Best Song Green Poems
Enchantment of magic’s sweet passion has bound me
With minutes and hours I now must reclaim;
Spellbound, love calls to the spirits around me
And drifts into dreams at the sound of his name.
The breath of his memory awakens from slumber;
I hear the soft whispers of a loving refrain
That stirs in my heart such an infinite hunger
With incense to scent each exquisite strain.
The face of my love comes back in a vision
With sounds of his voice in the soft grey gloom;
In a twilight of stars when the scent is Elysian
I wait for him under the plum tree in bloom.
So hushed is the flute of a love song enchanted
With music he played when his mouth was stirred;
I now hear the song so tenderly haunted
Invading my dreams with all that I heard.
As green leaves and blossoms twine and are braided
The strings of my heart have come undone;
When the lush of the green vine is woven unfaded
The binding of my heart with his is as one.
I walk no more on soft green mosses,
Under the trees where green branch tosses;
Where scent of leaf and red rose flinging,
Perfume the wind with soft scent clinging.
I walk no more by the ocean dreaming,
Where sunbeams fly with grey gulls screaming;
Over the cliffs where wild waves falling,
Sweep up the sound in echoes calling.
I hear no more the sea shell's story,
Along the shore with sunset's glory;
Only the song from the dark cave's hollow,
That siren song I dare not follow.
Words you spoke leave me broken hearted,
For now I find you have departed;
For I loved you well but you left me lonely,
How could I tell if you loved me only?
Ireland,
ancient song of my soul,
a haunting melody
that strains against the wind
and leaves me searching
for my distant pasts.
Monasterevin, Armagh, Inish Mor…
I hear your voices.
The breeze on your emerald grass
like a pennywhistle plays,
while the waves on your rocky shores
like boudrans pound out
“Come Home”
In the green fields,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Wandering trails, Armagh to Arizona,
Endless searching for the songs of the past,
Riding ancient roads, St. Mullins to Oklahoma,
Within the Circle that always will last.
Tsa-la-gi,
song of my ancient soul,
a lyric chant
that floats across time
and whispers to me
to seek out
Kindred Spirits of the Circle.
Tennessee, Trail of Tears, Tahlequah…
I hear your voices.
The breeze on your bluestem
like a cedar flute drifts upward,
while the rain, heavy on sandstone
like ceremonial drums beats out
“Come Home”
In the red dirt,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Familiar trails, Galway to Oklahoma,
No fears of what the future will bring,
Roscommon to the desert Saguaros of Arizona,
Hear spirit chorus of the Old Ones sing.
Destiny,
song of all ancient souls,
timeless hymn
that wafts through shadow-lives
and murmurs to me
to grasp and keep close
those with like hearts.
Arizona, Kansas, Montana, Oklahoma…
I hear your voices.
Your breath on the air
like pipes sings the song of forever,
while your hearts full of memory
burst with recognition and throb out
“Come Home”
From one side of the Earth,
through the center to the other,
Armagh to Arizona,
Doolin to Oklahoma,
Green fields,
Red dirt,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Boudran beats slowly,
Cedar flute rings lowly,
Singing the songs of the places I’ve been,
From sweet Ireland’s green valleys,
To the red dirt beneath me,
My soul keeps dancing around the Circle again.
Note: Tsa-la-gi = Cherokee language for the name Cherokee.
Italics sung to the tune of “The Bard of Armagh”, AKA “The Streets of Laredo”
Ireland,
ancient song of my soul,
a haunting melody
that strains against the wind
and leaves me searching
for my distant pasts.
Monasterevin, Armagh, Inish Mor…
I hear your voices.
The breeze on your emerald grass
like a pennywhistle plays,
while the waves on your rocky shores
like boudrans pound out
“Come Home”
In the green fields,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Wandering trails, Armagh to Oklahoma,
Endless searching for the songs of the past,
Riding ancient roads, St. Mullins to Claremore ,
Within the Circle that always will last.
Tsa-la-gi,
song of my ancient soul,
a lyric chant
that floats across time
and whispers to me
to seek out
Kindred Spirits of the Circle.
Tennessee, Trail of Tears, Tahlequah…
I hear your voices.
The breeze on your bluestem
like a cedar flute drifts upward,
while the rain, heavy on sandstone
like ceremonial drums beats out
“Come Home”
In the red dirt,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Familiar trails, Galway to Oklahoma,
No fear of what the future will bring,
River Shannon to the muddy banks of the Red,
Hear the spirit chorus of the Old Ones sing.
Destiny,
song of all ancient souls,
timeless hymn
that wafts through shadow-lives
and murmurs to me
to grasp and keep close
those with like hearts.
Green Country, Panhandle, My Oklahoma…
I hear your voices.
Your breath on the air
like pipes sings the song of forever,
while your hearts full of memory
burst with recognition and throb out
“Come Home”
From one side of the Earth,
through the center to the other,
Armagh to Oklahoma,
Doolin to Chelsea,
Green fields,
Red dirt,
Roots run deep,
Intertwined.
Boudran beats slowly,
Cedar flute rings lowly,
Singing the songs of the places I’ve been,
From sweet Ireland’s green valleys,
To Oklahoma red dirt beneath me,
My soul keeps dancing around the Circle again.
Note: Tsa-la-gi = Cherokee language for the name Cherokee.
Italics sung to the tune of “The Bard of Armagh”, AKA “The Streets of Laredo”
Adapted from the original for Oklahoma Cowboy Poetry Week, third week in April
2006
I am the root.
I am the green fuse.
I am the stem, the bud,
the dry twig,
and the stealthy footstep
that snaps it in the night.
I am the rising hair on the back of your neck.
I am Merlin, the bard,
and I sing of it all.
I am the bard of warm sheets,
and insincere ones as much.
I am the empty gesture,
and the chill that sets upon the pillow.
I am Love itself, and the murderer of Love.
I am the arrow on its mark.
I am the dregs of wine
at the bottom of the barrel.
I am the wrong unredressed,
and the debt long unpaid.
I am Merlin, the bard,
And I remember it all.
I am the vocation unheeded,
the monk with no prayer,
and the lusty nun, alone in her bed.
I am the trickster.
I am my own mother and my own father,
incubus and succubus, one and the same.
I am the milky breath of your firstborn.
I am the scent of his decay.
I am Merlin the Conjurer,
and I conjure it all.
I am the rising star in your firmament
and the wellspring of your dreams.
I am the grains of sand in your hourglass.
I am your merciless mirror, year after year.
I am the green moss awaiting your bones.
I am the greedy worms.
I am your life’s purpose,
and the odds against it.
I am your last chance.
I am all the times you turned back.
I am your fresh start.
I am the gnome, the sylph,
the salamander, and the undine.
I am the severed head, the cauldron,
and the threefold death.
I am the angel.
I am the serpent.
I am the hawk that circles in the blue.
I am each letter of your name.
I am Merlin, the bard.
I am you.
And I sing of us all.
Creeping warm and green
when the sun returned golden,
spring sang in meadows.
Blooming mountains, bumblebees-
all danced to loved melodies.
Greener
cobalt skies, sun
and redbird songs we missed
when flowers are back, so fragrant
and dreamy butterflies waft in splendor
in budding days of renewal.
Emerging beautiful
awaited long,
Greener
Written on 1/16/2023
For: Pen a Rictameter, Hopes of
springs return Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser