Best Rustic Poems
Not marked on any mapped out town
found where the country is green and brown,
not on the gray, concrete corner of Main
can you find your way to Daisy Lane
No need to search for any road signs
just follow to a place where the sun shines,
and somehow always could, even in the rain
over the beautiful spot named, Daisy Lane
And waving from their wooded abode
lined up to greet you along the dirt road,
wildly bunched in their finest white array
all looking like fresh snow in May
They welcome you to sway on the breeze
to hum with birds and bumble with bees,
untie your shoes, let your feet go bare
don't be surprised if you leave them there
For you will find it hard to say goodbye
when the sun decides to leave the sky,
but return anytime you seek refrain
and take a stroll down Daisy Lane.
Categories:
rustic, flower, fun, happiness, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
The Rustic Old Miner
He lived in the hills in a little shack
traveled he slowly back and forth.
Heavy load resting upon his weary back
back to his mountain in far North.
Had no family that he dare call his own
solitary soul living life lonely.
Amid wild animals and hard mountain stone
thought about love but once only!
Love held no candle to his mountain view
where sun rose but ever so slowly.
Had all his old tools, needed nothing new
one old bible and it was very holy.
He might do with just one worn out pick
dawn to dark, hard stones he broke.
Staying tough and very hard was the trick
quick into work every morn he woke.
He felt no rough weather deep in his mine
just sweat and pains, stone breaking.
No complaints, his life to him just fine
never one to be lousy belly-aching.
Years flew by and he found a little gold
life and those views held him fast.
One cool morn he woke to find himself old
never dreaming, it could be his last.
Afternoon rolled on, his head was spinning
that moment, his last breath taken.
Had he known, he would have called it winning
life over, soul had just been fakin'.
R.J. Lindley
April 24th , 1975
Note- From my private journal.
Categories:
rustic, art, body, humanity, journey,
Form:
Narrative
Autumn red orange
Tree leaves of unmatched colors
In rustic canoes
Categories:
rustic, nature
Form:
Haiku
Bagpipes in short high sounding squeals
that loudly play to the ears appeal
some haunting distant melodic foreboding malaise,
stretching across an isle of green-blue ways,
freed open and gingerly
along the lochs and rivers Clyde, Tay, Tweed, and Dee;
a glistening jewel of history unshelved
with ghosts, monsters, fairies, and elves
upon the southern shore of the Bay o' Skaill swells,
over the West Mainland parish of Sandwick's silent bells,
the Neolithic village of Skara Brae - indelible granite white
Orkney's most-visited ancient relic sites;
islands set apart where the Scottish bagpipes sing
of the clan's immortal heart on the wing;
the lull and lore of older memories fades and wilts
like colors sewn within the Tartan kilts
Glasgow and Edinburgh ring truly filled
as kilts swing in the whistling wind unstilled,
"We’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns!"
cries aloud in wails and shrills of Scottish yarns;
come ye rustic castles and pastorals
listen to the swish and swirls, legends rural,
in the rush of bagpipes and flaring kilts
along the cobblestones of Donegal dark silt
and all the island shores gleaned
greetings from the Scottish lore imaginings.
Julia Ward's contest
Theme of Scotland
3/17/21
Categories:
rustic, imagery, surreal,
Form:
Rhyme
Enchanting Encounter With Rustic Beauty on an Early Morning Stroll
Along the beautiful tree lined avenues and residences I strode, ruminating spirituality and poetry, amidst peace and bird chirping background.
Upon a sharp turn, afar stood a woman in an Indian suit of black and pink – adjusting her hair standing in a side pose revealing all her attractive angles.
Brief, distant glances exchanged, Sharply she retired homewards, perhaps for a better view from the safety of the curtains?
I passed the house with intent sideways glance to check whether she stood in shade - but continued my stroll back to reflections and bird talk, finding her not to be there.
It was a mere passing scene on a early morning walk – one among many we see that make our lives bright, I thought. I strode on without any expectations – wearing a grateful smile - for the brief colourful sight.
