Best Hillocks Poems
I'm named a willow tree and live in grace,
the whole of me distinctive in its shape.
My elegance well suits this lush landscape
of hillocks flung across the field I face. . .
and gentle rills meander through this place.
In spring I don a long virescent cape
comprised of many supple arms that drape
to earth and, with Eve’s shadows, interlace.
Oh, countless times Sun’s flecked my every leaf
and Sky distilled her stars as night would creep.
Young lovers, though, have fled, their time so brief.
They used to spread a cloth to eat; then sleep
beneath me in my shade. They knew no grief. . .
Not privy to their destiny, I weep.
Categories:
hillocks, natureme,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
Of the Gods own country
of this paradise
where green and blue
merge as one
in the north is a city
that encompass the beauty
where the dream lands meet
lined by kaasaraka trees
where seven tongues are spoken
and a unique lingo was woken
lined by shores and calm beaches
which meets with forts of ancient elegance
who can pass by with no notice
the mountains high and hillocks of beauty
forests green and tranquil rivers
places of worship, unique structures
renowned for coir and handloom
and for its customs varied
The people here, with a smile of warmth
welcoming with open arms
known for their variety dishes
which does prick ones tastebuds
of the sense of fashion
who can beat their passion
and their thirst for knowledge
is to be acknowledged
fame it has know from times of yore
of the arts and culture it beholds
this is the city of budding talents
feel the vibe and do relent
© Nadiya(14 May '15)
*Chosen poem of the day on 16 May 2015
Categories:
hillocks, beach, beauty, city, nature,
Form:
Free verse
While rambling like a vagabond in a seraphic poetic submersion, in a remote region, witnessed the most captivated sight ever,
a sleeping valley rippled in wild blooms, as sparkling in mystical celestial beam, in the mesas of the clouds, the Dzukou Valley,
a remote dale at the border of Nagaland and Manipur,
in the untrodden tableland of India's Northeast!
The picturesque landscape was ringing with the
once in a lifetime scene of emerald shades of hillocks
paving the way for azure mountaintops,
luminous flowers waving in the winds amongst the tall grasses!
The vale was tweeting and twirling amidst the virgin vegetations enriched with the spectacular sights of verdant forests,
exquisite flora and fauna,
serpentine streams, myriads of panoramic pink
and white wild blooms that dot
the vast caldera of the valley and its' verdant meadows,
alongside the meandering rivers of Dzukou and Japfu,
appeared as the absolute paragon of serenity and tranquility!
Surrounded by the whispering platonic hills,
with numerous colorful flying creatures,
the valley seemed as smuggled over
the dewdrops' fragrant feral fruits,
Oak and Rhododendron forests are a feast to the eyes!
Half way up and any signs of tracks disappear,
and one is just left with wheezing enigmatic bamboo thickets!
Botanists' delight, trackers' paradise, seraph's psyche,
rovers' riddle, is reclining placidly ,
the untrodden earth's lulling lullaby,
in the abode of the divine Lily's
anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
a rich biodiversity hotspots
of endemic species, the Dzoku Valley;
an uninhabited unsullied phosphorus valley
Note:
The Dzüko Valley is located at the borders of the states of Nagaland and Manipur in Northeast India. The valley is known for its extremely rich biodiversity, seasonal flowers and flora & fauna. It is situated at an altitude of 2452 m above sea level.
© Silpika Kalita
Categories:
hillocks, adventure, appreciation, beauty, earth,
Form:
Free verse
I've searched nearby hillocks and sand.
They've gone missing sooner than late:
no wildflowers to perk barren land,
gypsy flowers by garden gate.
Where are those tiny violets
that snuggled closely to the ground;
yellows that smiled to all they met,
iris-hued daisies always found?
Blossoms dipped in a sunset's peach
once caressed my garden's rock wall.
And, tangled beside, in their reach
trumpet vines, crimson-red and tall.
Drought escorted seasons' changing,
yet we missed blossoms' frantic call.
This summer passed rearranging
joy with no wildflowers at all.
August 10, 2022
Categories:
hillocks, earth, flower, garden, missing,
Form:
Quatrain
Red dawn spreads above the range of hillocks.
A soft breeze scatters the dandelion seeds around.
