Best Arboretum Poems
The arboretum looks as it did then
With silver maples dancing in the breeze
Wildflowers bloom within the narrow glen
Remember how we kissed beneath the trees?
One special oak displays the heart you carved
With our initials set within its wall
We were so young and yet our souls seemed starved
So passionate are teens when first they fall
Today I came to view the art we left
Surrounded by the blooms, the trees, the birds
And though my heart seeks you, I am bereft
Of promises defined by long lost words
I miss that passion coursing through our veins
Now you have left and loneliness remains
June 10, 2020
A COPPER PENNY
The significance of a copper penny…
It’s part of our heritage
Being raised in the copper mining area
Of Ruth, Nevada
Fathers and brothers worked for
The Kennecott Copper Mining Corporation
Both abhorred and sacrificed for
It was a job
The dirt was copper colored
There was no gazebo
No water
No arboretum
The only wish made was for the bell
At the end of the day
Men
Working
Sweating
Crying
Dying
The copper colored beer with elbowed sleeves
On copper tile
Laborers draught
The copper penny
The juke box
Seen in the dance of the copper leaves in fall
Twenty and thirty years on
It’s not gold
An entirely different color
The copper leaves rake sweetness layered
Pilings high
Dancing in the breeze
A “Little” Fugue in G Minor
The Classical Power
Given by Time-Life living divided
Spent
Leaving
Wondering where it is
The beauty, the color, the penny
Did you see the rose bushes in the arboretum this afternoon? Did you see all the powerful colors lighting up the garden? How about the butterflies dancing upon the petals of the roses? They dipped and they dived as though they were rehearsing for a spectacular performance. Twirling on the silken petals. I like to think of them as ballerina dancers dancing before the Creator of the universe. They show off all their varying colors and musical notes erupt each and every time they flap their wings. Rainbow-colored notes carried on the most delicate summer breeze....Flitting and fluttering and singing as though this were the most important performance of their lives. Butterflies dancing the most graceful beautiful dance and I got a sneak preview during their rehearsal. How splendid this moment of mine. I am not sharing this with anyone. I am keeping this performance all tucked away in my heart to savor for the rest of my life. Perhaps they will come back here again next summer to rehearse again. Maybe then I will bring my best friend!
Gwendolen Rix
2-23-15
City of Trees
1
Johannesburg, home to ten million trees,
It’s the world’s largest urban arboretum.
Streets in summer lie beneath green canopies.
2
From sidewalks their branches meet with ease
And soon, very soon, each street’s a shady sanctum.
Johannesburg, home to ten million trees.
3
If only we humans could jump up and fly like bees,
We would look down on something awesome,
Streets in summer lie beneath green canopies.
4
Seasons change - the leafy cover changes colour
Leaves sprout and fall ad infinitum.
Johannesburg, home to ten million trees.
5
October! Now there is a purple frieze,
Yes, it's the jacarandas in full blossom.
Streets in summer lie beneath green canopies.
6
But then winter brings a different freeze;
Each leaf fades, then flits, like a phantom.
Johannesburg, home to ten million trees,
Streets in winter lie beneath bare canopies.
FOG LIKE PHANTOM STREAMS
misty beauty, white ravines
make mornings meaningful
Acacia arboretum hold fast
At the breaking before breakfast
The new day, old friends, egrets
The other day I heard two lovers having a quarrel. They were sitting on a park bench at the arboretum near my home. I though to myself, "I wonder what the big fuss is all about?" I mean who knows when the biggest situation of your life comes along and then you wont be able to tell that person how much you love them? What if a car accident took their life suddenly, or they happened to suffer from a life threatening condition?
It is not a good thing to waste a beautiful sun shiny day on bickering. If I were them I would go hiking and make up a silly song along the way. I would take all of the cards that my true love sent to me and read them to him over a picnic lunch. I would even try to guess what his favorite movies were and imitate some of the lines. Life is way too precious to waste our God-given time.
