Best Acorn Poems
Stay - One more golden morning –
Linger - One more silver night –
Abide tiny child born of my desire
To encourage a new life;
Watch with me the amber moon
Peek through moonbeams rising up so large
We could touch it's creamsicle face -
Sleep caressed within the shelter of soft umber leaves,
Preparing for their final journey,
To sing a last duet with you,
This last autumnal aria, no more with choruses, just two thin voices
To a harp song strummed through my oaken limbs;
Now see the changing cloud ships
Gather - carrying cargoes full of rain -
To scuttle ‘cross the sunrise
When breezes turn from summer zephyrs
To blustery torrents, tinted with icy dew;
As you sail away, soaring on their roller coaster wings,
I leave a kiss upon your face in sunlight that taught your heart to beat –
Watching with a blessing on my lips -
My empty arms still remembering your round, smooth face -
As you ride the vagabond winds
Following their air-born trails to find your place
Where you nestle deep within a warm and richly decorated nursery –
A birthing place –
For when you labor I stand a silent sentinel alongside ancient family,
A vigil as the silent snows blanket your dreams of mighty forest oak -
To wake in seasonal celebration
When, re-formed, your first leaves appear;
No farewell now only adieu, my little one, until we meet again.
Image credit: Wikipedia
People amble by in view of the placid lake
Mesmerized by horizon adorning scarlet
While not far from the Oak tree, I stealthily lay
Enthralled in musical repertoire of Blue Jays
As squirrels run wild in a purposeful race
And searching for food woodpeckers peck.
Trust me when I say they are no friends--
One by one they devoured my mates
And now here I am, the only one left--
Thanks to the kid who curiously picked me
And threw me away in callous disdain
Landing in a pit just a few yards from the lake
Still within grace of the golden daybreak.
My endurance burned in hot summer days
And resilience ached in stormy, rainy haze
Till cooler nights met dewy vibrant dawns
As resplendent vistas autumn witnessed
And falling colors floated in evening breeze
Burying me in cloak of fiery-red leaves
For semblance of warmth in winter forlorn.
In misery of wet, cold my core utterly soaked
As I almost lost hope of sanguine heart echoes
Until aura of life the young spring invoked
When my roots formed, sprouting new growth
And slowly I up-rose in a delightful world
Marveling rising skies of ruby brushstrokes.
April 24, 2020
HM: Strand Pick H Contest
The last acorn poetry contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
Year of the Acorn
(For my Father who
has Parkinsons &
Alzheimer's)
22/12/12 21:21
pm
Out on a winter walk
one day
you solemnly put an
acorn into my hand.
Something in my head
whispered
"Keep it safe
and he'll be safe".
I kept it to this
day.
Year one.
One candle on my
cake,
burned into my
mind's eye forever.
You took a
photograph
to keep me in the
picture.
Year four.
My sister arrived in
the world.
You took me to feed
the swans.
Back home
she greeted us with
screams.
I fled, covering my
ears.
Year thirteen.
Mother told me the
facts of life.
You kept well out of
it.
Year nineteen,
A disco at the end
of a long, quiet
road.
You always drove me
safely there and
back.
You were judge and
jury
of all boyfriends.
Year twenty three.
You gave me away
to the best
boyfriend of all.
A montage of eras
replay in the bright
lens of memory
till the year of the
walk
and the acorn.
And I kept it safe
so you'd be safe,
only now it looks
cracked and old;
not quite like an
acorn
and you are not
quite like you.
I shiver beneath a frozen sky of milky gray and white
and like a little rabbit whos barely grown into his coat
I linger in the forest bristling like a dry piece of wood
I was detached from my father like a youngling discomfit
I come from a prideful bush of green but its not who I am
settling down under, on a large tuft of mulch
I am the last living acorn settled no longer in the air
but when Autumn sings her song of mellifluous swell
I seem to outlast every flower of her time
Life is but a series of spurts, growths, windy dances
let it be said, " the apple doesn't fall far from the tree"
but neither does the acorn as far as the eye can see
I shiver beneath a frozen sky of milky gray and white
I'm not a blade of grass, nor an eagle, nor an elk
I am an acorn with a little french beret, …
April 17, 2020
Ode To The Acorn
Oh
lit
tle ACORN ON the
ground, YOU ARE not
A JOKE...FOR EVERY
WHERE THAT YOU
ARE FOUND,Will
grow one mig
hty OAK!
!
Deborah Burch©12.26.16
________________________________
Form:concrete
She is a deep feet
She has beaten to drown many she feeds
Her face is a black green skin
she waves her tail large the size of her teeth
Her hungry is a mystery. kill
Her fangs cold like an adder's venom sting
She is a regurgitating beast
chews her cods slowly
raises her prey up down up again and down then up
the third time and finally
swallows after some days in her deep
she vomit it prey stiff, stilled,
many forgotten souls lie beneath her. deep
The villagers chant songs and wail. deep
Like a hawk she dives prickly
On its prey at a glance sweeps
Like cyclone and steals
At the brink
of her teeth
Another villager
she
drinks
who gone to be with the river. Last man of his clan, last fishermen of his age mate, only surviving son of late chief only to be seen again days on top of her black green skin, stilled eyes pop out white .River Ethiope is a beast She never get filled
7/5/2020
tiny
powerhouses
magnificent acorns
optimistically wonderful
build oaks
What story should I tell?
