Best Conifer Poems
Pink and grey walls rise like castle parapets
Reflecting the sunrise in golden hues
I ride along the canyon to the sound of leather
Creaking softly in the tranquil mountain air
Sweat and horse, with layers of dust
Well worn jeans against a speckled hide
Gently swaying in a unified rhythm
Languidly haze swirling about our feet
Around the bend we startle snow geese
Flocks floating, rising, settling serenely
Angling, landings against the lapping waters
Black tipped wings against wintry white
Sandhill cranes foraging for cutthroat trout
Reflecting blue beside the meandering creek
Majestically standing, patiently waiting
Blue dragon flies dancing within their reach
Off the beaten path we wander
Past yucca swaying in the breeze
O’er grama blue as sky beneath us
Cushioned carpet of pine and peat
Rock squirrels scurry across a Douglas fir
Scolding woodpeckers on a burnt oak tree
The chorus is merged by the hoot of an owl
And the clip clop against rocks as we proceed
Canopies of piñon line the trail
Mixtures of conifer shade the landscape
Grey blue greens with clusters of sienna
Cathedral spiritual within an ageless solitude
The Man casts a shadow purulent with stealth
Having seen his apportion of nebulous days.
In fear of himself... too long on the shelf
And a vague memory of far better days.
He then lowers his head.
Overcome with a feeling of dread.
Dreaming of marmalade and bread...
As he ponders the end of his days.
"I'm the Marmalade King!" He shouts
To a world passing him by.
"I'm the Marmalade King," he pouts
To those who are left alive.
"Was I somebody once?" He reflects.
"Who was treated with gentile respect?
But I have a vehement tendency to forget
This thing for which I strive."
"There are vile beasties intent on mischief."
He whispers to a Juniper tree aside his tent.
"They task me when I am fast asleep
In a melancholy slumber of sly torment."
Now the tree failed to address
To the comments so pressed
But the King would have to confess,
"You seem a perfect and absolute gent."
"If I truly be King?" He continued to say.
"Then I should lord over all that I see.
But my Kingdom seems to have filtered away
And I'm not sure where my subjects might be.
So I will remain here on this spot
Until my loyal subjects are brought
Whether they come freely or caught,"
Said the King to the Juniper tree.
"Oh how silly of me... I've made a mistake."
He said as he rose from his chair.
"It is good to have given my head a fair shake
As there are new facts of which I'm aware.
I've been unloading my fears
But it has now become clear
While standing right here...
My Kingdom is right over there!"
"I see you're a conifer of hearty regard,"
Said the King to the Juniper tree.
"We must do well to keep up our guard
As lesser mortals have been known to flee.
But I've come to the conclusion.
The outer world is a fallacious delusion
And if I'm meant for seclusion...
I'm glad it's just you and me."
While a callous world attempts to ignore him,
There is a venue for which he might cling.
Made only for him... less dour and grim,
Where he has control over differing things.
And in that sacrosanct place.
He will find not a whiff of disgrace.
Bathed in the love of God's Grace...
All hail the Marmalade King!!
The End
Inside the forestry of his heart I live
inhaling the scent of his deep woods
I could never fill those Timberlands boots
nor explain the thrill that he provides
when he arrives at the grove of my soul
and whispers, "Darling, I love you "
softly cloaked and protected by his pine
I am evergreen in moments like these
Existing in this charming jungle of love
I could never retrace my steps, for
arriving in this place of no return
I feel as suitable as a thriving conifer
Inside this evergreen existence, I just am
breathing in the fragrance of his loyalty
I feel like a woman in love, ...
After a lifetime of bending, to his will
I am the wind that blows on his heart
when I get to him, I just breathe...
Conifer, fruit tree's arms once did flow
laden with hued blossom, now gesture
to weight of lace ornamental snow.
Wintertide touch mystique blithe spirit.
Discordant weighty clouds draw down low
before night expire in dank vesture.
Chimney above winter render blow.
Piquant smoke distends languidly slow.
Bracing fire in manor of Esture.
Winter's breath chills even clannish crow.
Wintertide touch mystique blithe spirit.
2/19/2019
for my precious granddaughter, Brooke
whom I hope one day will be able to talk again…
The babbling little brook ,
was enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun,
Thinking about where her waters flowed,
then wondering from where they come,
She was lined with a mosaic of pebbles,
all different sizes and kinds,
Some had a glittering sparkle,
holding minerals that could be refined-
As the sun went down and night arrived,
the moon with the stars sprinkled light,
Little brook awaited for winter months,
when she’d be covered in a blanket of white,
A few simple answers, she thought,
then a happier brook I’d be,
Searching for wisdom high and low,
she gazed up at the conifer trees-
The babbling little brook,
was seldom all alone,
Surrounded by picturesque beauty,
in a mountain forest she called home,
There had to be other water sources,
but where could they be found?
