Best Hillsides Poems
What's not to love about a summer day?
Kissed by the sun, the warmth of its embrace
To feel the cleanse from sweat at work and play
While honeysuckle breezes cool my face
With hillsides blanketed in purple vetch
Magenta morning glories and light blues
Imagine all the butterflies they fetch
A scene to romance any poet's muse
But when it gets too hot, I seek the shade
Barefoot in clover 'neath tall sycamores
Or take a watermelon down to wade
A spring fed creek, to cool, while I explore
That evening, in the swing, I watch fireflies
Then pray I wake to see one more sunrise
May 9 - 2018
Daniel Turner
Rows of heavy snow flocked pines
In varied heights stretch to touch
White cloud dappled azure skies.
Their blue-gray shadows cast across
Pristine snow and swift river's flow.
Steep hillsides lure camera lenses
With picturesque clear alpine air,
Sharing serene senses with dawn.
Shimmering bright in solar light,
Powdered snow in angelic glow
Captures diamond crystal auras
Reflected off the drifted mounds.
Rounded river rocks dressed with
Snow covered marshmallow tops
Greet the beauty of the celestial sun,
In divine display of this blessed day.
©Connie Marcum Wong
I kissed July's hot tangerine lips
swam in cool aquamarine eyes
basked in blond and honey rays
dreamed in mango pomegranate sunsets
of lime hillsides and marmalade roses
Years of sweet citrus passed in golden hours
One day I woke
to find translucent eyes
in burnt sienna
as trees wept leaves
in burgundy and olive
Soon the eyes
were frozen in powder
Ashen shadows blew
across barren groves
of spindled spruce
and howled
with December's lonely moon
But from my fire lit window
I hold fast to memories
of daffodils and oranges
mingled with the burn
of lemon tears
7/16/17
I meander through verdant valley
where meadows collide in windswept jade,
hillsides bathe in summer sunshine
and oceans of clouds, commit to shade.
Moorland sheep laze in woolly clusters
creating footpaths upon the hill,
busy hedgerow a rural city
scar of an era, is town head mill.
Vibrant coppice alive with creatures
leafy towers caress morning mist,
sunlight shines on distant window
across the valley, a sapphire twist.
Crag and beacon rise majestic
standing stone a monument to thrall,
sculptured by marauding seasons
an ancient culture’s, rocky stall.
Yet to chance upon misty patterns
softly sketched upon the hill,
I will savour these happy moments
awakening to, a distant trill.
Wharfedale, Yorkshire England
© Harry J Horsman 2001
I love your heathered highlands,
steep cliffs and rugged islands,
hedges and gardens under
rainclouds of grey.
Old steeples rise above
those small rural towns I love;
your hillsides of sunny yellow,
rolled bales of hay.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
O, highland games of yore
with racers and tug-of-war,
the cabers are tossed asunder
by mighty men.
I love your farmlands rustic,
mountains and lochs majestic,
as kilts of many tartans
hike through the glen.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
Castles with ancient hist'ry,
Celt runes of ancient myst'ry,
we sing an "Auld Lang Syne"
and toast Robbie Burns.
Clans clad in plaid will whistle
fondly of Lion and Thistle,
dressing with tartan kilts
their wee bonnie bairns.
Hands high, your dancers dance -
crossed swords, I'm in a trance,
pipes heard for miles
with that old familiar blare.
St. Andrews' cross - the flag is
don't ask what's in the haggis!
Just eat your shortbread
and be glad you were there.
//These reflect some of my favorite memories from the 6 months I lived in Scotland, in 1990. I miss her dearly and hope I may be able to return some day. These words may be sung to "Scotland the Brave", a beloved anthem of Scottish national pride. You can hear it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzK2PWVQYX0
The tempo of this recording is much faster than I prefer, but I include it here in case you have never had a chance to hear this wonderful patriotic song. //
Written 24 Mar 2021
~
Her love took me to a place,
the likes of which I have never seen
I was lost in the wonder that greeted me
along a pathway of stained glass tiger lilies
and hummingbirds singing in harmony
Where the beauty of the sunrise
was painted in watercolor brushstrokes
upon cerulean skies drifting beyond a
lazy horizon beckoning my eyes
in frilly fonts and promised smiles
I found castles carved of sweet dark chocolate
sitting atop lavender laced hillsides
overlooking evergreen forests
of butterflies and ladybugs
frolicking amidst feathery branches
When there before me floated
a heart shaped dream, crimson red
in satin wishes where we both would live
beside a flowing stream reflecting
every affection and desire we held
Yes, her love took me to this place,
lifting me from a darkness where moons hid
and stars cried beyond ashen clouds,
where happiness was a way of life
and forever a welcomed ending
~
Not Ready Yet
Give me just one more day of Christmas jubilee
Not ready to let go of Christmas, yet
Or stop gathering flecks of stardust
Scattered from the Heavens
Still reveling in the sweet aroma of frankincense
Or bovine straw
Lingering on evening's breath
To walk by candles in the window
Enchanted by twinkling lights of welcome.