But it was not to be.
On my routine next round, I again find her. This time standing in leisurely conversation with a timeworn woman I had seen trolling before.
A couple of long glances ensued. My heartbeat quickened. The old woman was serious in her advice; perhaps unaware of the real purpose of the discussion. The younger gave two, long, satisfying, glances.
Passing her close by, I aver she is not a conventional beauty, yet rustic and healthy, early in her middles. I am more advanced in time, though endowed with a firm and thin frame a fast gait. Fair in color she was and firm in flesh. Attractive she was in her own native way.
Further reflections focused not on poetry but on exciting prospects. I usually make only three, because of the paining knee. Now I extend it to four, expecting to find her in receiving extended guidance.
I find her not there. Disappointed. Perhaps she has made her assessment, this way or that. What it is, I can only know tomorrow during the early morning amble.
Alas it is not to be that way. For I have to leave. I do not live there, I am only on a visit and my next one is due only after a long interregnum.
By that time the memory of pleasant encounter will wilt in both. And chance will not repeat the favour.
A rustic beauty I discovered, one fine morning - a chance encounter during my early morning walk.
Categories:
rustic, i miss you, inspiration,
Form:
Ballad
The verdant leaves
of the cherry trees
rustle as a wagon
loaded with corn
rides deeper into the wide ruts
of a rustic road,
hungry ruminants wallow
by a limpid lake;
cheerful kids wave
and wagtails warble
at my unexpected arrival...
suddenly my Dalmatian barks.
O jovial Autumn
incite my surprise,
and renew my decadent mood!
The grapevines rest
while giving off their fragrance,
and this weary steed
must rest in tranquility
to continue this journey...
before he pants-up grief;
and for mine and his sake,
let him get some sleep!
A sanguine sky
promises the loveliest sunset
ever seen by me
in this rustic Vermont landscape;
thrushes sing with me
to embellish my harmony,
not minding the crickets that
conspire in the hickories,
or the fluttering hawks
that return to their nests..
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
rustic, music, nature, peace, places,
Form:
Pastoral
Spent seventy cents on sentry saints
Though soul and spirit rebel with the pulse
I read their abuse with an effort of excuse
This rum, this loaf to feast is grossly imbalanced
These pennies paid with pains on African plains
Twice a dozen days my labor effort to afford
This gesture though un-lorded is induced
To keep on keeping on a faint kiss on the cross
Multitudes embrace, a singly saint can't otherwise
Not for the hate, neither duty nor pride
It's to keep the tradition not to go instinct
We were schooled givers never lack
For fair play, takers also never lack
In appreciation, a pauper comes riding a Lexus
And by the way life goes, Earth will crowd Heavens
Wouldn't there be a gendarme post raised?
Then a ghetto for the screening of saints
But for the cents, the kobo's and cowries offered
Heavens will erect a bureau De change
God, for the treasure the Earth offers thee.
Categories:
rustic, irony, earth,
Form:
Free verse
For years I’ve had an old dodge pick-up truck
It sits in high grass in my far away backyard
She was a great prop for fun family style portraits
A very classic look for rustic type kids portraits
But now there’s no seat to sit in the truck
So she sits with the trees in the very far backyard
Kids and birds love to play in my wild backyard
Once an owl perched on the mirror for some portraits
And blended in with the peeling paint on the truck
That old truck still rusts in my backyard for great grungy portraits
7-11-2019
This Old Jalopy Contest
sponsor: Craig Cornish
Categories:
rustic, car, old,
Form:
Tritina
Gaia colors rustic image
Artemas' canvas celebrates
Awed through universal coverage
Thrilled voices reverberate
Categories:
rustic, art, earth, god, moon,
Form:
Quatrain
The age of cacophony ,impels me on a rustic stride
Away from the fancy spotlight,
Where flowers bloom in robust rapture
With its deacons fluttering with laughter,
Where brothers embrace eachother ,with gleeful splendour
Spreading their fronds to protect little hearts, so tender.