A soft zephyr, clean and furry, flows like a hymn,
I feel elated, happy to be far from the city’s dust.
The meadow hums, a mild cacophony of sounds.
Bees hover over wild flowers that grow profusely
Beneath the two rows of rough stone walls.
As the sun rays rise up, and petals glow in such a grace.
Larks fly copiously here and there, sometimes resting
On a dark mulberry tree, so full of black berries
A delight for the birds that love the sweet fruit.
A delight for me since I too love the sweet mulberries.
So I sit down on a smooth stone, back to the wall.
I close my eyes just happy to hear nature’s song
No other being will disturb my profound meditation.
All around the meadow, silence reigns in peace.
Categories:
hillocks, imagery, nature,
Form:
Imagism
Aspen leaves flutter like birds
as a breeze ponders the lake's surface
and I brush away a willow leaf of cold jade.
Soon there will be a face in the moon
with its familiar brow arched
over what should be cornflowers
now residing beyond the lambent braids
of feral rye and muscled hillocks.
A miracle in cerulean sprouts in distant concrete,
a bluebell behind a sheet of glass,
unaware of the secret I share with wildflowers,
nor a memory of snow where appeared
an epiphany of morning glories.
I stumbled a dandelion kiss
to be blown on one's lashes, but it disappeared
in a gust of diesel smoke, the shriek of pads
on brash steel.
The rings of felled dogwoods measure seasons
cyan skies ignore. Each spring revealed the promise
of lapis daisies, the rush of violets.
Late summer left barren spikes of amaryllis.
It's been many thaws since I awaited the shy crocus.
Posted 10/3/23
Categories:
hillocks, metaphor, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Going through its ambiance, (on) with open thoughts,
Past scenes so serene, and picturesque (in situ passed).
A house, its windows just ajar to the tactile winsome breeze
That taste of zest & adventure infused; with distilled memory’s,
And (sensed) delights unmet “as yet”.the wend of life so rich,
surrounds my mind & senses like the abundant shining light.
That upon the varied tableaux glow, before falls the lilac scented night.
Through all the turvy ways, and livelong day,
I’ll count the picket fences, as I travel or Stop to gaze.
I look out onto the pastureland that runs between the towns,
Observing rolling verdant turf, and cattle with thoughtful frowns.
The Holstein herds and Jersey cows, with Friesians ’mooing low’,
Character houses stand on hillocks; a horse & buggy moving slow.
There are tended lawns with a velvet like pile,
that have entered my awareness, these pleasant miles,
And on the horizon moving; (waits) that shimmering rippling run.
Of a blue & ribboning shoreline where pleasure necessitates fun.
There wind can like a lion roar, or call like turtle doves
With New Jersey soul superimposing the whole in the USA that I love!...
©Joe Maverick 1-6-2011Copyright)
Categories:
hillocks, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
"Fireflies and Sea Poppies"
glow up
a short life
buzzing by
lighting up the
shoreline
caves
they're heading for
silent crowded sanctuary
stick fast like glow worms
fire lit to cold walls
words on the body
of the conscious all
written thoughts
burning in soliloquay
hear the call
red sea poppies
standing scarlet
marked in high tide
do not look back
full front facing
the Ocean,
for more;
a small large life
bound to the
uncompromising
future
full front facing
still standing tall
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Gods of the sea;
Ino,
leaving warm meads
for the green, grey-green fastnesses
of the great deeps;
and Palemon,
bright seeker of sea-shaft,
hear me.
Let all whom the sea loves,
come to its altar front,
and I
who can offer no other sacrifice to thee
bring this.
Broken by great waves,
the wavelets flung it here,
this sea-gliding creature,
this strange creature like a weed,
covered with salt foam,
torn from the hillocks of rock.
I, Hermonax,
caster of nets,
risking chance,
plying the sea craft,
came on it.
Thus to sea god,
gift of sea wrack;
I, Hermonax, offer it
to thee, Ino,
and to Palemon."
"Hermonax", H.D.
Categories:
hillocks, muse,
Form:
Narrative
Let’s dress up in green! It’s a cinch!
You don’t have to cover each inch.
We’ll dance on green hillocks
among all the shamrocks!
Come on or I’m going to pinch!
