Best Black Oak Poems
Memories Of Bygone Days
O' yes, how well I remember her still
giant black oak atop big wooded hill
Those treasured days now long flown by
our free spirits flying so very high
Summer days within Nature's fine realm
majestic views that did so overwhelm
Cloudy days in the meadow far below
flowers galore, O' what a great show
My lady and I went up there to park
glorious scene set our hearts to spark
Under canopy of that old massive oak
she sweet words of undying love spoke
Our tree saw our love start to bloom
picture of that oak in our bedroom
Two years it watched our love grow
how was it to ever see or dare know
Life came and flew on us so fast
love came deeply but failed to last
Fate sent us onto far different treks
love destroyed, both lives were wrecks
Now I pass that massive tree on the hill
memory recalls her beauty , what a thrill
Time destroyed the scene it ruled then
O' the love of what should, could have been
JULY 2015
A noble Black Oak tree stands tall and tranquil
Wearing brown, old and dried crumpled leaves
Withstanding all autumn and winter storms
Without any distress or any grief
Golden fall is long gone, cold, wet season is also concluding
Spring is poking its head up with colorful bulbs blooming
Some of her allies have Cherry blossoms in flourish
Some show progression of luscious new emerald leaves
Mother earth knows unique behavior of her child
With assurance, she lets her be herself while watching over with smile
Tree wants to hold on to longstanding and withered for a while long
Not ready yet to let go of dear presence of that warmth
April comes along to cheer her up
Tree beams, perks up
Ridding her old dry appearance, starts dressing up
Growing yellowish handsome clusters of dangling male catkins,
Gorgeous reddish female flowers in short striking javelins,
Velvety foliage of sharp zigzag tips in red tinge,
With pointed seven to nine lobes with bristles exquisitely unique
Summer grows them into profound shade of shiny green
Rust colored acorns with top halves enclosed in caps start appearing
Showing her wisdom in her towering strength and stability,
With canopy of branches widespread and mighty,
Tree gets ready once more for visitors of ecosystem to offer plenty…
I long to soar with the eagle
To fly uninhibited about the earth
Looking down onto the mountains
Admiring their rocky faces
To feel the clouds brush over me
While having the wind streamline down my back
To meet the evening sky with all its brilliance
And circle in the beams of the full moon
I long to perch high in the limbs of an evergreen
To inhale the freshness of the first spring shower
Listening as the raindrops filter through the branches below me
Forming puddles that trickle gently over the edge of a stone path
To live in the moment as it is, not as it should be
I want to mount to the sky effortlessly
Gliding and drifting aimlessly
With no care for the hour of day
I want to watch the crimson sunrise at dawn
While resting on an old black oak branch
Then dip down into the cool bath of a large stream
And emerge with a rainbow trout for breakfast
I long to call out to my mate in song
To meet me at the top of the bridge
Overlooking the peaceful flowing river
Or in an open meadow filled with prairie grass
Oh, how I long to soar with the eagle
To fly freely about the earth
Copyright © 2010 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
As Dawn Woke, Uttering Its First Shining Rays
As dawn woke, uttering first shining of its rays
Night's darkest veil vanished into whispering winds
Rooster's clear crow, signaling a wonderful day
Full of life, with golden treasures love's truth portends
Bliss a'flowing as our love endures, as we pray.
From soft flowering fields, precious dream comes to me
As cool winds blow, I see deep longing in your eyes
Looking at our names, carved in that Sycamore tree
Our promises made under brightest moonlit skies
Ringing forth again, love vows from romantic seas!
My Love, Time can never your soft-kisses erase
Nor those nights we begged passion would never flee
I long to see you walking in beauty and grace
Beneath the massive arch of those tall black-oak trees
Nothing in this empty world, can your love replace!
As dawn woke, uttering first shining of its ray
Night's darkest veil vanished into whispering winds
Rooster's clear crow, signaling a wonderful day
Full of life, with golden treasures love's truth portends
Bliss a'flowing as our love endures, as we pray.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-03-2019
Rhyme, ( Where Sweet Treasures Abound )
Note- Original version from 1979
edited today 7-03-2019 to present as is now composed....
I Have Spun Tapestries Of Golden Words
I have walked paths from dawn's glowing birth
across oceans spanning earth's massive girth,
from mountains scratching on high, heavenly skies
to mysterious realms others oft deny.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have spun tapestries of golden words
sang ditties with most beautiful songbirds,
swam in wondrous lakes with waters crystal clear
all with impunity, without any fear.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have prayed under giant black-oak trees
sincere solemn prayers upon bend'ed knees,
as a lost lover once blinded by my greed
sacrificing all, for this love to feed.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have seen sights breathtaking to behold
heard dark ancient tales so wildly told,
with crestfallen despair, wrote life is not fair
begging for forgiveness, for love to share.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-29-2019
Romanticism
Gasping Stars Look Down Upon My Tired Soul
When I need to again find my own way
late midnight walks are my mainstay
There is this place I walk and roam
comfort away from worries of my home
The sidewalk ends and fields begin
I imagine they stretch and never end
Cool night air soothes my tired brain
far away, whistle of an old night train
My pace slows to soak so much more in
I am not alone, night is my friend
Gasping stars look down upon my soul
Seeking calm, I then reach my goal
Dog barks sadly as I slowly trod by
moans so blue, almost seems to cry
Past the farmhouse my favorite tree
massive black oak, does so comfort me
Gazing at its massive majestic form
I see damage from a terrible storm
Ahh yes, none are immune from harm
not even this great titan on the farm
Very slowly I turn to find my way back
retracing this walk along this track
A calm has now found my lonely spirit
happiness approaches I can even hear it
My pace increases as I seek to return
to the place where my love does burn
Family , the gift of my very long life
my children, my love , my sweet wife
When I need to again find my own way
late midnight walks are my mainstay
Robert Lindley, 1-11-2015
FOREST GIRL
I'd walk down through the forest in the rain
to see the girl in green and feel her pain
uncertain of her life so many ways
yet outwardly she'd laugh throughout the days.
All dressed in greenery of vine and leaves
pine needles for her collars; black oak sleeves,
she'd dance and sing there in our greenery
and though so sad, she never showed to be.
She teased me every morning in her way
that made a sheer delight of every day,
the forest was her home, I know not where
and when I'd ask, she'd tell me--"over there
right next to you but far back in the trees
in just a house of stone, where no one sees,
nor tries to understand what I can't show
the me they never see and do not know."
The images of her are with me yet
as part of me and what I'll not forget
but then one day I blinked and she was gone
I could not ask of her to anyone
for she lived over there--back through the trees
I in a different world, where no one sees.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
FOREST GIRL
I'd walk down through the forest in the rain
to see the girl in green and feel her pain
uncertain of her life so many ways
yet outwardly she'd laugh throughout the days.
All dressed in greenery of vine and leaves
pine needles for her collars; black oak sleeves,
she'd dance and sing there in our greenery
and though so sad, she never showed to be.
She teased me every morning in her way
that made a sheer delight of every day,
the forest was her home, I know not where
and when I'd ask, she'd tell me--"over there
right next to you but far back in the trees
in just a house of stone, where no one sees,
nor tries to understand what I can't show
the me they never see and do not know."
The images of her are with me yet
as part of me and what I'll not forget
but then one day I blinked and she was gone
I could not ask of her to anyone
for she lived over there--back through the trees
I in a different world, where no one sees.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
FOREST GIRL
I'd walk down through the forest in the rain
to see the girl in green and feel her pain
uncertain of her life so many ways
yet outwardly she'd laugh throughout the days.
All dressed in greenery of vine and leaves
pine needles for her collars; black oak sleeves,
she'd dance and sing there in our greenery
and though so sad, she never showed to be.
She teased me every morning in her way
that made a sheer delight of every day,
the forest was her home, I know not where
and when I'd ask, she'd tell me--"over there
right next to you but far back in the trees
in just a house of stone, where no one sees,
nor tries to understand what I can't show
the me they never see and do not know."
The images of her are with me yet
as part of me and what I'll not forget
but then one day I blinked and she was gone
I could not ask of her to anyone
for she lived over there--back through the trees
I in a different world, where no one sees.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
The Tree, In The Corner of The Woods
That tree, in the corner of the woods?
The one that peers' over the top in a valley,
high off the cliffs ridge just over there, Blue Hills.
The joyous time,
to figure the thought of the grain in them trees.
That tree, in the corner of the woods,
now over here.
I'd walked that far already,
by this Weeping Willow now.
I didn't see it weep once, not a tear!
The Hickory tree I smoked my fish with,
was by the Ash trees.
It was a mere glimpse of the valley,
a view of a grand ole' daddy Black Oak, seen as it stood.
That Zebrawood tree, I made a bowl to eat my cereal with,
was not as purple as the Purpleheart tree when I carved a shoe.
But softer than the Babinga tree,
when I carved an orange boot out of it!
That tree in the corner of the woods?
Was the Mahogany tree, the top-of-line boats that sailboats are built of, turned out to be an Apple tree?
George Washington would love them, haha!?
The tree, in the corner of the woods?
The Olive tree looking humbled,
the olive wasn't quite ripe enough for the martini.
The tree, in the corner of the woods?
The Teak tree that needed to leak,
made your fruit look so good on your table.
