
But your face shines very bright
If you were floating in the atmosphere
I would see you late... at night
You may not own a fortune
Or drive a fancy car
But you're rich and full of kindness
And that will take you... very far
You may not be intelligent
But you have a thoughtful heart
And that is more important to me
Even more than... being smart
You may not be a princess
Or a princes lucky wife
But to me you wear that crown
Because there's beauty in... your life
You may not have a shapely figure
Or walk with sex appeal
But there's something sexy about you girl
Must be that you... are real
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