Best Balsam Poems
The Birch tree said, I want to be a Christmas tree
The Balsam Fir tree said, you can’t be, you’re a Birch
The Birch tree said, I am white as snow, yes I can
The Maple tree said, find a purpose, I make syrup
The Oak tree said in agreement, I feed the squirrels
Then, the squirrels nearby could hear the chatter
Feeling bad for the Birch tree, they decided to gather
They collected acorns and strung them with blades of grass
They hung them around the Birch tree as perfect garland
Then the Blue Jay gathered some Holly Berries too
The Eagle put together some special leaves for a star
Soon, the Birch was a Christmas tree, gleaming from afar!
Heidi Sands
12/8/18
Placed 4th in the premiere Christmas tree poetry contest.
As I enter the woods for a walk on a path walked by many
I see that the trees create an overhead canopy
With small streak of light filtering through the canopy
Squirrels scampering up and down the trees
Birds chirping and singing in perfect harmony
Toads blending into their surrounding
Frogs croaking on lily pads in the nearby pond
Balsam trees giving off their fresh scent of pine
My eyes can't believe the beautiful sights and sounds heard as I leave
Thinking what a wonderful walk in the woods I had
She That Rivaled The Glowing Moon
Thy *hyacinth* hair upon white shoulders laid bare
thy face, mirror of love in heavenly skies.
The miracle of thy body, so sweet and fair
its soft innocence, destroyer of worldly lies.
Walking behind thee, in steps where an angel trod
among meadows, flowering in moonbeams there cast.
Must be a heaven for thou art proof of a God
that giveth to mankind a beauty that shall last.
Thy touch, ecstasies that rival paradise
ravishing smile, cool breeze blowing on a hot beach.
In all the universe only thee will suffice
to heal my aching soul and my heart, true love teach.
Thou art my *Irene*, that I drink of thy calm!
Blessed am I, to be soothed by thy kiss balm.
R.J. Lindley
June 26th, 1989
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables: 168
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 122
***************************************
1. "hyacinth"- Luxuriant and curling
2. "Irene"- According the Greek myth, the goddess of peace
3. ****" balm"****
Home British & World English balm
Definition of balm in English:
balm
noun
1 A fragrant cream or liquid used to heal or soothe the skin:
‘a skin balm for use after shaving’
**** 1.1 Something that has a soothing or restorative effect:****
‘the murmur of the water can provide balm for troubled spirits’
2A tree which yields a fragrant resinous substance, especially one used in medicine.
? balm of Gilead
2.1[mass noun] The resinous substance yielded by a balm.
3[mass noun] A bushy herb of the mint family, with leaves smelling and tasting of lemon.
3.1 Used in names of other aromatic herbs of the mint family, e.g. bee balm.
Origin
Middle English (in the sense ‘preparation for embalming, fragrant resinous substance’): from Old French basme, from Latin balsamum (see balsam).
*****************
Note- I had her but my mad wild streak( I was 18 years old) drove her away..
She saw something in me that back then (1973), that could not stay..
Only many decades later, could it reemerge to remain and slay my demons....
Oh the images we freeze in time
the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls.
Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown
upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets
showing frozen plumped out peeks of
blistering love, gape toothed girls
and sour apple dreams.
We freeze in time on scrapes and shards
on compasses far from the woodlands scene
the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers
as they touched my dimpled chin,
blue eyes behind wire rims.
The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts
Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee
and father's black onyx ring
ah, I still have him.
The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes
hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards
relentless, heartless is the passing
passing into the frayed, worn fringes
of our dollop of mirrored time.
For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days
bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie
do not forget the taste of the love
the cotton candy kisses
their first chocolate cone.
On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes
without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,
play all the old tunes from radio days
and invite your loved ones
to come home.
This is my form it is called Etcetera.
Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no
syllable count.
I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of
Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz
“And into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul.” - John Muir
The forest is a calm spiritual place,
a balsam scented and serene space.
Rabbits hide in mossy dens,
with fresh mushroom gems.
Magical!
Cleanse.
Fanciful,
trees, flowers and stems.
Where creatures sleep and some race.
A place to treat with kindness and grace,
the forest is a calm spiritual place.
1/21/23
Contest: Writing Challenge - Andaree Form
Sponsor: Constance La France
( howmanysyllables and rhymezone used to check poem)
On the first day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
a Partridge in a pear tree.
Truly a miracle was he
cloaked in a robe of deerskin
as he walked the aisle to me.
My Christmas groom ...
The forest was a blaze in white.
The ancient orchard glistened.
The sun shone so very bright.
Roses bloomed upon his cheeks ...
I walked to him in gown of green
a memory of summer past,
balsam draped the winter scene.
Ice hung from the trees like lash.
A grounded bird took wing to see
and lit upon the lowest branch
of a naked gnarled pear tree.
The Holy ghost was hear you see.
Alone we stood, just he and I
to feast on earthly beauty
married beneath a holy sky.
Anything is possible you see
when flightless birds can fly.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
11/23/13
There once was a little balsam
who was growing green and free,
And he hoped that he'd be taken
to be used as a Christmas tree.
He'd spent all of his early years
growing tall and full and straight,
The greenest fir in the nursery,
thus insuring his joyous fate.
It happened on Thanksgiving Day,
when a family came to choose
That proud and towering balsam,
so they paid his nursery dues.
To home, they took the little fir,
to adorn his spreading boughs
With pretty lights and ornaments,
and a chorus of "ahs" and "wows".
And there he stood, quite diligent,
through the holidays and nights,
Stunning with his proud display,
and his dazzling yule delights.
"Best tree on the street!" said all
through Christmas and New Years,
Until ... one day the family took
him down, not shedding tears.
And tho' he'd served them ardently,
it seemed his time was done,
For off came all the shiny trim,
all the garland, bulbs and fun.
They had treated him so kindly
in the weeks of Christmas, past,
Yet now they tossed him to the curb -
seemed their good will ... didn't last.
The trash truck carried him away,
with his limbs now dead and dry,
His tears of sap dripped on the street,
his boughs waved sad, goodbye,
For Christmas trees are blessings,
but there's always a price to pay -
An early end to the grandest life,
in a landfill ... cold and gray.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest 530 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 6th Place ~ in the "Christmas Tree" Poetry Contest, Shadow Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
though rather late, I woke up
i might have thought I wasted time in nodding
but what a wonderful dream I had
the hoary woods crew
danced on my eyelids
sourced balsam scent and poppies
the floaters
fresh and cruel motivators
i limp along, with a beard so long, and cane
my knee’s bent, my pace slowing
but shadow’s spreading
as I part my lips, dandelion seeds sail
through gentle
waves of wind toward
generation gaps
the stories
i will tell of flagons, empty dragon’s breath
joy of open eyes
how sunlight revives the tenderness of life
implement the words of Solomon the wise
Written: January 04, 2025 For Contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
“free from conditioned belief
no agenda on our shelf
vibrant as the light of Self
life flows on all by itself”
________________________________
Our peaceful place is a serene stillness,
Freed of a firm grasp of the familiar isthmus.
No steered ambit, no behests to satiate,
No truncated quest, or toils for tribal vitiate.
Sepia slate chutzpah, the soul's shining spark,
Diaphanous slivers and mullions pinpoint its stark.
Life lingers as leaping strides send quads convulsions,
A ceaseless cascade, a haunting mix of red, casts visions.
In the serene sanctuary, spirits shall plane,
Freed from the fetters of borrowed strain.
A stream surges, unscathed by dim schemes,
Radiating tinsel, reflecting radiant gleams.
Bathed in moonbeams, velvet drapes create a pearly gleam,
Amid enticing melody, toads hatched a fantastic dream.
This tale, a paper-thin silken gown of a gliding string,
A seed root segment fixed to the probe, splendidly cling.
Like leaves rowdy from autumn's fickle breath,
We shed imposed beliefs, escape false death.
Roots reach deep where truth alone can mend,
Untouched by fears that others' wills may send.
No nagging neuroses of self-control and vanity,
Gleefully fair breathing, obnoxious bully of inanity.
Liberated from loads, major culprits in building tension,
Unbridled, freed seaworthiness of untested dissension.
A quiet loot, winning gentleness upon a serene face,
Liberty lolls, luster trails hemmed in balsam firs and grace.
No view marred, no stance clutched, just paideia and piety,
Simply splendid, no spiders in their webs or anxiety.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
On one of the myriad bays
along the Maine coast. Keep the holocaust
at bay I said to Dave because
you’ll spend all day gathering
2,000 calories and still be miserable hungry.
An undiminished population of humans is risible.
Black spruce and balsam fir,
you can eat the inner bark
in a starvation emergency.
There’s plenty of Cornus—bunchberry—
each orange pith around the stone
worth maybe a quarter calorie.