This is the tale of how the lonely acorn fell
far from where the mighty oak had stood
cut by the hands of man, felled for its wood.
The mother-father tree lay across the laid bare land
cut down in the forest no more to stand
and the branches stretched out along the dirt
releasing the acorn from its berth.
This acorn scratched and bruised, browned and torn
slipped into the streamflow of new rivers formed
and floated out to the open sea
she rode the tides salted and found herself - free.
The gulf stream path sped north into the wintry chill
as she cut across the sands where tidal waves were spilled
and a gull eyed her glistening shiny coat
and scooped her up but not down into her throat.
Pass the inlets, along the earthen roads
the gull dropped her beyond the manmade folds
where fertile land had long ago appeared
and squirrel and chipmunk vied for burrows cleared.
Buried deep in fertile soils blessed
this acorn was welcomed as the forest began its undress
with autumn fall and winter tamed,
she was awakened by the sun and rain.
This acorn found a place in the northeast spring
with hairy roots that began to form and sing,
of an acorn that was newly born.
escaping the outer shell coat torn.
She began to grow far from where she fell
and as life took on its hold in sapling meld
the newest oak began to watch history unfold
and knew then she was not the last acorn in the mold.
As time and historic years hurried pass
she knew she was not nor would be the last
with nature's watch and thirst
she was, the very first.
4/24/20
for John Lawless contest
The Last Acorn
I plead for my brothers and sisters
The seasonal wind blows them away,
Observe the furry urchins gather them
One by one another’s life to save.
Loathsome clouds a tinge of darkness
Blend heedfully into soulless nights,
The inclement weather caustic
My cousins the leaves in spiral flight.
Reduced to just a flutter
Groomed to change colour with age,
As they jive waltz and jive again
In thunder lightning and rain.
I am the last of mother’s children
When I too fall to the forest floor,
The fallen there await me
Must have heard my desperate call.
The winter solstice upon us
Where I lay beneath the warmth,
Red tan and gold cover me completely
Above them a blanket of crystal snow.
Their skin continues to crumble
Decomposed they keep me fed,
This afterlife the nourishment
Their sustenance around does spread.
Only after hibernation
Do I feel an urge to grow,
I’ve witnessed metamorphosis
Caterpillars in labour transformed.
Only now I feel a gradual motion
As I dig deeper into the ground,
Out of my head a commotion
A seedling that searches for the sun.
With no mind to carry on the species
Only an instinct an act to beget a son,
After all It is the merry month of May
And my growth at last as finally begun!
© Harry J Horsman 2020
the acorn
at the foot of the oak
looking up
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
As I was headed home, a squirrel
Passed me going south.
I noticed him because he had
An acorn in his mouth.
Since winter’s not approaching,
I am curious to know
If squirrels still amass a stash
For when supplies run low.
Or was that nut for dinner
From his daily market run?
Or a late addition to a meal
His family’d just begun?
I have no way to ascertain
What’s stored within his nest
So, like many other mysteries,
I’ll give this one a rest.
Acorn brownie is unstoppable
Twirling and whirling in piles of leaves
Showing off for squirrel keeper fairy
Mythical dynamo coming to life
Twirling and whirling in piles of leaves
Cool breeze adding to his ambiance
Mythical dynamo coming to life
Stirring up October winds in forest
Cool breeze adding to his ambiance
Showing off for squirrel keeper fairy
Stirring up October winds in forest
Acorn brownie is unstoppable
Neither baseball nor soccer,
Nor rod or reel would do,
For the pastime,
That would appeal to you.
Music and education,
Would be your call,
Your talent and tenacity,
Equipped you to have it all.
You were a young inquisitive acorn,
Who has blossomed into a woman self-made.
Bathing your mother and me,
In the caress of your mighty oak's shade.
Little acorn sitting in the tree, wanting to be free. Little acorn now on the ground, please do not step on me. Little acorn no more, now I am that huge tree I always wanted to be.
Date Written: 4/15/2020
~The Magic of Fall~
(Acorn)
()
Fall is
Approaching
One more time here
And there and you can
Feel chill in the air everywhere
Fall is very wonderful you can have much fun
In so many other ways it's different from
The other three seasons and just there's none
Like fall you can see trees changing their
Colors showing their beautiful hues
Sometimes you can smell cinnamon
That lingers in the air with
Pumpkin pie in the mix
Children have fun
With leaves that
Covers the
Ground
()
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
October.02.2016
~Author's Notes:
The "Acorn" is a poetry style created by Dorian Petersen Potter, aka ladydp2000, on September. 17. 2010.