Best Cypress Tree Poems
I look up from the valley and I see the mountaintop.
Up where the air is clearer and gentle breezes never stop.
Where the eagle’s nest can be seen in a mighty cypress tree
God’s awesome splendor is waiting there for all the world to see.
In an effort to get closer to the one who made it all
I will climb the lofty mountain and listen for His call.
And when His call is heard and His orders are made clear
I will join His mighty army as the final battle nears.
The evil one will also gather all his minions here
And the battle that will follow will make nations disappear.
For all the blood that’s shed will, like a river, flow
And the valley will not be the same as the valley that we know.
The righteousness of God will certainly prevail
And Satan’s wicked army shall ultimately fail.
So if you want to be there to see how it comes out
Let destiny lead you and there will be no doubt.
Written By John Posey
01/11/13
Categories:
cypress tree, faith, god, inspirational, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
Play Not A Dirge When I Am Gone
Play not a dirge when I am gone;
light no candles, not even one.
A treasured poem would be enough
to mark my end when curtain’s drawn.
Hold no sad wakes to honor me
some happy poems, I’d rather be
recited on a night for friends
then spread my ashes o'er the sea.
And wonder not nor be afraid
if less of love you have conveyed;
you’re part of me and that’s enough,
while life’s not fair, I’m not dismayed.
If comes a time that you remember
that one fine day in November,
then send a kiss toward the sea
and just forget this fly in amber.*
When I Am Dead My Dearest
by Cristina Georgina Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
*fly in amber - noun, reminder of the past
No More Masks Contest
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Categories:
cypress tree, death,
Form:
Rubaiyat
You know I had a lover's quarrel with God
As I sat there telling him ~
I knew the fastest way to heaven
Was straight through hell
Though He did not see it that way
Nope, not at all
God said you need to go down this one path
But as I sat out there on that enormous cypress tree
I thought and I listened and I thought some more
What I was feeling now and what I should be feeling
Where two very different things.
But as I said before ~
I had a lover's quarrel with God
But never once did he let go
Of that unconditional love for me
No ~ never once and for that, I will always love God
1 / 1/ 2006
Categories:
cypress tree, faith, love,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
In the wee hours of the morning
When the owls and imps were upon the marsh
We would take our old pirogue and paddle into the darkness
Our intent was to catch bullfrogs but anything was game
We were two young boys armed with BB guns and fishing poles
Headlights strapped hard and tight around our skulls
We searched the shore and stumps for eyes glowing in the night
Cypress trees towered overhead and occasionally the canopy would break
And we would see the clouds drifting quickly past and catch a glimpse of the moon
The paddles would never break the waters surface, as silence was our friend
Once we spotted our prey we would move in slowly and my brother would creep
Slowly to the bow. He would bend over the bow reaching out many feet in front of the boat and grab the frog behind the front legs and quickly stash it away into a burlap sack
Every catch brought us great pleasure, as this was no easy feat. We could have shot them with the BB guns but that was illegal and not nearly as fun. On occasion we would have to steal them from a water moccasin that was ready to strike. Those moments were like lighting and only steeled our intentions to catch more.
Once we had caught a dozen or so we would begin to look for other prey to catch or harass (we were teenagers and couldn’t help ourselves). The occasional raccoon caught out in the open was always fun to chase but never pleasurable to have in the pirogue with us. We learned that lesson the hard way one night when I pushed the boat into the fork of a cypress tree with an old mother coon eating a turtle. My brother and I fought like hardened sailors to keep her at bay but both ended up in the water and nearly sank the pirogue.
Other occasions found us pulling loggerhead turtles from the depths and trying to dispatch them before they bit off a finger.
We both have all our appendages to this day, but I swear Lord we tried, we really tried to lose them.
I never saw a frog leg jump from the pan, but the old man did make us slice them at the knees just to be sure we didn’t loose a piece of that meat that tasted better than any chicken I ever ate.
Categories:
cypress tree, beautiful, childhood, water,
Form:
Narrative
My love do you remember when we met?
At the Rubandikarya corner near the gigantic cypress tree,
An old sport known for romance,
Where lovers used to meet evening hours?