She knew that all of the forestlands,
composed 1/3 of earth’s precious ground-
Winter passed, then spring arrived,
the little brook to the brim was full,
A wise old owl flew across her path,
letting his words in the gentle winds blow,
"Precious little brook," he hooted real loud,
"you hold the mountain's melting snow,
and as it travels down and leaves you, dear,
it’s out to the sea where it goes"-
Knowing from where her waters came,
and where they'd end up to be,
made the little brook happy,
as she greeted the summer with glee,
Campers and animals were her friends,
this was her favorite time of year,
Often the focus of a photographer’s lens,
she gave drink to all that came near!
Don’t take me unless to the cry of the hawk
Not supported or transported – just let me walk.
No matter that muscles protest and begin to ache
When clouds scud over the peaks and cast shadows across the lake.
Don’t take me if the foothills fail to season
Do not flower – or lie dormant – defying reason.
If the golden trumpets won’t rise up with the dawn
To follow the light till it’s time to droop again, and yawn.
Don’t take me in mid-winter unless of course it’s white
Glistening when the sun shines, eerie grey at night.
When owls flap silently through the wood of conifer tree
The frozen landscape aiding – their prey not getting free.
Don’t take me in the autumn until the first leaves fall
Not on the paths of the tramping feet of visitors who just call.
Let me spring on soft needles of pine
Alone in the forest - alone with my mind.
I care not whether rain or wind should blow
Just always relishing the sheer purity of snow.
On the hills, in the dales – on the lake edges bare
Why - oh why am I not already there?
The American eagle, called bald ‘cos of its pure white head,
Is named Haliaeetus leucocephalus, from the Greek;
Hali means "sea", aietos means “eagle", leuco "white",
And cephalos simply means the “head" with the streak.
The bald eagle lives near the sea, a river or any such reservoir,
Any water based freeway as it devours fish, salmon and carp;
It rests in large, mature stands of conifer trees,
To feed its young whatever it hunts and occasionally sees.
America is a nation of the head, and not a land the heart,
With an independence declaration of a human kind,
Which points to god only when the universal is pertinent,
That unifies by raising strength and concern of mind.
What’s most apparent to me from its wording,
Is that it seeks to mechanise the human good,
What’s moral, right, true and honest,
Such that the outcast can produce and be understood.
The pure, white head of the American bald eagle,
Seems to connotate this loud, bold and clear,
And its dark brown body seems to speak,
For all Americans who aspire from something mere.
The size of their nests can be twenty metres wide,
And this can represent the typical American home,
Which to me, a Scots girl aware of semi-detached abodes,
Are like football pitches where you can jump and roam.
The bald eagle was becoming extinct,
From the 1960s right up until the late 90s,
And as this bird is now proliferous and thriving,
It reminds us that the American Dream is all-including.
It was the symbol of the Great Seal in 1782,
And J F Kennedy referred to its appropriation,
As it symbolised the strength and freedom, forged and died for,
Of the mighty, magnificent independent American nation.
Rising Beyond
by Odin Roark
Sadness shackled his heart
Dry eyes did forever weep
Pain knowing no release
Death seducing reason
How often he had tried
The purge of wounded breath
Remaining dormant
In lungs long exhausted
His voice inhabited silence
His spirit roamed homeless
Days came and went
Without sunrise or sunset
This day he did climb
Through conifer and juniper
Traversing granite cracks
As voices of the wind bade summons
Atop an airless summit
He did stand
Nature’s cardinal points
They did beckon
The west
Held cloud mixed sunshine
The east
Did lightning strike
From north and south
Did arched rainbow appear
From his pocket he did draw
Silver vessel forged ancestral
Its contents of ash expectant
His grieving fingers unsteady
Ghostly cremains rose skyward
Cherished spirit did soar
Lightning’s echo vented quiet
Airless summit found chorus
She was free
No carolling minstrels
No sparkles or tinsel.
The Grinch has a lot of good points.
Just, “how bloody awful
To not have some baubles.”
Bah! Scrooge would be proud of this joint.
My carols are wails
During holiday sales
I'll do just fine here without her.
My sparkles are tears
Every damn year
That I tossed out her favorite old Conifer.
A statesman oak, in fall he spoke
to brethren of the wood.
Windblown vowels and fluttering jowls
deciduous he stood.
Calm and serene he argued green
for change, said change is good.
The Sugar Pine stepped out of line
and said he never would.
The Sumac said, "I'll show you red!"
and red indeed he showed,
The Maple leered and, snobbish, sneered
"And I will show you gold!"
Mulberry trees, devoid of leaves,
held transient feathered fruit.
But winter breeze chased birds and leaves;
it stripped them crown to root.
"Oak," said Pine, "you should resign,
you've left your fellows bare!
I can assure no conifer
would oh, so badly err."
"Pine," said Oak, "I won't be broke
My way is more than fair.
Needles catch snow, and green will grow
when spring is in the air."