3-7-21
Categories:
hillocks, funny, humor, ireland,
Form:
Limerick
An elegant black movement
A sparkle from within
Embroidery of golden light
Knitting magic on the skin
Raising the gleaming axe
Aiming at the dry branch
The black diamond in pursuit
Of her daily livelihood
Many a male tourist in the hills
Seeks to have the sparkling diamond
Like a necklace in their body
Whisperings from the black melody
At any such amorous approach
Her hands would put up the glittering axe
Twinkled the lovely cloud-white teeth
Laughter around the hillocks beneath
Two hillocks of beauty and grandeur
Two peaks in blue ecstasy
Two radiant black diamonds
Two windswept trees of almonds
Returning home the black beauty
Sits under the black berry tree
Holds the flute of his companion
While playing it they ride a stallion
Stallions and mountains all around
Some people with orange passion
Love to stay in sunny pursuit
Of the chiseled black diamond
____________________________________
August 6, 2016
Categories:
hillocks, adventure, allegory, beauty, courage,
Form:
Free verse
No dear
Make the date for the tea
Friday at three
For the moon will be
At the windows
At the wee hours
And it will be the full moons
We will pick up as much as we choose
With the scarlet spoon
Monday the sun is hot
No room to look at the blooms
Right and left a lot of the knots
No freedom to consume
The aroma of the kettle and teapot
And ample warmth
Fruitless will be the perfume
So hungrily sought
Make it on Friday, dear
I will have the bouquet
Wet with the dew
Under the shade of the brown cashew
Waiting Haikus
Under the moons
The globes of love
We will bring it down from above
Blend it with the doors to the stories
Of the blue breeze and white cheese
This Friday way
We two
The unbuttoned blue
Tuesdays we stay too much buttoned
Questioning and questioned
The ears of rice and wheat flattened
All the almonds dampened
No point to meet
With all the oceans discreet
Nice will be the bay
No bridle on Friday
We will make the crochet
As the full moons sway
Opening the dizzy doorway
To the interplay
Into the next day too
The lovely lingering blue
No other work to attend to
No socks no shoe
All brakes broken
In the Garden of Eden
Both Wednesday and Thursday
Too much to pay and repay
So busy with our purse
It is a rank commerce
No eyes to see the dove
Let alone the circle of love
That will shine far above
Beyond our reach
Far off from the beach
No stories to stitch together
Just the toxic work
The shoulder into the jerk
No time
My pen and your rhyme
Won’t chime
The Friday will come and open
The gates of the jasmine garden
No concern for the absolute tick tock
In the mirror the exposed peacock
Fulfillment of the golden wildfire
The hillocks loving the playing lyre
The next day is a holiday too
Followed by the Sunday hue
Here is a time of planting the tree
In the festival of the artery
On the happy Friday in the jasmine garden
The day of moons and green lemons
No full-stop
Just comma and colon
For the hundreds of flying herons
With the pink crayon
______________________________________
February 26, 2018
Friday feeling - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Categories:
hillocks, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Eighteen
Even as the lower rubbed its dazed eyes over Her hillocks
The light-foot Lass of Lahore made her way past the boating docks
Past the Marie’s dank reedy banks over Her heaving breast
Tip-toeing over the complaining boards of Her nose-bridge locks
Hugging a bottle labeled “OMAR” where Her bust cut an arc -
A left-behind lame garden warbler tweeted its dirge dark
While the doe-eyed Lass tilted the bottle at the water’s edge -
Her own secret message to save the Sufi Khayyam from wreck:
“Oh! Illustrious Beacon of the Saljuk Empire!
Pray! Let me so much as I might deign to sing sans lyre!
The WORD is out: Your Eminence’s proscribed by penal mettle:
The Republic’s Procureur Général wants you in pyre!”
“Your humble sister begs your esteemed bardic indulgence:
Two fitful summers gone past we did cross each other’s presence
Me a mere slip of a girl from yon Ghaznavid Empire
Heard the clamorous reed warbler’s Himalayan penance!”
“This bottle with the missive I know the Lady of the Lake
Will to you waft: tidings dire as to keep me awake
Through bitterly biting lonesome nights you stumble and rove:
Take heed! POLICE cycle-brigades have tripled round the lake!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
hillocks, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Up but Down…part-5
“Poor place”, the spectral humming of the winds
Seems to tell, “the hills too would have to lose
Their birthright just like everyone of us.
