Best Branched Poems
The Mother Tree
I am the mother tree that spawned the seeds of you.
My children, you've grown and branched away from me.
You've married, left home to start your life anew.
Where e'er you go remember you're my family.
My roots run very deep into the earthly soil.
My centered rings are many, you may not yet view.
They show the story of my years of work and toil
And of growth and wisdom I've tried to share with you.
As you branch out, your little seedlings too will grow.
You'll try to keep them safe under your canopy.
One day when they grow up and leave, you too will know
The painful pangs of missing branches on your tree.
As they return for advice from their mother tree
Remind them to honor God with humility.
6-13-20
~First Place~ Poem of the Day June 15, 2020~
Non Human Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
In the silent breathing of night,
treading through
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish.
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.
The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh
With endless stings of cruel misery.
The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.
The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)
I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
It stood on the other side of the wall rooted firmly
for the white bougainvillea tree did not belong to me
Wondered why it always branched this side
paving my walkway with blooms of white
While I patiently waited for my rose bush to flower
it nonchalantly continued its year-long showers
Unbothered unfettered by the gardener’s reaper, it grew
in every direction, old branches shooting off the new
Assiduously each day I tried to broom them away
but they, like a mother’s kisses were always there
Falling softly like advices from an old friend
they were fragile, paper-white, yet persistent
With gentle breeze they glide to me be it summer rain or spring
Innumerable, countless like God’s many blessings.
One can hardly take a breath at all
For brilliance splashed against the wall
has reasoned with a summer's soul
and paints the season with vibrant gold
The brittle breeze as evening falls
is mixed with smoke from burning piles
of leaves we raked one afternoon
stacked high with colors bold and wild
Smoke whirls up high above the house
Each silent garden laid to rest,
As the close of day leaves nothing left
but crimson skies, and colors red
We can hear the music of the trees,
with rustling sounds, stained red and tan
While wind seeks out the apple tree,
And scents the air with celestial zest
The mighty oak drops acorns, freed,
Brown squirrels have scurried to their nest
They've stored a harvest from the earth,
We'll watch as geese form silhouettes
And when the trees are barren branched,
A world takes rest, to start anew
While autumn prances through the hills,
With stain ablaze in amber hues
The heart is filled with peace of mind,
As embers warm our home tonight
While weary gather near the flame,
This year at end, we bid adieu
One can hardly take a breath at all
For brilliance splashed against the wall
Has reasoned with a summer's soul
To paint the season edged in gold ......
__________________________________
10/27/16
Contest: Autumn Fire
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Classic Poetry forms should not be transformed
by those who think themselves poetically charmed
Limericks are not trampolines to bounce around
Anyone who changes the form is not honor bound
If you want to allow syllables of another count
Give it some other name and use any old amount
But keep the form pure as did poet, Edward Lear
as it was sung in bars while drinking ale and beer
Variations in forms have been liberally adapted
the original remains from which they were extracted
It's been successfully done with Japanese Haiku
Now, branched into many... there are quite a few
No contest judge, whether an amateur or a pro
should alter Limerick line syllable count. That's a no
And then when questioned by not one but three,
The offender deleted all the comments... cowardly
There's no cloudburst of tears over a contest loss
when a know-it-all sponsor assumes he's the boss
Imagine Shakespeare writing one of his Sonnets
without rhymes as if he had a bee in his bonnet!
Being true to poetry forms is doing what's expected
Those who mess with tradition should be rejected
It's the contest that fails when the judge has no clue
and accepts anything entered, right out of the blue
No outrage or tantrums take place in that situation
The ones who bastardize should face condemnation
Original Poetic forms were never meant to be changed
Anyone who does, should be ignored and estranged
The wind is crisp when clouds cover the
sun, what passes for warm when clouds
disappear.
Great oak trees, maple and elm, in full
bare-branched display, before the bud.
Red norway pine, just outside my window,
enrobed in rich, cinnamon bark,
still smiles with long green needles,
bristling with resin-dipped cones.
A great fascination I pursue, binoculars in
tow, discovering many-generational
squirrel nests, high in the trees; twigs,
paper refuse, any and all acquired detritus,
salvaged to create beautiful sanctuaries, to
call home-
I'm
Truly
Envious
04/26/14
© All Rights Reserved
Mornings to me
are not an exiting crescent moon
glowing gold in the west,
preparing to retire
below a distant tree line silhouette
Scattered footprints
in the glistening dew
on a lush lawn
still dreaming of the day before
Cantaloupe skies tickling
a sleepy horizon,
restless in vivid ribbons
on a wide eyed sapphire canvas
Yawning morning glories
climbing a silent fencepost,
standing guard in the shadows
of a stately oak
Butterflies floating
on dawn’s cool breeze
quietly touching each blossom
in mosaic laced flight patterns
The enchanting coo
of a stirring mourning dove
spreading its wings amidst
woven branched tapestries
Mornings to me
are always you,
surrendered in first blush beauty,
a breath of every sunrise’s promise,
awakening all that my heart desires
Good morning Soupers
I posted this earlier in the week but took it down. Here goes round 2. : )
Bare-branched the woodland trees, edging the lake
Young Pen glided alone without a mate
Graceful her strokes, nary a wave or wake
I watched and wondered, what would be her fate
He circled her before landing nearby
Handsome Cob, but friend or foe would he be
She turned away from him, wary and shy
No trumpet called. No intent decreed.