And they would do their romantic chanting?
That was the epitome of our dates.
My Love do you remember the letters we used to send each other?
The letters we could scribble on dirty papers,
Because our parents complained of how books were expensive,
Though the spellings used to confuse our thoughts,
But our hearts would understand the lines and smile,
Then the funny images of us we would draw at the end of the letter,
Though they looked funny but symbolized our true love.
My Love do you remember the crazy games we used to play?
Hide and seek, kalongolongo, baba na mama etc.
They made us look stronger in our love than today,
They made us smile even when tears were forcing their way into our love,
They made us see love not as the world sees it today,
They made us be called love drunkards.
My Love, that love, where has it gone?
That love that every one used to gossip about,
That love that made us be called idiots,
That love that made us nicknamed Romeo and Juliet,
That love that wiped off our tears when pain sprouted,
That love that made even dogs be jealous of us,
It’s that love that I need.
My Love I need the love we had before evolution,
The love that always overlooked the boundaries,
The love that never hid behind shame of nature,
Love that never used to shout in public,
But would whisper into our ears soft music,
That glued our hearts together.
That love that carried us within the harsh whispers of the wind,
Moved us through the claws of the storm,
Shielded us from the terror of darkness,
Sheltered us from the tears of the sky,
Gave us a shade when the sun scorched,
That love my Love, is all I need.
My Love, that love they call old school love,
Is the love that will prosper us,
It’s the love that will crown us amongst mighty Kings,
It’s the Love that will raise us above the turmoil of the world,
Pass us through the devils traps,
And set us on our predestined throne of Eternal Joy.
Old School Love!
Categories:
cypress tree, love,
Form:
Romanticism
I sleep
to visit You
in Your dreams,
oh my Esteemed -
a gauche novitiate,
there like a Laureate
You receive me
to learn Your secrets,
there wisdom is served
like as one planted,
seeded at a last feast,
where all can plainly see
myself ceded, the bread broken
the wine poured,
finally, the body of pride, broken,
You speak to me
of what Love is,
and what Love
has always been
now falls the soft wings of a dove
over the crimson and the white
melting petals over the pure
the shrouded body,
the body of
Vitae Lux
a white peacock sleeps upon a bed
of Cypress leaves, the stories bath it
in the Light, a ghost, unclearly seen
the ghost in You,
is the ghost of Love
inside me
now the crimson and the white
awakes in me, my mind
naked and glimmering
the Ghost
in You,
now writes me
as a word, into thee
pulls me upward
forward into You,
the 1 embracing me
I exist as Love
in Your kingdom
of divine music
I am
before
Your eyes
Your mirrored poetry
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Easter
Vitae Lux
(Love-Music-Poetry)
1.
Alfred Lord Tennyson. From “The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal” (Poem)
2.
Mealor: Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal (Four Madrigals On Rose Texts) : Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal (Music)
Cypress tree. Symbolism, all.
Categories:
cypress tree, i am, love, music,
Form:
Free verse
LaLaurie house of slaves with it's beauty of grand parlors that
glowed with hundreds of candles to light your way while guest dined and danced,
lived the Creole lady Madame LaLaurie.
It was graced with carved iron work and mahogany doors of carved flowers that
adorned the majestic home with it's small alleyway.
She was known as the most beautiful women of New Orleans with porcelain skin
and hair of fine silk, who entrusted her slave Lia to brush each night as she
listened to the waters of the Mississippi river sway.
Lia of only twelve would humbly brush each strand of locks until one night
it caught upon a knot.
With the whip in hand and in a fit of rage she chased Lia to the roof top of
it's polished ledge.
Lia being so fearful of her wrath and the striking of the whip plunged to her death
in the shadows of the dimness night.
With never a scream only the last gasp of life, her mind on a freedom she
longed and dreamed.
She's now resting among the flowers and vines beneath a Cypress Tree that
gently brushes her somber grave.