Where a choir garbed with feathers of amber,jade and ebony
Perform a soulful symphony .
I walk along to meet a singing maid
Combing her strands along fields of jade
The day passes with tranquility
Befriending the grace of these eminent personalities.
Categories:
rustic, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
In the country of the clans
Scenery abounds
Around our cities of old
And our villages and towns
Rugged and rustic
Greens, grays and browns
Adorn our countryside
They are natures gowns
Plants come alive
At the start of spring
New buds appear
Awaiting joys do they bring
In the summer sunshine
They burst into life
Colours so delightful
Radiant and rife
The autumn closes
No longer the colours parade
They are like scenes in a play
Their fading blooms, are summers last serenade
As the temperature falls
And the winter months settle in
We also enjoy it's beauty
Until the spring, springs again
In the country of the clans
In our mountains and glens
Natures seasons delight
Amen
Categories:
rustic, inspirational, nature, seasonsautumn,
Form:
Rhyme
Dim the light of her motel room; quite, as recovery lingers on ¿
Another pain killer, washed back by some power drink with claws..
This cup and butterscotch pudding to numb the flavour in his cigarette
While waltzing once more through a two inch box; communique this play ?
Pirouetting about her cyber space stage; sheltered from the sunlight; a signat
Time these past few days, left confiding in as conversing with life's hollow walls...
Cast amid some pyramid production it seems of late; crafted a stairway to her stars.
Categories:
rustic, art,
Form:
Dazzling, synthetic lights emanate from polished silver,
Penetrating my deep, chemically induced sleep.
Blinking sensitive eyes, I raise my swirling head.
I sit up and walk into a corridor of glass display cases.
Rustic farm tools, mannequins wearing clothing from the past and present fashions, pottery from long ago…
A collection of some kind, featuring timeless treasures and ordinary items of little to no monetary value.
A discombobulated hoard of flea market finds?
I came to another display difficult to make sense of…another display of mannequins except these wore no clothing and floated in some viscous liquid.
A chill went up my spine and I knew not why until…one opened their eyes and looked at me!
I awaken. Bright sunlight streams into my bedroom windows. I recall everything in a moment of time.
Sitting up, pain and horror, a poisonous flower blossom opening red petals in my mind…
A nightmare or mad illusion? I see nothing but my room, and hear nothing now but…
… silence.
Categories:
rustic, mystery, psychological, scary, science,
Form:
Free verse
The Rusticity
Greeted by a cool morning breeze,
I'm unfolded to a place so serene
With a scented fragrance around, and
The vastness of blue canopy so exalting
Pleasing chirping and twittering
Replace the maddening modern melody
Patterned dew peeks at me with smile
Emanating fragrant air, just right.
The glorified sun creeps in majestically
Summoning me in whisper, to my daily toils
My spontaneous whistling attunes the oxen
Pulling the plough to furrow, energetically.
As the sun farewells through mountains yonder,
The birds nestle home gaily, tweeting
With the evening breeze sweeping my brow,
I gladly retreat to my straw hut, satisfied.
The night crawls in with its greatest gift
Brilliance, the stars canopy my world
As I lay on the porch, I mumble gratification
To my king and country - Bhutan for this peace.
Categories:
rustic, 10th grade, 6th grade,
Form:
Quatrain
In a Scottish Loch
There juts an ancient rock
Upon it grows
What natures caught
Firs and spruce
Ferns and gorse
Captured to glory
No fear of remorse
This rock of life
In solitary lone
Gowned by growth
On their island home
The oozing of shades
Rustic to rare
Close your eyes
Think deep and stare
On the mirror surface
Two islands appear
Skeet a stone
Ripples of applause engineer
When the Highland mists down
Covering this place
All what you see
Is nature in full grace
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-2.php
Categories:
rustic, inspirational, nature, places
Form:
Rhyme