My heart pitches a tent
On hillsides among olive trees
Craning it's neck to hear newborn angelic carols
And longs to cradle the pure cry of Love
Again and again
Infinite Love I can hold and understand.
Stay one more night, sweet season of hope,
Beside me
Not letting the lights twinkling with wicks of joy,
Festooning trees and doorways,
Dim with memory
Or exchange red and green for blue and ice
On starless nights.
Not ready to eat
The last crumbs of Christmas manna
Or leave the firesides of desert travelers
Stargazing.
Just one more night precious holiday
And then you can slip away
To walk from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.
Hillsides are aflame with orange, yellow, and red
Mother Nature has painted an exquisite landscape
During this cool season, I most resoundingly dread
Hillsides are aflame with orange, yellow, and red,
The neighbors are going to see the colors, they said.
They are getting away for their autumn escape,
Hillsides are aflame with orange, yellow, and red
Mother Nature has painted an exquisite landscape.
Written October 19, 2022
#61 on Best New Poems List
Poetry Soup
December 6, 2022
Her world is as radiant as the sun,
golden as dandelions that cover
the fields and hillsides in springtime,
or the sunny faced jonquils and daffodils
that turn winter white to yellow bright.
Her touch lingers in pools of golden carp,
in yellow bananas peeping out from
verdant large leaves in peaceful plantations,
and in succulent golden ripe pineapples.
Her beauty is embraced by the yellow feathered
warbler and canary who sing joyful tunes.
She resides in the golden fingers of
light that spill through clouds, and in amber
leaves that slowly morph to red in fall when
she colors chrysanthemums and marigolds.
Earth's gold veins call out her nurturing name.
She is a divine dame...she is Mother Nature!
March 26, 2016 (rev.)
© Connie Marcum Wong
Fall's colorful leaves are most appealing to me,
Gilding the hillsides with gold, touching every tree.
Hay rides on a wagon bed add to Halloween fun,
Impossible not to enjoy the painted setting sun.
Jack O' Lanterns carved from pumpkins collected.
Kinships are kindled by new friendships connected.
Leaves keep drifting down in a soft familiar way.
Memories flood back in sweet years of yesterday.
Neighbors sipping cider with the affection of friends
Offering to help each other before the season ends.
Prayers said together keep those tornadoes at bay
Quelling any fears that severe weather storms will stay.
Rain adds a heavenly petrichor refreshment to the fall
Sustaining earth to give rebirth, reviving one and all.
Trees greet autumn sun as they kiss leaves goodbye
Until cold north winds usher snowflakes from the sky.
Veils of frost begin to turn the landscape snowy white.
Winter waves her magic wand bringing dazzling delight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
9-5-16
Alphabet Soup Poetry Contest
Sponsor Kim Merryman
My wife and I share a passion for travelling, the world we love to see
We travelled through France and Switzerland and we're now in Italy
Day one was a trip in a cable car to the summit of Mount Baldo
The views from the top were amazing of Lake Garda down below.
Day two we visited Verona, a city of great architectural beauty
And it's where Shakespeare was inspired by Juliets famous balcony
We saw great works of art showing statues, of Roman mythology
Churches now outnumber them after their conversion to Christianity.
Day three we went on a speed boat trip on the beautiful Lake Garda
Then had a walk around the town of Sirmoine, and ate some tasty pizza
Of course the day would not be complete without tasting some gelato
Every flavour you can think of, it's ice cream in case you didn't know.
On the fourth day we went to Venice and we were pleasantly surprised
St Marks Square, Rialto Bridge, Doges Palace and The Bridge of Sighs
Lots of narrow passageways that leads to many a little square
Words alone can't convey its appeal you really have to be there.
On the fifth and last day a scenic trip up the Dolomite mountains
We saw scenic alpine images and drove through villages with fountains
Swiss style chalets dotted the hillsides that added to its great charm
Scenes of utmost tranquillity that gives you a feeling of inner calm.
Day six and its time to head back home, and we travelled through the night
Through Switzerland then Calais in France, to catch the ferry at first light
Then just two more coaches that will take us nearer to our home
My wife is looking at brochures for next year, to see where else we can roam.
Written on 9th October 2022.
( Mum pictured in her Welsh costume on St David's Day)
I wrote these words to fit the well known Welsh song melody 'Calon Lan' as in the audio above.
Wales to me, through childhood vision
calls to mind a country home,
full of welcome and adventure
where I once would freely roam.
Land of song and rolling hillsides
rugged coasts and golden sand,
where a rich,poetic language
kindles pride throughout the land.
I can hear the voices singing
in the mountains and the dales,
soulful harps are gently playing
calling me back home to Wales.
Land of song and rolling hillsides
rugged coasts and golden sand,
where a rich,poetic language
kindles pride throughout the land.
There my Mother's smile awaits me
and emotions soon revive
of the people we have cherished
whose fond memories survive.
Land of song and rolling hillsides
rugged coasts and golden sand,
where a rich,poetic language
kindles pride throughout the land.
17.06.20
Wales Poetry Contest sponsored by Julia Ward
'Battle of most acclaimed 2020 POEMS' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Over the hillsides, together we burn space and time....galloping with the wind...
Clouds take me by the hand, and wind takes you by the mane
Nothing outside our world can rival this contentment
I can close my eyes, and trust that you will keep me safe
O' beautiful creature that you are, your every movement breeds a fever
Your every stride, takes me onto the precipice of happiness
We are runaway dreamers, in the moment of some happy memory
I hear the infinite past at the heels of your enchanted hoof
Which ancestor first felt this same connection?
At one with nature, at one with beast....O' beautiful creature that you are
In the deep evening light of the early winter storm
We are in a crystal white garden,
just a trace of a moon between the clouds
The chill of the snowflakes falling,
as the wind is the force behind us
while sight of your warm breath streaming
is white in the moonlight's beam
A trail left behind in our intimate world....
Such a moment is proof....like an ancient legend
That we have passed this way
Snow is still falling, but nothing can erase that we have been here
We are the messengers...together we will be witness to the world
That the hearts of species as wide as the universe
Wind beneath our souls as one
Can beat as one....drawn together, like poetic and timeless music
I am part of you....and you are part of me
And that both hearts can feel the same remorse when day is done
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Sun declines, beneath the emerald rim
And I'll be headin' home...
to a cottage in the moor lands
with a fire to warm me' bones
The kettle of beans are boilin'
and some coals will bake me scones
I will rest my weary shoulders
And be glad for what I've seen
I've witnessed bracken turn so reddin'
like a wildfire on the mountain
And wee nanny goats on hillsides,
too many now, for countin'
Heather waves in summer breezes...
Granite stones, and bogs of grass,
water gleams like shining glass
and harshness blows for but a reason
to turn around the seasons
Thar' be wavin' sails upon the blue
And leafy shamrocks on the green
Where rugged shores, and seagulls cry,
and pink skies capture me
Friendly folks be bearin' ruddy cheeks,
There's a colleen, fair thee lass
Who will tip our mug at village pub,
And we'll make a toast to Patrick's kin
and order one more glass
Let me always sink me' Irish eyes
upon the rugged land
Upon the skies, upon the streams,
where druid legends live
Upon the grand home of the clan,
where many roots began
Where the ole' pale moon at nightfall,
scatters me memories all a'glowing
Of fair thee rose of old Tralee,
over garden trellis growin'
Charming valleys, greener hillsides,
fill thee heart of all 'me clan
Pick ye' a shamrock.... look for gold,
shake yer' hands with leprechauns
Kiss a Blarney stone in sweet Killarny,
come to all that's home to me
Where names of O'Reily, or McDougal sprung
and the color green began
________________________________________________
Many are the miles you snake along the hillsides, through the valleys,
conforming to the highways, partitioning pasture from pasture
neighbour from neighbour, friend from foe, son from father.
a face unperturbed…
one inhaling scenic grace
spring chattering birth
Sanctuary to winter flock shelter for the beast,
many characteristics embraced within your tenacity,
while countless shapes formulate your strength,
crag face monument a testament to this place, stone the essence.
breaking dawn’s sunrise …
golden threads breaking the mist
surfing nether clouds
Many years you’ve stood against sweeping rain, hoarfrost nights,
the heat of summer, the inane rambler that mounts your very strength
rests wearily for a while, never a thought for whom created
you, from out of the very ground you now preside over.
there are no concepts…
only seasons to embrace
and generations
© Harry J Horsman 2022