Someone asked me to marry him just the other day. I said, "No way!" "Do you know how difficult of a person that I can be?" I come with an instruction manual and a very strict set of rules! I even get overly emotional over the silliest things, like at the end of a great love story. I told him "You need to pray and ask the Lord to send you the perfect one because I am already taken." I was taken before I was already born. I am just waiting on him to come along.
You see there is someone perfect for every single person upon this planet. We just have to wait on the Lord's perfect timing. His timing and our timing are not the same. When His perfect timing arrives, that special someone will catapult to the scene and then you will see all the fingerprints of God upon the relationship. It will be undeniable that this person was the one that the Lord sent. Then you won't waste a single sun shiny day bickering on a park bench!
Gwendolen Rix
2-28-16
Go to the wall and read the names
Go to the wall and stand
Go to the wall and shed a tear
For those that saved our land.
Stand by the wall and read the dates
Stand by the wall and cry
Stand by the wall and realise it’s now
That men and women die.
Trace your finger on a map of the world
Trace your finger on stone
Trace your finger over your heart
For we don’t fight alone
Tell them it’s not just history
Tell them of our sorrow
Tell them it’s still happening now
Sacrifice for our tomorrow
Go to the wall and wear your poppy
Go to the wall and pray
Go to the wall and shed a tear
For war won’t go away.
Tricia Lucas-Clarke
30th October 2017
The National Memorial Arboretum is a national site of remembrance at Alrewas, near Lichfield, Staffordshire,
I bowed before the Lord.
Like a little brook, His Spirit flowed.
As I went lower, the Bestower
Poured more into my soul.
A whole refreshing, a mighty blessing
Like a fragrant arboretum flowed.
As praise I raised, heaven heaved
And more began to flow O’r me.
From prostrate now to hands uplifted:
Yes, more and more upon me rolled.
My mouth became a spout of shouts,
Still greater His glory poured.
The stronger my worship of His Sonship
New Heights came and a wonderful “oneship”
And the glory poured more and more!
Until fully abandoned, all constraint reprimanded
The fullness of God rained upon me.
A resplendent outpouring, a fountain of diamonds;
A Niagara of refining, no sun could outshine it.
A light with refractions: a trillion gems
That exclaimed a glory no writer could pen!
Oh, the magnificence of His presence!
When self truly died and on Him, I relied
This vision of blessing appeared.
The light and the bliss, no words tell the story
Of the grandeur and height of His glory.
The Pinnacle outpouring, comes only from showing
When self is slain and His Spirit reigns.
Come Holy outpouring! Come joy beyond knowing!
Open the flood gates, great glory awaits!
BEYOND DESCRIPTION
If you took all the words in all the dictionaries.
The words of all the books in all the world’s libraries,
You’d still not have enough to tell of all God’s love
Or describe the glorious mansions that He made above.
If you took all the art in all the world’s museums,
And every flower and plant in every arboretum,
You’d still not have a picture that clearly would portray
The beauty of the Savior whom many love today.
You could take all of the notes from every song that’s written,
The song of every bird, the purr of every kitten,
You still could not describe all the music in that place
Where saints of all the ages rejoice about God’s grace.
You could take all of the things by which we weigh and measure,
The wealth of every mine, the value of all treasures,
And still the love of God is greater, yes, by far,
Than all the hosts of heaven and all the countless stars.
You could take all calculators and put all nines upon them,
And count the grains of sand and put a number on them,
And yet the long, long ages of eternity are more
In the life of glorious bliss upon the golden shore.
God’s love and God’s salvation and His great home on high
Are so beyond description of mind or human eye,
And yet it is so simple a child can understand;
He didn’t make it difficult or a complicated plan.
It’s man who tries to make it confused and so unclear
With so much of religion, its rituals he holds dear.
But all the world’s religion, its rituals and rites
Will never buy one heaven, make one sinless in God’s sight.
For He wrapped all His riches so infinite and wide
In the Person He called Jesus, who on Mount Calvary died.
And He said if you will trust Him, turn from your sinful way,
You can be saved forever and see His home some day.
