Best Chestnut Poems
Skeletal remains
naked to the elements
iced by winter's breath
The yawning giant
awakened by spring's nudging
unfurl sticky buds
The bustling leaves
an emerald factory
absorbing sunlight
Golden crispy leaves
flutter and carpet the earth
skeletal remains
Toyous melody of childhood memories Board in tune becomes a high wire trapeze Two cans and a string acoustic phonology Each part paper comb sings the bucket drum With whizzing blade of grass in hands with breath hum The paper roll trumpet blows ensemble strums Running along the day grows as children play Rolling hillside a box becomes a sleigh Tutor love pea shooter from across the way After a rain paper boat follows the drain Bows arrows cornstalk fiddle finish reframe Hoop and guider dolls cat and mouse homemade plain
Tyler’s tree as it’s always been known
Stands at the northern corner of grandpa’s Kentucky farm home
An American Chestnut having survived the late 18th century blight’s harm
Grandpa believes the tree lives due to a nearby spring’s charm
Its roots venture deep with spring water’s nourishment
Its white bark revealing generations of initials carved in it
The earliest ancestor nine generations removed
Was a man my grandfather called Pappy O’Doul
As family legend tells, it was he who transplanted it
Brought up from Tinker Creek where he often took a *****
This tree is sacred due to our childhood play
Upon a rope swing as generations would swing away their days
And summer picnics with firefly light
Watermelon cooled in the spring for our delight
But you must be wondering why it’s called Tyler’s tree
For Pappy O’Doul’s little baby boy is buried there you see
is it a noun or is a verb um to ing or not to ing question my son to patronize a thing gerunds ung unga to ingaz not beggar belong to egads not like cave man talk but suffix's runnen ans end mind affixes the word things we call ing's running to flow agitating syntax your mind along the lang darling short for to be the slang suffice to be or not to be suspense supine a rhyme came thee
Altogether unprofitable sentimental but no fool they call him an old sap The taste of knowledge to him is sweet to get more valuable than sap to a tree even more valuable than the gold that runs from seven hills prolongs the days: but the years of the wicked shall be shortened. The Lord does hate pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom with an expected end pure love as God gives the increase I have tasted the Lord is gracious A strong warning from the savior Jesus He is Lord whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire some may say the old sage is just saber rattling Essayage the shoe on the other foot walking a mile in someone else shoes who has two left feet and one leg longer truly your feet are bound to get sore circling around the mountain just assaying the metal who is your maker I know mine For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, works for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory I am not straining gnats just spitting out the the filthy camel Love the Lord God Jesus and every man your neighbor all the glory of man as the flower of grass like sagebrush God made foolish the wisdom of this world put your faith and hope in God and not in men though man's urban inflections change the Word of the Lord stands sure Everlasting superior are God's ways than man's momentary dullness
One particular chestnut tree
To me
Is not only full of beauty
It is full of majesty
When I was a child
Like every child little wild
The chestnut tree
Was already tall enough second floor window to see
From not even very top of the tree
And it was already full of beauty
This makes me think
Before the tree stood tall like a king
With trunk so wide
That you could almost put elephant inside
It would not be bizarre
To think that at the time of Second World War
It was alive even then
Maybe as a young shoot at the age of ten
Do trees have soul?
Would tree feel pain if a bomb on it would fall?
Would it make a difference that instead of morning dew?
The smell of lead of machineguns’ bullets wind has blew
And sky above it instead of azure blue
Was because of nearby fires of scarlet red hue
Would it mind that instead of buzz of honey bee?
