Best Maidenhair Poems
I would love to swim to the 'Guilamine' in the skin
Or dance on a carpet of sheer pleasure
I might like an ice-cream cone on the way
Topped with pink and golden treasure.
I would enjoy a drink made of sparkles
That might light up with yellow-red magic
My dreary grey-blue life – and then
I would anticipate with joy an umbrella
Made of silk and maidenhair fern
To be silly with –
Categories:
maidenhair, funny
Form:
Prose Poetry
"To hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. "
William Shakespeare," Hamlet 1601."
Long ago another planted you,
My cherished Ginkgo tree.
She tamped you in so carefully
And bequeathed you unto me.
Did she then live to see you grow
So stately and so tall?
And to see your charming bright green dress
Turn golden in the fall?
You’re clothed in pretty fan shaped leaves,
A tree beyond compare.
How many robin families,
Have nested in you, Maidenhair?
Although other trees have broken,
‘Neat the north wind’s violent gale;
You, Ginkgo pay no heed at all.
To winter’s abusive rail.
Your forebears came from China,
Where they were long revered,
And studying under their branches
An old sage with his beard.
Your kind was here as early
As the first ferns and their spores.
No tree has longer history,
Your fathers knew dinosaurs.
Strange that old Mother Nature,
Decided you should survive so long,
While we humans sometimes die before
The last verse of our song.
The answer to long life and health,
Is in the leaves of the Maidenhair tree.
If you let me pluck a few of yours,
I’ll brew up my cup of tea.
If only the one who planted you,
Had known of your power.
She could have drunk of Ginkgo tea,*
And been here for happy hour.
* Ginkgo leaves are touted as being healthful . Won a 5th place
Joyce Johnson Revised April 19, 2011
From my private files, not posted. undated.
For Constance's contest "The Tree"
Categories:
maidenhair, natureold, tree, old, tree,
Form:
Rhyme
Like a drug of dependence, this will keep me coming back
out along the Sardine Creek, walking on a wombat track.
I should know every cranny and hurdle in the way,
But secrets of the bush keep arising every day.
I am captured by a log with its copper coloured skink,
a family of firetail finches flying down to take a drink,
the scent of wild boronia drifting down a mountainside,
a wallaby amongst some wiregrass, believing it can hide.
I am no more important than a leaf upon the ground,
and no more influential than a feather that I found.
I do not have the power of the Admiral butterflies,
and feel I’m way too over sympathetic where death lies.
I am captured by the orange fungi, hiding from the light,
a flock of screeching mountain lories overhead in flight.
Maidenhair cascading, mingling with the waters flow,
and showers in the pollen where clematis creepers grow.
I am not to be the master, just one link that’s in the chain,
like the sand upon the creek bed, I merely am one grain.
Yes I am one single figure that will come and go with time,
where strength does mean survival; weakness the lethal crime.
I am captured by the creek and the bounty it provides,
the colour and its boldness or a sweet voice that it hides,
I do not have a vision for to progress or reshape…
Yes here is where I’m captured and I never will escape.
Categories:
maidenhair, nature, water, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
Grandma was German raised to value beauty,
her art found in nature the flowers and the trees.
Grandpa, a Wentworth, from an English family
whose Great Grand sailed the Mayflower, across the sea.
In the time of William Morris, when craft was art,
Great Granddad was a shipwright that's how we got our start.
So, we valued craft and beauty and adventure charted.
Through tough times, poverty, still wisdom was imparted.
Born in a place of splendor miles from the bay,
Mom was raised on the poetry of Edna Millay.
I was born there to and in the woods I played
amongst maidenhair ferns and violets unafraid.
In art born, with brush and pen, often did I write,
raised on Lord Tennyson to great my delight.
And, I adored the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright
how he blended craftsmanship into each homesite.
Schooled in modern art Warhol and Mies Van De Rhoe,
my mind opened blooming to many new tableaus.
All my contemporaries were part of art neuvau.
Each masterly artisan's work helped me to grow
Categories:
maidenhair, life, nostalgia, on work
Form:
Quatrain
Who is embracing these walls in a deep silence?
Maybe be the time, sleeping over the pillars.
Never forgot what it has done to all who listen in.
Devour all spring, even if it is the most beautiful
These walls of houses are building by the memories.
Made of non-material, coming from the distant harbors,
Where the seas have no boats, regrets, or ending.
Seeds of wishes are blowing away, untouched by the time.
The great passions of the time are castles made of stones
Carved by wind, breaking the silence over the hills,
Raising a universe by itself, surrounded by ditches of death.
An old body dressed in rocks searching for source,
Wish lit the fire in the shadows of warm nights.
Extinguished Torches on the walls, is the fate of tomorrow.
Looks to wait in eternity the meeting of these waters,
Although far away ..... Dreams are made of rocks.
The silence comes and nestles in the dew of thin grass,
The maidenhair ferns are the flaps sewn by the time
In spring in one day will open in petals of illusion.
The movements of the wind broken the silence, and move the earth.
It does the life to die and wake up by the dreams of others time
A carousel spinning, flashing, and playing with the clouds.
Truths hidden in the sleeves of the greatest illusionist.
The matter is the same light that rises on the walls of time.
Categories:
maidenhair, imagination
Form:
Free verse
A walking track through the forest,
shrouded by giants, providing shade,
with broken boughs, leaf litter and life,
and a cool mountain stream in a glade.
This stranger can only see beauty,
where many see nothing at all,
it may be complex of a flower,
or a trivial meaningless call.
But I’m not a casual observer.
The big picture is far from my mind.
I don’t need a grandiose view,
just the reach of close-by unrefined.
It’s magnificent scenery,
gaudy colours with the greenery,
sustaining birds and the native bee,
among the trees and the shrubbery.
Maidenhair, copperhead, yellow-ochre.
Ornithorhynchus and xanthorrhoea.
Antechinus, phasmid, orb weaver,
scenery hidden out of the way.
And so as my journey progresses,
my mind and my eyes grow so keen
for sight of one more hidden treasure,
or the privilege of knowing one’s been.
It’s wonderful knowing,
knowledge of the forest keeps growing,
whether it’s floral or an echo ping,
my scenery is a wonderful thing.
It’s magnificent scenery,
gaudy colours with the greenery,
sustaining birds and the native bee,
among the trees and the shrubbery.
Categories:
maidenhair, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
When I would no longer fathom the fall
Nor listen to the veery's soulful call,
When I would not see blossoms spread their fare
Alongside grass lichens and maidenhair;
When in lasting peace and bliss I shall lie
Sedately watching this world plying by,
That I couldn't in the maddened race of life
I would from the portals of death enjoy.
***********
Categories:
maidenhair, death,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
So azure the early September's sky,
mirrors outshined, away sapphires shy.
Up to thin air melts dog days' trace,
down to soil sinks continual cicadas' squeal.
randomly dozens of dragonflies dart apace;
Snug and slothful, bask teams of pond teal.
Lotuses leaves fold and hide
to round off summer tide.
Welcoming golden autumn everywhence cruises brisk whiff,
vaporized is my neighbor matron's miff,
vivacious yonder maidens' gamboling spree.
Nodding in elation whether chartreuse foliage shakes off the maidenhair tree.
Categories:
maidenhair, autumn, cheer up,
Form:
Rhyme
On moss covered log I sit to rest; a yellow robin shows no fear,
there's continual rippling water, a ground thrush feeding near.
Maidenhair droops down the weathered bank; a currawong mournfully cries …
for this one afternoon I feel - I'm lost in paradise.
Categories:
maidenhair, environment, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
the word barren means rocky land
a perfect name for a vast limestone area
in the The Barrens of Ireland
it is a desolate place with few trees
except for the Hawthorne tree that grows
but is
twisted and stunted
yet, wildflowers thrive in an array of colors
growing out of crevices in limestone slabs
of dried up lakes
during the summer months
from the crevices you will find . . . lovely purple gems
red Cranesbill, pink Rock Roses, and yellow Mountain Avens
and many, many more
maidenhair fern and moss love the damp crevice's
and in stony pastures of The barren
the wildflowers grow and thrive
creating a beautiful landscape ...
Categories:
maidenhair, places, travel,
Form:
Free verse
February second - requires one
with acute hearing to cock, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks
of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small
sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish mat so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently
educational, cerebral, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...
the last named,
perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...
to hippies (think yours truly)
with long wavy hair
interwoven with Kahila
Garden Lily, Laurel, Maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul
espying frolicsome *****sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
common native plants and animals
in conjunction with resident outlier
particularly those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring and bee zee lee court'n prepare
ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,
viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, *****...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost
would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.
Categories:
maidenhair, animal, appreciation, beauty, environment,
Form:
Rhyme