Best Fern Poems
Beneath the fury of sun
Wades a wobbly nun
Stomping on thorns
Her soul burnt and torn
Scars on her skin
Carried wounds engraved
Trust, her sin
So were snakes she once craved
She sucked and spitted
Bouts of venom from her blood
Tainted by flood
Of emotions she once knitted
Silence crept loud
In the woods still stern
Moon upturns
Summoning weeping clouds
Tears unfolden
The woven maze
Outside the haze,
Lies a fern pretty golden
Threads, now vines
Adored her bruises
Illusion's penchant to divine's
Were flood sailed cruises
Time passed by,
Venom decays
Has been watching the sky
The fern now sways
The I.C.E. Charades
Fern refuses to thaw Minnesota's ICEy glades
While three million pages expunge during harsh raids
Leering predatory smiles
at redacted Epstein files
Evidence held, elite absolved, absurd charades!
Although its reviews mixed and complementary
It was more a confusing than tenet documentary
Immigrant Melania
shipped back to Slovenia?
Away from the creepster Trump penitentiary
In the corner of the room, a memory grows,
in the reach of a fern that the family knows.
It started in 1964, ancient and vast,
a living connection to a love built to last.
I think of Granny Mae, gentle and still,
with a softness of spirit and a quiet will.
The way she would hum or sing under her breath,
a melody moving through life and through death.
A song as light as a frond in the air,
grown from the room that Granny Mae used to share.
It traveled from her, a gift given in grace,
to find, through the years, its own rightful place.
From your parents, Lorna and Peter, then passed down to you,
the soil is ancient, but the spirit is new.
It’s as full as the first one, vibrant and deep,
holding the secrets that the generations keep.
Though the fronds have a journey still left to go,
they thrive in the light of the love that you show.
And when your mom looks on,
Bronwyn, she sees more than a vine.
She sees a quiet life, woven and fine.
For in every new leaf and each green, curling tress,
Lives Granny Mae’s song and her soft tenderness.
Bronwyn, as you brush a hand against the green,
you’re touching a world that came long before you’d been.
It’s more than a plant. It’s a heartbeat, a hum,
a soft, living song of where you’ve come from.
In the way that you tend it, so steady and true,
the best of them all is now blooming in you.
flowers and sharp blades
by a blue, breeze rippled lake
reflecting sunlight
Fern and her twin sit beside the small creek
In quietness they wait under the shade trees
At the base of the woodsy, rocky, steep peaks
The wet bubbles tickle, Fern sways with the breeze
A cooler place even in the heat of summer
Where they flourish in stability
How Fern longs to be an uprooted number
No longer living in tranquility
They're rumors floating on the stream this day
Of life in the city after sunset
Heterogeneous living with play
A life so different from the outset
Fern is tied, rooted, and bound to the land
One hope is to release youth to life grand
Finis'
A young lady from Lucerne,
Had a rather lovely green fern,
But when she went on holiday
It lacked regular water spray
And developed a case of sunburn.
purple fern spirals
like fingers beckoning me...
further down the path
Dragontails never ask why
Spiky fronds so scaly
Oh My – Oh My
Lurking shady and shaly
In the dark unfurls
Spiky fronds so scaly
Swirly ferns and curls
Deep greenish and purplish
In the dark unfurls
Close your eyes to make a wish
Wild whirls ever so rare
Deep greenish and purplish
Without a whisper or a care
Bizarre long and curly avails
Wild whirls ever so rare
Whimsically curtails
Dragontails never ask why
Dreamy magical dragon tales
Oh My – Oh My
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on May 4, 2018 for DANDELIONS TIGER LILIES AND BEARBERRIES OH MY CONTEST sponsored by MAUREEN MCGREAVY - RANKED 6TH
In the evergreen lush portrait of fern garden,
I’ll rest amongst twilight’s easy hour of the restful,
Let the shadows of troubled world thus pass me by,
For I’ve found my Eden of paradise lost.
Glen shall I, dreams of sincerity, tranquility and
Wealth of enlightenment beyond measure, for
Here truly I’m free, an unbound spirit of natural
Beauty.
Listen to the song bird of the unchained melody,
Singing so effortlessly, I’m a listening whisper
Clinging to its message of peace and harmony.
Behold at night’s approach, as I watch the golden
Sunset burst against the horizon wild, no palettes
Canvas could match its untamed brilliance,
I’m left in awes amazement.
No brush stroke could capture this picture
Perfect vision before my beguiling eyes,
I’m lost within its natural raw force of the
Elemental coloring of the elegance, here in
The fern Garden.
02-14-2015
THE FERN GARDEN
Just Another Fern
(A confession…)
Love at first sight this must be,
Such beauty and grace I live to see.
Portrait of perfection in the spring air as you dance,
My precious daffodil, spare me a glance.
I peeked, I stared, I witnessed, I died,
By the sight of a foe longing to be at your side.
Jealousy whispered, its icy breath I felt,
Packed with love and courage, to your highness I knelt.
You answered my prayer, even said you were pleased,
But why do I feel that your happiness I seized?
It struck me like thunder, your coldness revealed,
You’re in love, but not with me, an ugly truth unconcealed.
I dreamt, I saw, I tried, I failed,
Disappointed and hurt, but love never paled.
I would rather go blind, I would hold on ‘til I dry,
I would keep on hoping, I would try and try.
To retreat and surrender, I will never learn.
I'm just another lover, just another fern.
Green feathered leaf fern
Many spores there are upon
Next year ferns galore
Presumably ovid,
with qualm,
wit, and wisdom,
as to the smallest orb,
give way to our
very own,
Christendom.
As horn-mad, to
fetch me about,
the Kings, they play
mighty,
their Queens,
a jester and pout.
Though ancient
as jointure, the merry
plenty they must,
with the lyric
of masterful lyre,
a temptation
of lust.
The beauty of
maidens,
the fullness
of their breasts,
made ever-virtuous.
As the sun sets,
vertigo,
the nestles
of primrose and cressets,
giving way to the lecherous.
Oh. . . the love,
of Jesus,
our very own,
the saintliness of Magdalene,
the diadems of
the Goddess throne.
Amidst a canonized
hearsed, our beloved
Sun, rightfully lets.
The essence and infinity
of Magdalene, again
a Nemean regrets.
As the green fonds
of the winter fern
shed its nurturing essence.
Waves of nostalgia blazened
by the mid-December
days ripening afternoon.
The snow covered pines,
the aroma of fresh coffee,
the feigned ecstasies
of the struggling artists
made fragile,
and at no attempt.
Piercing thoughts of verse,
no love made without quarrel.
The day began as it always does
in December,
amidst melancholy and sorrow.
fine new fernery
two forgotten dahlias
innocently bud
No greater shadow than ferns teeth
Sheltering the infant saplings underneath,
The same soil where strangling vines sleep
What the forest grows, also reaps
A fountain of fronds
gushes like fish skeletons
in their jade mischief