It would hear the buzz of airplanes tanks bombs would it matter to the tree
I don’t know but it sure would matter to me
Just as it matters that what is rightfully my I cannot be
Later after the war they build pavilion near the tree
But not much people paid attention to the tree
I bought some books in this pavilion so the tree
Mattered to me
The book was about evolution
At the time I did not see similarity between evolution
And Hitler’s final solution
At the time I saw beauty in idea of evolution
There is interesting things in religion to
And I still contest religion and evolution can both be true
But both led to same thing that must be true
The highest for form existing or not physical or abstract it must be true
That the highest form that is does not necessarily mean highest philosophy
Yet highest for that can be also means highest thought highest philosophy
I like every tree
But highest form of that philosophy I wish to be
the Running Chestnut down in the mine where is the dark sarcasm asking myself a rhetorical question how did it come to be facing one another looking up the point like lighting it struck me funny for the ironlike window let all the light flow in fading into darkness yet the question remains mark my words well raising the pitch musically I go to find the answer turning it upside down in my opening remarks circling in my mind could make some stomachs semi-upset but learning from a good question is the point like pluck the chicken before you make the soup
By any other name what is in a name prosody Rosa Dee the sweet voices arise in Consonance assonance resonance Renaissance you see being reborn by the word frequency colorfully resurrected euphoric euphony your flowing down along the Dee an Irish sea without life the screams of cacophony cantos of Muirghein the queens nightmare winds of change blow upon the wordy mare but the word in question rhimes with prosody so you see to alliterate the marrying sounds honest dissonance choosing rather to write it down nomadiclly poeticlly phonetically as Rosa Dee instead harboring to the odic glottis lotus within hours hope to see a singing laughing flower
Plainly speaking four legged Oron not an instrument of torture a little light sprinkling banging heavily on the pianoforte Not in the sense of causing an affect of confusion but in truth the opposite when there was no word Then came a need for a new tune like on a Double virginals musing out loud spinning out the chords for damsel multiple choirs stringing together light the heavens beautiful and picturesque an axiom coup de grâce of the grossly misunderstood dull and sharp between the cup that is half way full like the sun shining in a dark cavern saying where is the darkness
If I was given one wish free
by a fairy from beyond our times,
I’d tell her that I wish to be
an agèd, stately chestnut tree
rooted deep in solid ground,
my sturdy trunk not being bowed
to some ill-humored gust,
my branches growing high and wide
so gifted with all seasons’ pride,
such as Spring’s blossoms,
Summer’s shady velvet-green,
and getting cooler in the Falls
I’d blush with joy to shed
all of my shining fruity balls,
before I stand in peace
while my bald arms are letting pass
a Winter’s frosty cruelties,
trusting the cycle soon will start anew
and I will love to spread my lush crown over you.
Her chestnut hair, loosened, cascading endlessly,
gone.
Her never-tiring gaze searching the corners of my heart,
gone.
Her smile so radiant it outshone the sun,
gone.
Her words in which she reinvented the world,
no more.
Her beauty outlasted twenty summers and then was
gone.
I never saw them cut her locks,
never saw the light in her starved eyes pale,
never saw her smile retreat,
or heard her fall silent
as her body slowly froze
before they burned her, too,
upon some piled-up pyre.
For I stood by as the black car took her,
At a distance
Safe
Rooted
My love dismissed by egoism
I am a chestnut tree
Hard to crack!
“That olde chestnut.”
The hurricane
barks!
My leaves are green
With enormous veins:
Lizard's claws;
Grip tight
their victims.
Upon my bough
A patchwork nest:
A golden ratio nestled
In the centre;
Bustling with baby sparrows
Mama sparrow is picking
The warms
Loitering in
the undergrowth.
I am a chestnut tree
In the autumn;
My fruit brown
Harvested.
And burst open.
I am a chestnut tree
Who swing and sway!
My roots are steely
And fallen leaves are hay.
I am a chestnut tree;
A reliable witness to many
Centuries old stories!
Danny old boy carved a
Bleeding heart
On my bough.
His bestowed's
name is Mary
She is fair and ninety!
I am a chestnut tree
In a London park.
I stand tall and mighty
And am proud!
My heart is a sapling;
Bearing young loves!
Next you can expect Running Chestnut over the hill and through the grove in three moons and a coon's age but I am only as old as I can still remember only as I feel No rain no gain in my december pond In my day we walked uphill bare footed in dirt older than both ways in around about way growing gracefully Help I've fallen asleep at the wheel in my golden age and can't get up to see blue hair on the back burner Coming and going expression lines upon my face a moment of good vintage did I leave the stove on The Running Chestnut doesn't fall to far from the tree
what a running chestnut sounds like when Parting ways with a damsel like the wind whoosh Naturally the gallant knight of the noble Anguish Languish Galloping in clip clop steed whinnying standing alone ready to take the blame audaciously in the crinkling face of smoke filled nose the dragon Roars vibrating the ears rearing an ugly wheezing head The hooting laughter hahaha hihihihi of passersby burping out who done its in midst of gaseous hissing fog blushing little lady long gone into silent retreat Ripping out loudly It was not the ribit ribit of a croaking frog with swooshing sword raised waving back and forth clearing the air taking brunt of insults you pig oink oink eschewed The clanging armor holds the dragon slain the stench quenched
Run on the man He is a man who procrasti- nate prolongs the claim of crafti- ness locked with the formal expres- sions Priory pseudoconfusion I digress Run on the man he is a man who's all right in is his on conceits regardless of constitution bill the people as good as pollution featured as depend- able character claims certainly due to omitted clever commend- able like unauthorized to make that judgment who is expendable- You did not make the rules or give so what gives with breaking them when no one is hurt by expressions but when where to their edification Do not live in glass houses and do not throw stones whoever you're a conception