Lots of sarsparilla but the fruits
not out yet and to date I have not
savored one. Let’s see—dandelion
of course and huckleberry but
the most important source of sustenance
would be seaweed.
Learn your mushrooms! for the protein.
Accept the situation
come the apocalypse.
I struggle against my insignificance
but it would be better to struggle
against my ignorance.
Less effortlessness, more fishermanliness.
That’s the lesson of this Maine vacation
there’s a lot you can eat when in need—
the hips of roses and the pips of grasses.
And an endless supply of seaweed—
bladderwrack, dulse, kelp and thin green lettuce.
INTO THE WILD
I dreamed ......
An arboreal wandering into the wild
Creeping in narrow-leaved green herbage
Afraid to be mashed by other wolverines got riled
Their safe abode is now in the siege
The rampage and stampede make a harsh noise
Joining the rumble will stumble into near-death
Swiftly moving away, intend to do a ploy
Taking hold of strength and a grasp of pure breath
Chasing the weak and hear the piercing shriek of pains
The fauna now in a vain attempt to meet and regroup from the maze
A lurking prowler just outside ready to take his aim
A Carnivore’s rendezvous dealing another round of faze
Forays refrain them from regression
Marsupial bearing young is watchful and vigilant
For a hostile entry, a swift run from apprehension
Saving the younglings and safely back to Taiga so verdant
With balsam fir’s magical warming in winter and cooling summer
Tall trees get blown over osiers, shrubs, and miniature spruce
Hear the wind swayed the trees gently just like a hummer
A walk to wet spongy forest ground that has a soft carpet of moss
A truly look at life into the wild is precarious
Feeding on flesh and a quench from trickling stream
Some nocturnal species tending to be gregarious
To survive in this biome is a short-lived dream
Previously posted in voicesnet.com poetry site last 21 October 2009.
I wish I could go back to the past,
of Christmases long ago.
I wish I could see my loved ones
who have passed on long ago.
I'd love to be that child again
who sat on Santa's knee.
Yes, all these memories that I have
decorating the tree.
I wish I could wake Christmas morn
to see daddy baking ham.
And to see my mamma making her yummy
famous candy yams.
I wish I could go to Grandma's house;
her cookies were the best.
The pies and cakes that she would bake,
she kept them in a chest.
Her house would smell like ginger,
with a hint of Balsam Pine.
She'd decorate the house with lights,
and it would surely shine.
All these Christmas memories,
it seems like yesteryear.
I'd love to go back to the past.
This is my Christmas prayer
''X'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
~2nd place ~
Published December 2018
https://familyfriendpoems.com/poem/122207
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
Many men came today to look at the old empty house;
I have been guarding that house for many, many years;
They spent quite some time looking at and touching me;
I heard them saying that the house was being demolished,
And a condo building would take its place. I can't help,
wondering what will become of me.
I started my life as a whirly bird seed in a wild forest,
And soon I grew into a young tree, one of many trees.
I remember them all, spruce, balsam, fir, and birch.
And some maple, like me, that was two hundred years ago.
It was wonderful in the forest; I loved cradling the birds,
And the squirrels and chipmunks were delightful.
The seasons changed me and in winter I stood proudly,
Stripped of my dress; snow and icicles on my branches.
Over time, my tree friends were cut down to make space,
For houses and streets, but I remained standing, waiting.
Soon a lovely house was built, and I have stood over it,
For one hundred years now.
I have seen many people come and go, and I protected,
And they liked me too. Finally, the house stood derelict.
For years I have been alone with only the birds and squirrels,
And sometimes cats and other creatures as companions.
I love the wind in my branches in the summertime,
And how the fall changes my veined lobed leaves.
Changing them from emerald to red-orange, then yellow,
Oh how the children like collecting them from under me,
And how I adore the feel of the rain and the snow falling;
I even have flowers of green, yellow, orange and red,
In spring, I send millions of seeds twirling in the wind,
And I pray they find their place in the earth.
Do you know that my leaf is the coat of arms of Canada,
And it is on the flag; I am a symbol of strength and endurance,
I am the national tree. But the men approaching do not care;
They do not care that I have stood for two hundred years,
And although, I expect it, the first cut is agony, and I scream;
I am screaming in pain as again and again they cut me.
Until I am lying on the ground, dead.
______________________
August 30, 2015
Poetry/Personification/Maple Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-654-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Peudonym.
Submitted to the Premiere Contest, Number 8
Sponsor, A Skat
Ninth Place