The tree, in the corner of the woods?
Stands taller than all the others,
where they wish they could rise tall.
The tree, in the corner of the woods?
Just peering over the top in a valley seeking its joy,
trying to figure the thought of the grand ole' daddy Black Oak!
The tree, in the corner of the woods?
It was a mere glimpse of what my valley held.
It was in those trees, a valley held in the woods,
the view to this grand ole' daddy Black Oak, seen as it stood as one.
Revised Edition - September 25, 2020 10:43 AM
FOREST GIRL
I'd walk down through the forest in the rain
to see the girl in green and feel her pain
uncertain of her life so many ways
yet outwardly she'd laugh throughout the days.
All dressed in greenery of vine and leaves
pine needles for her collars; black oak sleeves,
she'd dance and sing there in our greenery
and though so sad, she never showed to be.
She teased me every morning in her way
that made a sheer delight of every day,
the forest was her home, I know not where
and when I'd ask, she'd tell me--"over there
right next to you but far back in the trees
in just a house of stone, where no one sees,
nor tries to understand what I can't show
the me they never see and do not know."
The images of her are with me yet
as part of me and what I'll not forget
but then one day I blinked and she was gone
I could not ask of her to anyone...
...for she lived over there--back through the trees
I in a different world, where no one sees.
© ron wilson
Three years ago in Éire was the last time I was free,
I used to own a boat there, and roam an Emerald sea,
by the herald of a sunset that made all the shadows flee,
shadows older than the sunset, as old as the black oak tree;
"it's not until the body dies, the soul is bid go free",
the shadows cast by lonliness seemed to whisper, quietly,
the theft of time is sought there, a consensual burglary,
and the moonlight on the darkling water, glistened solemnly,
as the waves lapped round my ankles on the shore of the emerald sea;
Now nothing in this shallow world means anything to me,
Back again on dry land now, bound by lock and key,
left rotting in this dungeon - lost - as though by royal decree,
into those gleaming waters cast, were both the lock and key,
- the shadows cast by lonliness rise up and swallow me -
the theft of time is fought for here, a cruel irony,
where time takes forever and forever, or so it seems to me,
deep hidden in the forest of the past, for at least an eternity,
bound in idleness and darkness - even as the old oak tree.
the great black oak below the house,
it died of mistletoe;
my computer glasses, mislaid somewhere;
a photo of Swaps, who won the Derby
in – was it 1955?
Lolita singing “Esa Luna Marinera”
on cassette;
the best recipe for eggplant parmesan;
September ‘53 to June of ‘54,
whatever happened to 4th grade?
a breakfast nook painted yellow
with a persimmon tree outside the window;
the gender of every German noun;
the answer to the riddle of life;
a lot of other things
but I guess I’ve forgotten
what they were....
Sitting on the old black oak, where we used to fish together,
lost in the past, I think back, and remember a better day.
You wrote to me about your new ship, and new friends,
and your new Pontiac, with only twenty-two payments left to pay.
The morning's rain left the air heavy, like my heart,
as I coax my line and bobber to and fro.
I can't find any explanation for this world,
or reason for why you had to go.
Last watch was nearly over, time to hit the cot,
two exocet missiles hit port-side,
your stricken ship never fired a shot.
Two days later, from the fantail of the USS Conyngham (DDG-17),
Senior Enlisted CPO, tall and proud, left over from an older Navy,
turned his head down, and away, with shoulders heaving,
eyes sunken and red, that Chief cried like a little baby.
Things didn't turn out quite as we had planned,
I was supposed to be your son's Godfather,
And you were supposed to be my Best Man.
I pull up my line and tackle, to answer nature's call,
the stream splashed down to meet the river,
and Marshal Tucker Band played on the truck radio.
I reach into my pocket, and pull out two pieces of metal,
hanging from a faded chain, gleaming, they gently clink.
Name, branch, social, blood type, and religion tell the tale...
thrown now into the river's, deeping, I watch them quickly sink.
Beyond the paved two-lane with its solid centerline,
and bounded by NO TRESPASS signs;
beyond the turn-off onto gravel and the last barking dog
who keeps pace with my hubcap;
to a landing where I park my car and walk away:
no signs of ownership, no gate.
Just a path that skirts a swale; up to a clearing
fringed with black-oak blazing green.
I push through underbrush thick
with deadfall leaves, beyond where miners dug
and gouged and left it all behind.
Land no one has tamed.
Abruptly, I’m at the edge of canyon.
Far below, the river churns from upcountry,
down granite, grinding its way west.
No vineyard terraces, no homes with a view.
Just the wild lavender of distance
verging into forest viridian. Land owned by none
and everyone, where, if I watch my step,
I can still walk free.