Best Lichens Poems
I pass the graveyard deep in snow.
One woman at a headstone weeps
all dressed in black like winter crows
as memories in warmth she keeps.
While icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
while icicles from boughs hang low.
On granite crags do snowflakes heap
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps.
As past the iron fence I go
her mortal love in silence sleeps
where frost on trees like lichens grow.
My heart into my throat now leaps.
I pass the graveyard deep in snow;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
all dressed in black like winter crows.
Past the graveyard deep in snow
where icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps
as memories in warmth she keeps,
all dressed in black like winter crows.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
past the graveyard.
As by the iron fence I go
the granite gapes in pewter rows.
My heart into my throat now leaps;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
in frozen ground while snowflakes blow
past the graveyard.
11/14/17
This is a rewrite of my Terzanelle, "I Pass the Graveyard".
A constant vein of nature’s blood cascading rock and sand,
Flushing grains of dislodged mud. The beat in a mountain band,
Currawongs sing melody. Black Cockies rasping call;
The whispering breeze that shakes the trees, near a waterfall.
Sassafras and twisted ti-tree display a rippling shadow,
Mosses mingling with lichens where the sunlight doesn't show,
Blackwood and Lilly Pilly trunks, struggling for the light,
Lost is the canopy, when mist rolls in a billowed eerie white.
Where there's always a river through a valley in the high country,
There's always something there that takes my breath away from me
along the banks by the shimmer, pristine life is shrouding me,
Walking this river, through a valley in the high country.
The flit is there, sharp eyes note, in camouflage a glistening eye,
A Ground Thrush as still as stone watching me go walking by,
The rustle of the leaves are gentle, attracts a fleeting glance
of a disappearing rodent. Instinct breeds no games of chance.
The reason I am walking here, with times eternal strain,
I find no battle with my mind. Up here the world lives sane,
Life and death hold constant beauty, complimenting every stage.
Slow is change that's left alone, even when the waters rage.
Where there's always a river through a valley in the high country,
There's always something there that takes my breath away from me
along the banks by the shimmer, pristine life is shrouding me,
Walking this river, through a valley in the high country.
Shish, don’t wake the dead!
The sculpted angel holds
Her finger to her lips and
Whispers..............
Lichens on her limbs attest
To the time she has spent
Tender breathing silence.
About the gravestone
Graver still, little trinkets
Rest; gifts that stay
Tranquil .
The silent scene is set
But in my mind I hear
The sods of earth upturned
By the diggers spade.
I hear the sculptors
Chisel chip marble
Away to reveal the
Angel’s skin .
I hear taught ropes
Slide beneath the casket and
I hear the sobs of loved
Ones in the breeze.
.........................Shish!
This oak tree and me, we’re made of the same stuff.. Carl Sagan
why lean on my
unmoving breast?
breathe my rest...
climb my milieu...
hull me out
an adventure.
soar amidst
the forest of my branches.
i’ve squirmed as you shimmy up
and scream to be rescued.
i’ve dreaded the hearted-blade
score and singe in my bark.
you’ve left your bloody initials,
therefore, you’ve enslaved
yourSELF TO ME
in thorns and lichens.
i wonder when you kiss
off this puppy love
will you restore my health
or leave the scars of the past?
i wait eternally for your return
with roots sopping tears of regret.
perhaps your progeny approaches -
the wind whispers such vespers to me.
i ache ancient rings of arthritis...
crows nibble nebulously i fear...
in the end’s gratitude for sultry sun
and merciful cups of rain.
goodbye my dear. . .
the lightning strikes
12/28/2019
I am a tree poetry contest
Sponsor:
Delilah Ventura
It is the longest night.
We tread gently through the wood,
Feather moss and beech leaves
Amber soft under foot
Dampen and muffle the rustle of our winter coats.
There's a snap of the twig
And a flutter of woodpigeons lift,
As if applauding the return of the sun.
We watched them fly
Through the crackled glaze of bare branches -
“As our lanterns burn bright,
Our feet seek safe ground.”
We bow low to the Holly,
King of the winter,
Bejewelled with berries and crowned in thorns,
Hosting a chiming of wrens,
Who herald our journeying
In bursts of sing-song -
“Fa-la-la-la-la!”
Onward through the valley
We step into the footprints of darklings,
Deer, fox and badger.
Cross pilgrim paths where flints glint,
As if iridescent tiny tombstones
For the butterflies and dragonflies of summers long passed.
“Our lanterns shine bright,
Our feet find safe ground,
We walk without fear
In the dark all around.”
At the heart of the wood
We gather near the great oak,
And together we light a fire.
Watch as ribbons of flame
Caught from flashes of sparks,
Illuminate our faces in the cinder glow of midwinter.
Alongside us, pixie-cup lichens wassail a promise of spring
An oath as unbreakable as our human cups of plastic and tin.
With mulled apples, honeyed and spiced
We welcome light in.
Feast upon pastries of fruits in a marzipan of delights.
Feeling blessed with good cheer,
We start the new year.
Driving home in the car,
From the road I see stars of wonder.
I see trees a-glisten with tinsel.
Windows lit golden under twinkling eaves.
I am sure I can hear, and the wind whispers, “listen”
As I opened the door,
An echo once more, held soft in the still of night –
“May your light shine bright,
May your feet walk safe ground,
May you seek without fear,
May you like what you found.
Stay near to each other,
Offer comfort and cheer,
Come back to the woods,
Each solstice, each year.”
I was just drifting off,
A quiet snooze on the bench
Under the tree,
When I heard:
"I hereby declare this meeting open!
The frosts have given way,
The hush of winter loosens,
Spring has stepped up for Lady Day."
A busy chatter of squirrels start to gather
For the branch meeting.
Trees unfurling into bud
Yield a promise of nest eggs
Soon to pay dividends
For the nimble and resourceful
Tenants of the Woodland Guild.
There's a quiver of quills of feathery tails
As the squirrels brush up on stocks and shares -
Who's invested the what-s and the where-s?
Secret maps drawn in ledgers of lichens.
Arboreal advice given,
"We must maintain balance,
Reduce risk, but stay agile."
The squirrels of this midland bank listen,
They bustle and bristle.
Ears pricked, steady their nerve
Ready to go,
"Remember, time is your friend,
Impulse, your foe!"
Each squirrel a proud custodian
Of assets, ground hidden,
Hedgefunds.
A treasury of nuts and seed
Saved through thrift
In times of need,
Dug deep in the vaults of the earth.
Beech, pine, hazel and oak.
"We sit in these trees of plenty
Because of what squirrel folk planted before."
Then, with a scamper and flicker of tails,
They were gone.
Some days are almost crystalline in the memory: they shine like diamonds in the blue perspective of the distant past.
winter wind
a broken branch
lit by gray-green lichens
New Year's day,1981, was like that. I spent the day with my future wife, Joyce, wandering around the Eno River in the Piedmont of North Carolina. The weather was perfect for January in the South— clear with a pale, yellow sun and temperatures in the mid-50s. Chilly but pleasant.
We explored the oak and maple forests bordering the river, admiring its stark, wintry beauty, and happy with each others' middle-aged company. We pointed out birds' nests and the occasional larger, leafy squirrel's homes in the bare boughs. Always, the river was a strong background presence, winding through stone outcroppings and sandy shores.
winter evening
at home
with stars
First published in Contemporary Haibun Online
A forest behind a glass
earth and green shades
blended to be artfully pleasing
Moss, lichens, and a twig
composed with a splash of color
The Roosevelt Elk
The Roosevelt Elk
A beautiful, majestic creature, that walks with head up high with pride that stands as tall as a horse, with a rack of antlers with many points that looks like a crown on top of his head depending on how old he is, that he uses as a weapon against his foe , which are shed each year
Even though he has a heavy scent of musk he can pick up a scent carried hundreds of yards away if the wind is blowing his direction
His coat is thick and soft, with longer hair on the chest and shoulders of sable color, with a light brown body, and a cream-colored rump and no tail, their coat make it a habitat for fleas, because his coat is thick and soft it enables him to sneak through a thicket when he hears your nylon or denim clothes rake against a bush
Feeding on grasses, plants, leaves, bark, and including highbush cranberry, elderberry, devil's club blueberries, mushrooms, lichens, and salmonberries
He engages in ritualized mating behaviors during the rutting season to have his own Harem, that involves in posturing, urinating, tossing turf and fighting with his antlers, and bugling, a loud series of vocalizations which establishes dominance over other males and attracts females
A beautiful, majestic creature, that walks with head up high with pride that lives in the wide-open land with tall grass, under the canopy of Douglas –fir, cedar, and old growth stands and beautiful wild flowering azaleas
By Eve Roper 10/9/2014
We love to make lists,
To describe, name, number.
How can it have value,
If not on my list.
As logger I stand
Before the green forest,
The numbered trees
Are ones to cut.
The forest cut down
Is only to me
Bigger box to live in,
A shiny new car,
The species I slaughter
Are not for my count,
They appear on
Another mans list.
Naturalists say
We'll not care to,
Protect animals
We're not taught
To love.
But lists stand appalled
At life in the forest,
So long they peter
In our dismay,
Jaguar, Lemur
Capybara, Agouti
Blue Morpho Butterfly,
Tree Toed Sloth.
Tapirs, Ocelots
Even Kin Ka Jous,
Countless insects
Eagles and bats.
Scarlet Macaw,
Reptiles, amphibians,
Snakes and lizards
Too many to count.
Epiphytes, bromeliads
The Bougainvillaea
Ferns, moses, lichens,
Quite without number.
Two thirds of flowering
Plants are found
In rainforests
Going on lists adinfinitum
But do you really care.
Capitalist drivers
Economy must grow
Making it cheap
To maximise profit.
Palm oil a desert
Hard wood for looks
Till next years fashion
Changes the rolls.
Who can make lists
Play the accountant,
If the bottom line
Only shows human worth.
How many species are
Bought for ten dollars,
Balanced in columns
Of profit and loss.
What accountants
Hand or eye could
Frame the aeons
That go to create
The beauty
Of the ecology of life.
Tiny movement
On the wicker chair
Jumping spider
Catches the eye,
Instant spring
Strand to strand.
All its being
Compact perfection,
Taut intent
In the moment of life.
Awed to wonder
Begs the question,
How can anyone
Cut the rainforest
That I learn is,
Though never will see.
Lichens of lion's lore,
incipient and trying to score-
ditch it and die in the core,
stick it right in the horse.
A tree trunk in wet marsh,
Intimate again with its own leaves,
Moves to nourishing decay.
Lichens and moss feed here,
Raising their personal forms
To scenes on insect roads.
Above the changing trunk
A smoke of butterflies
Mingles with resurrecting steam.
Something of a tree has stopped,
Has let its body down by its own weight,
Has simply let go;
And some of us who watch,
Who feel a common motion,
Are saddened by the stopping;
And some of us who feel,
Who watch the common changes,
Are gladdened by the feeding;
And some will ponder butterflies
And find unchanging hope
In hovering evanescence.
Elfin forest,
Hiding in Peru,
Waiting for fog drip
Gnarled trunks,
Lichens, ferns, orchids,
Mossy forest's trolls
Intense tree canopy
Keeping shy mountain gorilla's secrets
Holding raindrops hostage
Perpetual fog,
Adding a mystique
of shadowed magic
Tropical delight
Heavily affected by
Global climate changes
Elfin forest,
Lending her mosses
To lead the way
She raises her façade to greet the dawning sun;
Yggdrasil a goddess, the empyreal one.
Tree of life, tree of hope, in sunlight’s kiss;
nurturer of the winged, in ethereal bliss.
She births her children with or without light;
nature’s sacred, matriarchal and wizened sprite.
Fronds of green, adorn her brow while
varied lichens are sprouted on boughs.
Nine worlds she guards, this venerable soul;
nine worlds her gasp will forever hold.
Concepts held of cosmogony;
concepts of origins of anthropogeny.
Symbol of the great of visica piscis;
a link of Tetragrammaton devices.
A soul is born of spiritual essences;
into many lives, existence coalesces.