Creeping and crawling
over walls and paths of stone
broken vines spike deep
Silence weeps farewell
as blossoms sleep deep at night
tranquil Lia now blooms
Contest Sponsored by: Lin Lane ' A House in New Orleans' 1/18/2016
Placed 4th
Categories:
cypress tree, abuse, beauty, death, house,
Form:
Haibun
Author: Runping Chen
In his mother’s eyes,
The child is dragging her coat brim;
On father’s broad shoulders,
I am still weak and young.
Today, the swallows are trying a fly
While I am also about to leave home.
At the entrance to the village, the bus is moving ahead.
Mother’s tears shedding like threads fastened the child’ heels.
Exhorting me a hundred thousand times
How could she exert a full heart of worries on and on,
However far and near, just as beyond the horizon.
The wrinkles on father’s forehead
Were crowded with drastic heartbeats
And he saw the child stepping forward
The weak and puny footprints.
Perhaps walking on and on alone,
The child might understand the hardships that life trecked on.
Birds will fly high and deer will run fast.
This long journey is on my life course the first.
To rouse the young wings
So as to be firm and proud
And to say farewell to many years of shield
While I’m trying to fly, to a distant sky.
Mother, wipe off thy tears, please.
And tell father to wait for the swallows’ return;
Don’t walk back and forth at the entrance of the village
Where the cypress tree is in the direction of my homing passage.
I will stretch my wings that have gradually become browny
And perch on your life eventually.
Categories:
cypress tree, dream, home, hope, jobs,
Form:
Free verse
The laggard flow of fresh water
With scattered pads of green
Tall blades of sawgrass stretch around the bank
A lingering fog hovers
Sun is trying to sneak through with its warm rays
Lichen hanging from cypress tree branches
With a heron or two
A sea of ferns and thickets
Found everywhere
That offers a habitat to the
Seen and unseen
A path to follow as a deer strolls through
Savoring the spectacular scenery and
The smell of nature in the wetlands
Fern Garden By: Robert Butler
Sponsored By: Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Contest Name Florida Nature
Categories:
cypress tree, nature,
Form:
Free verse
I sit on this branch of the cypress tree
Engulfed in memories of gone-bye days
Placing my deserted nest in front of me
World moves on but a monument stays
I selected the safest branch of the cypress
Expertly using my beak, wings and claw
Picked stalks from plants like jasmine and roses
Using strings from the paddy’s straw
With the fragrant rose petals the bed was made
With love and care and undying desires
The impeccable decor, the light and shade
Its finishing, its beauty every bird admires
Enchanting sounds of the eggshell’s pricks
Breaking one after the other the canopies
And peeped my adorable progeny chicks
Fed them live worms to satisfy and appease
Protected them from evil eyes of lustful hawks
The quilt of my stretched feather served them when cold
Guarded them from winds and lightning's shocks
My lullabies and narration of stories untold
The nest was filled with the cry of joy
Dark nights came with the bright lamp of moon
The sun sent its shine with a message to ‘enjoy’
The butterflies danced on a ravishing tune
The juveniles were given such love and care
A day came when they took to wings to fly
With boldness and self esteem that eagles dare
Making the nest desolate and lonely under sky
My castle of love is blown and so my dreams
The apathy makes my drained out eyes to cry
O cypress trees and roses, my soul screams
My progeny to turn and say, ‘Mama Good-bye’
Categories:
cypress tree, caregiving, life, sad, cry,
Form:
Rhyme
The mist rises inches above the water
An angel of silence holds back her tears.
Cypress knees jerk
And the egret slides silently through the mist
The swamp is a sacred place.
Inches of water hold a danger deeper than the depth of life
The primordial mud is deep here
My feet sink in deeper
I lean against an ancient monolith of a water oak, which is,
Standing next to a cypress tree that is older than anything I can fathom
The wood ducks whistle deep in the canopy
And I wait for their majestic colors to flash in the morning light
I am a hunter but I have not come to kill
I am here to take what nature gives
A turtle surfaces near me to catch a breath of air
And then sinks below the brown murky water
He hunts for the dead, the vulture of the swamp
He is hunted as well; a snack for a gator
That may well be circling my feet as well
I care not for I am fearless of these creatures
I am an intruder and I am not on the menu
Carrying a weapon is only a weak means of security
For if they truly wanted me they would take me under
And introduce me to their world
However violent that introduction might be
I would never forget to remember that I am a guest here
Until then I will stand halfway in and halfway out of their world
Mystified by what the swamp as laid at my feet.