In circles they swam until their wings brushed
Eyes lifted, in that moment they both knew
Tenderly, with necks entwined, her cheeks flushed
She followed him to a stand of bamboo
Intimate calls were whisperings each night
'til away they flew, together in flight
Came the time of twilight and winds shifted
Upon lake waters brewed cause for worry
When in sorrow it had seemed they'd drifted
Woe to hearts if it ended their story
Spring was on nigh, but grey clouds filled the sky
Pen feared her Cob would abandon their bed
She cried thinking he would tell her, 'goodbye'
Ripples on the lake, hope hung by a thread
Together or apart, their reflection.
She pleaded with him, "I want nothing more
than to give you my love and affection."
He drew her near, "It's you that I adore."
Tale of Pen and Cob continues today
Faithful in love, they're nesting on the quay
April~3~23~kj
It’s such a glorious Summer day
to walk in the sand of the cerulean sea
I’m in a quiet cove of a secluded bay
It's just the hungry sandpipers and me
I stroll along the quaint sandy shore
collecting pretty coloured sea shells
and branched pink coral, which I adore
I’ve seen the price for which coral sells!
On a chartreuse towel, I apply sun cream
before tanning beneath the tangerine sun
I lie back, relax and begin to day dream
then eat watermelon ‘smiles’ just for fun
There on the water is a lilac coloured boat
billowing canvas of lemon and saffron sails
On an aquamarine sea she'll smoothly float
under a lavender sky, ripples follow her trails
Seasonal Color Contest
Sponsored by Dale Gregory Cozart
08-15-17
Waning sunlight casts shadows across bare branched trees
whose leaves silently tumble, carpeting the ground
Autumn murmurs with gentle taps on my window
I breathe a sigh in consensual reply
acknowledging the beauty of her creation
Nimbus clouds gather in twilight skies
to brush sloping hills a shade of purple haze
I hear the lonesome call of an owl's sad lament
He sits in a loblolly pine, hoping to attract a mate
A pastoral scene being painted before my eyes
Drifting through maples
Autumn sings a hymnal song
in farewell to crimson leaves
Cloaked in gloaming mist
Fall grows weary for slumber
as Winter's approach draws nigh
October 11, 2021
Let's Mix It Up Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Poem 3 is a Choka. (5-7-7-5-7-7)
Was but a shrub, clinging to rocky hill..
when first I strayed in forest aflower.
Er'nt son's return to rose and whippoorwill,
and brook's water glider mossy bower.
Below..,seventeen years cicadas dwelt..
nymphs now grown, sing familiar forest song.
Aligned to moon and stars in homage knelt,
nature's way to right all ruin and wrong.
Seeds are sewn, winds of change how quickly blown,
tree lay down, bough's dream lost coveted cloud.
Heavens soaring branched crown no longer known,
once gloried sunlight, now in earthly shroud.
When last Spring returns Autumn's bounty owed,
the treasured forests Flora wisely sowed.
My Mother, like many saints, is compassionate,
Though lion-like, my father is considerate;
Like banyan tree, my family is well-branched out,
Grandmas, Grandpa, Uncles, Aunts - all are good; no doubt...
Precious among all, Pink Pearl, I am so lonely,
Cause - though ponder and wonder - I don't know wholly.
My talks are mad monologues; songs senile solo;
I'm my partner to my duet with heart hollow;
I'm a plant getting sun and water with no care,
In friendly fondling freedom folklores, I've no share;
I feel human beings, here, is mortal Islands,
Hearts heartlessly hard; minds murked; life barren dry lands...
I'm slow, soft, somber; savorless; no glory glow,
Deep down in me, like the Zambezi, whirlpools blow;
I look at the sun, moon, stars; not relishing them,
My mind mocks and knocks and cracks in a moody hem;
Seas surreptitious; ships succumbing surmise, shake,
My existence seems like someone's sad mad mistake...
Stories secrete; poetries pour; in my lone tour,
Losing, longing, languishing leads - love's lustrous lore;
Quill leaks; notepad nostalgic; words wildly wide,
Haunted heart - highest hopping horse- rugs rue rough ride;
Love lone, though looks lost, has its marvelous turning,
Lamenting lonely life lures cheery churning...
15 September 2021
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
.A
Single
Sequoia
Firm and tall
Feeds on the love
And kindnesses
Of other nature lovers
Was supported, cultivated
Becoming a tower against the horizon
Waxing green leaves, which it deposits later as gifts,
Among the earth dwellers, it embraced all under its canopy
Time passed and with it grew wisdom and purity of thought
Soon; sweet songs were sung by the tree dwellers, nourishing it abundantly
It was fruitful in return, gladly sharing all its color and splendor with other nature
Suddenly an alto fell in with the soprano pitched songbirds, distracting it immensely
The alto pecked, vibrating the core, with its obsidian bill, drilling, forever drumming,
Night and day, night and day, a steady pecking, of a woodpecker
Singing in a foreign soup song language
Not caring
Whatsoever
That it drained
The tree’s spirit
Trying to shoo it,
The tree branched.
Feverishly it tossed,
Left to right, beating.
Dropping all its fauna
Onto the forest floor.