So it doesn’t take a dictionary, a library, or art,
The flowers, the birds, the riches to make a brand new heart.
It doesn’t take the music, the wealth of every mine,
The deeds or the religions, or whatever else you find.
It only takes that simple faith, just like a little child
To claim your soul’s salvation from all your sin so vile.
Though it’s beyond description, this love, this home above,
You still can know and have it by trusting in His love.
My romance with efflorescences in an arboretum,
Is the most picturesque moment in ultimatum.
I can decorate your garden in style,
Provided, you keep the flora in pride.
Elated to dabble with a child,
As long as, both of us get stirred.
I can pose in variety of striking colours,
Competing positively with seasonal flavours.
I am the world's most aesthetic insect,
With my graphics globally perfect.
Within a lush verdant meadow, meanders a lazy river
Where wildflowers bloom beneath the warm breath of the sun
They sway upon a gypsy wind on this early morning in June
Stems of purple heather rise above the carpeted earth,
Emerald green as any Irish hillside or garden near the shore
Their saccharine scented plumes attract the pollen seekers
Bursts of color can be seen in shades of scarlet and white
For growing on the river's bank is a plethora of anemone
Not the variety that resides in the depths of a sea
Yellow iris mingle with daisies in this alfresco arboretum
Untouched by the hand of man, it's an immaculate bouquet
Resplendent in perfumed glory and pristine perfection
There's the mellifluous sound of a cascading waterfall
singing a soft melody as it spills from crevices of granite rock
Nourishing the serpentine river flowing through the glade
This haven appears as an Elysian Field, as Eden must have been
A sanctuary to remain inviolate and reverenced by the gods
Perceived to be hallowed ground, too sublime for mortal man
September 29, 2021
Your Best Sijo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Absent oxygen,
survival hinged on fire.
Launched anchor,
sunken ship of desire.
Mind's weapon
waging war
with free soul.
Blind volunteer
leads on,
midnight patrol.
Too little,
too late,
too much,
just wait.
That's wrong,
that's weird,
you can't,
more fear.
Creeping frost,
on sunless arboretum.
Thus guilt,
contrasted freedom.
-Angel Fatale-
Land of Graves
A land of graves makes for quiet neighbors.
He who blessed or cursed extant thereupon remains
Shall suffer little disturbance at the will of his resting countrymen.
The deep silence of an irrevocable sleep pervades his surrounds.
His own sleep mimics that of his departed brethren
But that kin to living rest is a far colder, everlasting condition.
Lest it be by the appearance of some revenant,
His nights will be those of uninterrupted stillness.
The surface of this vast earthen sarcophagus is adorned with faltering monuments-
The souls of their corresponding constituency have long-since dispersed in nihilum-
Leaving playing children and Springtime Sunday-afternoon-passersby
To speculate on their origins and exits, lives and times.
But make no mistake this is not a wholly moribund environment.
There is life in this soil yet. There is an irrepressible profusion reclaiming
This tomb from its own looming finality. The tomb is rendered womb by its power.
The tomb-womb is green. It is a garden, a park, a yard and an arboretum.
It is a charnel conservatory of the deceased, yes, but this sepulchered meadow
Exists as much if not more for those with air in their lungs and blood
In their veins as it does for those buried beneath its grassy lawns.
Though in little more than a generation even the freshest entries into its
Assembly will receive only sparing or incidental visitation.
The ancestry hobbyist and the armchair genealogist will pay their homage.
The digger of graves and the mower of lawns will be more frequent still.
Is maintenance in the face of inevitability an exercise in courage or folly?
Perhaps it is just necessary for life to go on.
verdant shades
dappled shadows… woodland ways
dancing flower flies
~
woodland... a garden
an arboretum… parkland
fill one's mind with green
~
artists… bemused...
which green to fill their brush…
gardens inspire
Efflorescence in a period of time
As Chicory plant spreads
While arboretum is filled with newly watered seeds
The wild-flower in all its glory blooms
The gentility of the open space soiled
Polluted by the lack of responsibilities