A flock of ducks circles my position looking for a place to lite
With one croak an old crow gives my position away
And the flock turns and heads further south
I curse the crow and he looks at me sardonically with one eye
And cries out --- “If needed I’ll bring a murder of crows to keep you honest, old fool. “
Categories:
cypress tree, creation,
Form:
Free verse
for my Father
My father is as noiseless as the bird,
Transfixed upon his pirouetting bob,
To angle fish his self-appointed job,
He speaks with silence. It is his every word.
Mirror to him, voiceless and unstirred,
The heron stiffens, ready to make hob
Among the flitting silver swimming mob.
Beaking his prey, he leaves the water blurred.
He rises like a spirit from the lake
to seek his nest, crowning a cypress tree,
At the utmost reach of my pursuing eyes.
Dad passed today. Contented with his take,
his creel pegged out, my father sought his quay
Eternal, at a height I can't surmise.
Categories:
cypress tree, death, father, father,
Form:
Sonnet
The City of the Lord
“12 For the nation or kingdom that will not serve you will perish;
it will be utterly ruined. 13 “The glory of Lebanon will come to you, the juniper, the fir and the cypress together, to adorn my sanctuary; and I will glorify the place for my feet. 14 The children of your oppressors will come bowing before you; all who despise you will bow down at your feet and will call you the City of the LORD, Zion of the Holy One of Israel. 15 “Although you have been forsaken and hated, with no one travelling through, I will make you the everlasting pride and the joy of all generations. 16 You will drink the milk of nations and be nursed at royal breasts. Then you will know that I, the LORD, am your Savior, your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob. ” Isa 60:12-16
Zion will be called
The City of the Lord.
Although she’s been forsaken and hated,
Her splendor, He’ll afford.
The nation or kingdom who does not serve her,
Will perish and be ruined.
Her walls will be called ‘Salvation’,
And all who dwell within her pardoned.
The glory of Lebanon;
The pine, fir and cypress tree
Will adorn and glorify,
The place of the Lord’s sanctuary.
The sons of Zion’s oppressors
Will bow down before her citizens,
As will those who despised her,
Once refusing to be her patrons.
The City of the Lord will acknowledge
Their Redeemer and Savior.
He will bring her gold and iron
And make peace her governor.
There’ll be no more violence in her land;
No more ruin of destruction.
Her borders will be sure,
And her gates called ‘Praise’ and ‘Adoration’.
In the City of the Lord,
The sun will not shine.
The Lord will be her everlasting light,
And sorrow will end for all time.
All the Lord’s people will be righteous
And possess the land forever more.
He makes the smallest a mighty nation;
Her City of the Lord, all readily adore!
© Copyright 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
Categories:
cypress tree, faith, inspirational, city,
Form:
Rhyme
"And now I drink a toast to your coffin.
May it be fashioned of lumber obtained from a hundred-year-old cypress tree
whose seed will germinate this year."
Rob Brezsny
Refrain:
And now I drink a toast to your absence of coffin.
May you become refashioned of organic fibers
gifted from a thousand-year-old cypress forest
whose vulnerable seed will regerminate yet again this year,
and every year to follow
to lead our future
through all past time
of well-rooted trees
born for regenerately crowning Earth.
Categories:
cypress tree, beauty, bereavement, destiny, health,
Form:
Parallelismus Membrorum
I want to stroll with you
along the twisting paths where the
canopy of limbs bare shade
Hands held softly
I want to sit with you
under the old cypress tree where the
limb bends a sunken seat
Hands held tenderly
I want to talk with you
of our souls melding force where the
breeze only hears our voice
Hands held confidently
I want to dance with you
in the eve of our days where the
golden years sashay by
Hands held joyfully
And so I dream…….of you
Wishfully
Prayerfully
By: Debra Squyres 3/8/2012
Categories:
cypress tree, hope, love,
Form:
Light Verse