Listen to the stream hits the rocky bed
Competing the sound of insect spreads
The spring wind swings conifer trees
In the valley composed a soft melody
The sound of greenish tops hit by water
Up and down like the heart pulse meter
Refreshes a cool and clean surrounding
On the downhill sounds the whistling
Life of the stream couldn’t consider
Just moved on by the natural manner
Like a lonely man travels to somewhere
An upcoming event couldn’t be aware
Here and now displays a lovely scene
The heart beats delight in neat green
The future of the stream is uncertain
Actual happiness, here on the mountain
each conifer branch
bright with strands of silver blink -
white christmas crooning
11/18/2021
HMS
rewrite of former poem
We are shiny sleek, black birds,
don’t underestimate our wit,
we are of the corvid family,
the most "intelligent,"
We are passerines,
the largest of their kind,
19,000 feet up sometimes –
look and us you’ll find-
For thirty years or more,
we may fly upon this earth,
weighing up to 4 1/2 pounds,
but only an ounce or two at birth-
We mimic other’s speech,
and are among the smartest fowl,
we’re clever and we’re shrewd,
and like a wolf, can howl,
A constable, a conspiracy,
an unkindness – we’ve been called,
teamlng together for take-downs,
we often make larger prey fall-
We make complex decisions,
and love to frolic and play,
even with 54 inch wing spans,
we can do aerobatic tricks all day,
We nest in desert rock cavities,
or in tall forest conifer trees,
and high up in beach cliff crevices,
hanging out over the coastal seas-
On land we take others’ food,
that we’ve managed to cunningly seize,
letting others do the hard work first,
then taking what we please-
In ancient times we fueled the myths,
of symbols good and bad,
and though we have a wide repertoire of calls,
Our croaking may drive you mad……
Petrified pottery ponders plots. Ploys play putting purring. And a frantically fraternising pickle arch can glow on many a skyline at dusk. In many hues. Many dusks many arches many hues and many hues mean many hundreds and many hundreds mean invite to investment of innermost inherited insectivorous institutionalised ignorant ignoramus's ingots'. But glowing of an ear bug is common in a torque typed torture chamber and a chamber is not a champion nor a charred crispy cross crossed conifer. Camels that eat hard cheese are said to be better prophets than penguins on skateboards. Fornicating false frocks falsely fall. And a little black and grey horse was speaking kindly to a tiny ball of fur which turned out to be a mouse name but cat in shape and body. How rather cruel! And derogatory too. Yet the smirking slug like actions secreting slime of a prawn headed monster with many man tentacles' and tentacles are terror and definitely not treacle treading treats. Salivate not a big bit of pie then? Fir pie is a composition of sorts types and kinds and akin to a pulsating ball of confused idiosyncratic ideological wisdom of orders originating from a glass bottom jug which weighs forty two kilos and cost eleven cities, two million towns, twenty thousand small villages, and ten hamlets. These are in a deposit global zone. A whirl of supposed suppository suppers in stupors seen but senseless. It is wise to break a mould then to create a new work for the art show shower. And bathe before baking the perimeter of pie. For pie without radius is a ravishing radish reaching radii. And how polite is a polish then? No ha no x and a big x to it as well. And one should always dangle mirrored glasses while wearing a sun hat and riding a one centimetre bull down the tidal bores. Z refurbishment z at two hens to twenty one ducks at half time. Z
CHRISTMAS TREE
A decorative tree, Usually
In the winter time
developed in early modern Germany
Traditionally
A Christmas tree
Is a decorative tree, And usually
It is an evergreen conifer
One such as a Spruce, Pine or Fir
Christbaun
A Christmas tree
Taking of these kinds of trees in the homes
In the later half of the nineteenth century, still goes on...
Decorated trees with roses made of colored paper apples waffles tensile and sweet meats
Apples and round ornaments fruit of knowledge of Good and Evil
Representing the Book of Genesis to be illuminated by candles
ultimately replaced by Christmas lights after the Advent of electrification
There's a wide variety of traditional
Ornaments
A Christmas Tree
Covered with garlands, baubles, tinsels and candy canes
And a Star or Angel would be placed at the top of the tree
Oh What a Beautiful Vision this would be
This star would represent Archangel Gabriel
Awesome may felt the Star would represent
That of the Nativity Star of Bethlehem
A Christmas Tree
Oh, Edibles of gingerbread yum, chocolates would be held on the tree
Tide by branches with ribbons
All this is done on the first day of Advent
Customs of the same faith hold to traditional
Days what's celebrated sake
A Christmas Tree
Also known as Yule-tree
Set up every winter time for you and me
So before the the 18th century German initiation custom
Tree worship was common among the early European pagan
Trees Reese and Garland symbolizes eternal life
Oh that smell of Evergreen all around the house smells fine
Stand up a tree for the birds during this time
All Beauty this be
This...
The Christmas tree
This the origin the how's and when's
We stand, we set up
The Christmas Tree
For Contest: CHRISTMAS TREE
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
12/12/17
2017©