On the way upward, somebody points
To a pitiful mile or so and tells
‘These are virgin forests left as they are’
But whereas on one side, rubber trees ooze
Sap through cuts where thick forests once were which
Bore not wounds but fruits and blooms in the past.
It’s only a question of time before
The virgins would bare themselves in sheer
Helplessness at man’s inhumanity.
The power station is off. More often than not.
With no power for itself to run
The power of water. Not a drop of it.
How imperceptibly we turn powerless
In our greed. To extract, to snatch, to steal.
From my place can I see a reservoir
Built by a far-sighted king of the past.
Yes, a grand pool of water it once was
Here can you now see miles and miles of sand
Dotted with puddles amidst bald hillocks.
A nuclear powe r station is being built
A little farther away. They have laid
Pipes to clear off even these puddles
To the project site. The signs of death and decay
Amidst the languishing signs of life
Is getting the stamp of authority.
And this region can now hope, sordidly
Hopelessly. To go through experiences
Which happen but once in a life time
Which will turn it to a land of thirst
Radioactive waste and wasted limbs.
We returned. Yes, a month ago. Not from
A hill of hope but one foreboding doom
Fast and noticeably. Must be changing
Fast. So when next time when we come looking out
If I too could gain something in my quest
For wealth, power and pelf, what will be left will
Be some fire-licked hills plus all their ills.
Categories:
hillocks, nature, power, time,
Form:
Narrative
Hitherto a sleepy way-lost village,
Shall now enter history’s fresh new sheet,
Vain may turn lessons of its farm college,
That would wonder how men should the greens treat.
Poor greens to greed shall now the tithe pay,
Life alive to dead graveyard shall yield ground,
Grey iron and concrete shall the earth pound,
Pylons, pillars stand where trees smile today.
Old hillocks and heavenly shallow lakes
Shall get buried deep under greed’s duress,
Standing denuded shorn of born-with dress,
If progress all its priority takes.
As far beyond as tired sight might endure,
We shall see trails of plied and potent wire
In hope birds would avoid this deadly mire,
The Null Lake may not retain her old lure.
The village of refreshing lush green look
Shall soon wear an over-sized greyish coat
As an industrial township of some note,
O with a book-marked page in history book.
And yet, a village long frozen in time,
And orphaned now of its springtime dreams,
Her bounty of beauteous trees, it seems
Oh shall pay price of progress to us prime.
Should man lose on growth highways on the run?
He knows of no ventures without a price,
There’s no virtue today without grey vice,
Let’s still one day hope to such crossroads turn.
______________________________________________________
Industrialisation and technological progress and its impact on the country-side form the theme of this poem. Yet, helpless, it displays an ambivalent attitude: All progress demands its price that alas has to be paid—yet, a village frozen in time… shall show signs of some future. The signs of time are clear, yet can we have progress that demands no such stiff price?
______________________________________________________
Images | 12.10.08 |
Categories:
hillocks, change,
Form:
Narrative
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Three
Is it true the sun dared cock its eye over the hillocks
Nor did it with affront sink into raging Atlantic docks
Such the glare of armoured headlights singeing the mist-crowned mosque
Though the assembled hosts ogled the Furies with hidden locks
The Faithful knelt with heads humbled down facing best the mihrab
Be it on sidewalks thoroughfares parking lots or slab
Calling out in strength: “Allah! Le Clément et Le Miséricordieux!”
Hundreds of thousands of hungry voices rose in one gift of gab
Faced down by Darling Dears Robo-Cops looked lively about them
When outstepped prayer-full worshippers in composed phlegm –
From out the Chief’s official car rushed the dazed Commandant:
“Tarry yet, Gentle Folk, bid His Holiness to our errand come!”
The Senior Mosque Administrator decked in robes and headgear
Spake out in measured tones grave and strict amid silence dear:
“The Prophet’s Servant hath just now gained his hard-earned quarters
Whence at this very hour breaks the fast with sacred bread pure!”
Bison Futé traffic reporters echoed “panic stations” in tears
Safe for one route leading from Pyrenées to tell-tale Poitiers
Retreat was no longer feasible: bylanes to broadways
Lay clogged with shiny metal and armour-plated zigzag gears.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
hillocks, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat