Best Mulched Poems
Calm and soundless
escapes of
beautiful sceneries
dormant,
as the Pharaoh's daughter
BY early morning dawn !
Cool starlit darkness,
landscapes of subtle colors,
mulched in softest light ...
The sky slowly transitions
from deep blue to hues of pink,
orange *
gold *
As the air crisp and cool carries the scent of dry earth
to your nostrils, one grain of sand at a time
Hints of blooming desert
like flowers falling on you,
after a long awaited rainfall (inhale) it
Evening arrives,
the dreamer,
lost in a desert dream
arrives at dusk's door.
Looping colors of terracotta and rustic brown
Closer to the Nile the heart is seen,
seeking and searching,
For Sacred Rivers that flow
Inside the dreamers mind,
the soft winds blow,
just before they settle in,
setting the world on fire with,
AFTERGLOW !!!
Locked inside a summer dream that never ends
I am a breathing tree, a pushing flower, a seedling
Hemmed in by a sun that shines and never spends,
I am a rose in a garden, filled with mystical healing
Enfolded in the hour I am a sunny season of joy
laughing, giggling, scintillating, playing with the wind
Concealed with beauty that never ends nor deploys
I am June, July and August, rushing in without rescind
Immersed in the scent of sweet mulched fruits
I am an apple in the orchard of crimson cherry red
Soused in heat I dip into pacific waters find my route
I am all the things you can imagine in your head
Locked inside a summer dream that never ends,
I am hemmed by a sun that shines and never spends .
The happiest day of October
was the one when she wore her little red hat
Off to the woods we went hand in hand like songbirds in flight;
The sun in all its glory spilled its applesauce grin
all over my baby and I as we caught a fistful of leaves in our hands,
and made them fly. . .
Diving right in we buried our arms in a pile of leaflets
oh what a thrill!
We sunk below the fire brick colors of russet yellow and brown,
and inhaled the mulched flavors of earth for all their worth ;
It was the most momentous day of my life,
my little girl was five and I just had to memorize her smile.
Her, a colorful piece of art an Autumn portrait,
me, a weary soldier about to be deployed;
The first thing she did when I returned
was hand me a crumpled leaf then said,
"I saved it for you daddy "
As I knelt at her side I buried my face in a sea of red curls
it was then that I knew, I was finally home.
Sept 7 2022
# 1 Jumping In A Pile Of Leaves
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name Fall Flavors
All around mountains stare down,
Dwarfing Bleancwm with a silence,
Our Brockway walk is to begin,
Unusually no song birds to sing!
The steep incline to the top,
Plenty to look at, while the legs stop,
Waterfalls, horse medows, rocks,
Plenty to hear as the mind resets,
Water crashing, Water relaxing,
Breaking the silence of the mountains gaze,
The reward, a look over Bleanrhondda,
Where no doubt the birds have gone,
To join the people and souls in song,
Perfectly lined pine forest, not been touched,
God's home made compost already mulched,
All the trees eerie stand to attention,
One or two fallen, needs to be mentioned,
Further along the roman settlement so high,
The Romans must have thought it was the sky,
As the bikes in the distance come close and raw,
Tearing the path to its core,
All around old man's beard graced the trees,
A mountain that keeps on giving,
Another waterfall so tall, it's having a ball,
Stunning walk back to the car park,
Where the past will always last,
Mining everywhere the spirit is there,
When the spell was cast who thought it would last,
Mountain with a heart beat,
Rhigos you have gave us a treat.
Last night a noreaster passed us by,
So my yellow crocus hopeful though til now shy,
Spread open wide this morn,
Cheering a flower bed otherwise forlorn.
Eager roses bud canes low to ground,
Dared sprout buds above their mulched mounds.
At their feet, sedum cluster new corms
Ignoring dry stems above and threats of more storms.
As nature does tentatively rebound,
My spirits lift from winter doldrums profound.
Now if only my new puppy would not cheerfully shred
My indoor plants that sustain my homestead!
MRT
3-22-18
We’re living
in a pesticide era.
Existence is in poison.
Peasants are persuaded.
Their minds are mulched
with chemical thoughts.
Vegetable gardens are gruesome.
Not green, but
a toxic shade of death dominates.
Even deep purple grapes
in the vineyards
don’t tempt birds.
Nostalgic smell
of cashew blooms
steeps in *Endosulfan.
Flies aren’t extinct, yet
they keep distance
from the fruit stands.
An apple a day
won’t keep
the doctor away.
Chemical weapons are widely used.
Corporate target is profit.
Corpses of ethics lie scattered.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet.
*Endosulfan is a deadly insecticide.
When I first planted trees I thought it was for shelter
From the ocean gales blast, and the wild rain lashing rain.
I needed to help them, so I built up some fences.
I needed to feed them, and dug in some kelp.
The trees looked so weak, so fragile, so lonely
The trees were so small, but they grew.
Next year some had died, but most still grew bravely.
The gales blew again, the frost hard and deep.
I fussed and I worried, I planted where gaps came
I fretted and fiddled and firmed in loose roots
The trees bent with the wind, then straightened their backs up.
The trees drank from the rain, and they grew
Each year they grew on, and the next and the next one
The gales blew again, and the snows came and went,
I thought about training and pruned very gently
I did some light weeding, I mulched and I mowed.
The work was a joy, I loved to be round them.
And oft stood in silence, to think, as they grew
Now after some years there are trees all round me
The gales still blow hard, but the trees still grow on
I see the wind kiss them, and now hear them singing
I see the rain weeping, and now see them smile
They draw strength from each other with roots intertwining
And give back to me those rewards you can’t buy.
When I first planted trees I thought it was for shelter
They have given me that, and so very much more.
I planted my trees to find how to keep growing
I planted my trees to be brave in the storms
I planted my trees to cherish my loved ones
I planted my trees to make hearts smile and soar.
I planted my trees to give hope and redemption
I planted my trees to bring peace to my soul
Origami gifts fledglings multiple
Stork sling incubates infant hatchery
Holds pine seed offspring horticultural
Burst dirt celebrates cedar jamboree
Invisible drive to thrive, hormonal
Reverse javelin sapling spear Jarvis
Pin bend Pilates practice jovial
Christmas bonus brings bountiful harvest
Silken sway, acres of muscular maize
Youthful juice under crisp skirt harem
Masters of last year crushed in hasty haze
Mulched during terrain turn over mayhem
Lake levitator long necked swan mascot
Lays Faberge eggs in reed bloom jackpot
16th November
Manyfest
Grass cut, mulched beds,
Spring is here
Awfully early this year.
Anyone else feeling dread
About what changes are ahead?
My uncle took me fishing.
He’d smoke his favorite briar
Stuffing the cherry blend in with stubby
Welsh fingers more suitable for digging coal,
Than compacting mulched tobacco leaves.
A line taut between his index finger and his thumb,
He took a thready pulse of a line strung along the pole.
He told me stories of his growing up:
Painting my grandfather’s car ruined by feathers
Blown in from a cock who’d recently been plucked.
He would hand the pole to me to relight his pipe, he said.
And fumble among the hundred pocket vest
Pockets for his Zippo lighter
I liked surreptitiously to smell
And play endlessly with clicking of its top.
A trout would tug my line, bolt arching up
Above the water’s edge and topple back to tug again.
I’d play it back and forth until I played it up on shore.
And put it in a basket made of hardened wicker weave.
Some men fish for fishing's sake and others to make fishermen. (2/7/02)
The maples blushed attempting to outshine
the flamboyant forsythias.
Willows wept strands of puce pollen.
The air lay damp, ponderous, pregnant
with the promise of peonies.
The mulched ground was pierce with spears of hyacinths;
crowned with dancing daffodils
and fragrant hyacinth.
The sweet ripe smell of manure meandered
through the freshly turned soil;
steaming in the morning mist.
A tree stood strong, fruity and healthy
on fertile soils of a volcanic landscape
a fairy forest ranger nurtured it on honey
and mulched it with jam and ice-cream
three beautiful fragile branches developed
but forest ranger was happy, self-conceited
birds and bats enjoyed its products in joy
an ornamental gift it was for the hills
then came blinding rains and storms
the first branch broke and rocked by thread
forest ranger hired bats as expert doctors
ones that see things creatively upside-down
to the stem they tied firm and secure
another storm came shortly yelling horror
the second branch resisted but gave way soon
again the wise bats fastened it to the stem
and the last branch suffered equal damages
but the broken branches began to dry
The birds thought bats did shoddy work
Led by Owl as keen and experienced doctor
antibiotics injections, drips were given
but the three branches became anemic, died
squirrel so amused shouted from a distant hill;
“Why waste resources on broken branches?
What if the dying old tree is lumbered, and
new seeds planted to grow new generation?”
Quote: I don't want a perfect life I want a happy life
Children tumbling out of bed
coffee dripping from my old faded percolator
Stockings hanging from the shower curtain
mother's laughter from across the miles
Husband's wet kisses and the shuffle of feet
scraped toast, slamming front doors
The smell of mulched leaves
the way the sun slants over my kitchen window
I don't want a perfect life, just a happy one
Empty cafes and smokescreen writes
pulp fiction and doggie smiles and treats
eggs over easy and difficult puzzles to solve
hugs and kisses and fun between the sheets
tea for two, I love Lucy, and more dreams
then I can ever dream of, ...just a happy life,
nothing more
Walking on sunlight, spongy and soft like the grass
sauntering on the moon, blue cushioned bounces of joy
stepping on stars, silver bursts of happiness all around
flying with eagles, notorious wings of power and thrust
climbing an oak, filaments of wood on your tongue
entering soil, we feel like we are mulched like flowers
if paper airplanes float on water as well as sail ships
then why do we need a solid stern
take the slow ride home and loose your earth power
it will surprise you what is real and what is not
you will find that what is not is actually there
and what is real, can always be forgot...
Oh wondrous Walt,
how many leaves were
cut, bagged and mulched
before we were allowed
to come and smell
the lilacs in your yard?