Best Spruces Poems
One evening, much like any other
striated feathers of pinks, and deepest primrose
colored the clouds with facets of light, tapering inward
Traces of gold between each color, as deep and clear as the sages
The red sun overhead, had grown weary with seasons,
and did not seem to notice that we were mother and child
Whispering sounds of emerald breezes
did not label me wise, nor her naive'
We were two who walked equally, side by side
She lifted her voice,
and spoke with an eloquence I had not heard before,
and it was just as the twilight calls to the stars....
so that they will know just what to do
Young spruces stood bolt upright,
every twig stiff with interest,
and with deep respect at her every word
as if they were watching transformation in tandem,
an exchange so delicately detectable
And in one clinging moment to the other,
one of us was letting go of childhood,
and one was letting go of the child
Both of us looking to the sky for recognition
I watched the sycamore shed, beneath its load of yellow, rust and gold
Letting them quietly go, without remorse
while I did the same
_______________________________________
Categories:
spruces, daughter, introspection, mother, mother
Form:
Free verse
We are the high altitude sentinels.
Our small groves freckle the high plains.
We keep to ourselves, mostly
upon the snow burdened peaks
where our ashen trunks blend
and our barren branches cling
to icy white glitter.
As the breath of winter ebbs
we watch the crystal spring run-off
growing ever greener with envy
of how it races down the hill; babbling.
We whisper this to one another
in the crisp mountain air, solemn
as we keep watch.
From our station on the precipice
we behold fully the majestic sun
revering at dusk how it paints the sky.
In the failing warmth of autumn,
we offer in turn, our own reflection of
magnificent golden sunset skies
in our shimmering yellow foliage.
We keep company with pines,
firs, spruces, and other prickly sorts.
Conifers aren’t social, which suits us
as we keep mostly to ourselves.
Sentinels must remain vigilant, after all,
watchful for approaching danger.
We quake from paranoia, probably.
Our bark is pale, above all, for fear.
We’ve seen your kind before.
Your kind we watch most carefully.
If you look close, you will see
from our thousand dark eyes
we always look closely back at you.
Are you dangerous?
08/21/15
Submission for contest: Trees Personified
Hosted by: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
*I loved the aspens when my family would go camping in the high Uinta mountain range in Utah. They are beautiful and they can grow at such high elevation (above 10,000 ft) it's really amazing.
Categories:
spruces, autumn, earth, nature, sun,
Form:
Personification
It was nothing but a tiny Blue Spruce,
lil’ Blue never grew to be tall enough for Eve-
Each branch withered, each blade loose,
all the other Spruces couldn’t believe.
So, one day the lil' Blue did leave.
He ventured out into the cold with might,
he knew not of anything warm or comfy-
He was standing crooked under the moonlight,
when he met eyes with no one but me.
It was like lil' Blue was finally a good tree.
He was sad looking, not very pretty,
but with him I felt a strange connection-
We talked; he was silly and witty,
so, we walked and made a pine cone collection.
It was his time to shine, his resurrection.
I brought him home and the lights I strung,
tinsel and handmade ornaments were placed-
On the tip of his frail head an angel I hung,
you should’ve seen the look upon his face!
It was a look of joy no one could replace.
The next morning down came my daughter,
she was excited to see a tree full of joy-
She saw beauty, because compassion I taught her,
she’d rather have a Christmas tree than any toy.
My puppy smelled lil' Blue and smiled; good boy.
Christmas ended and lil' Blue started to get sad,
he knew it was time to go back to the woods-
For it was the best Christmas he ever had,
and with pitiful eyes he just stood.
Then I wondered, “hmmm, what if I could?”
So, I dug a huge hole in the yard for lil’ Blue,
planted him with care and love for our family-
It was a miracle, ten feet tall he grew,
he laughed with happiness and thanked me.
He was part of us now…our favorite Blue Spruce tree.
Christmas Tree Contest
Shadow Hamilton
December 9, 2017
Categories:
spruces, christmas, love, magic,
Form:
Rhyme
This youth, with its curiosity to follow dreams,
always finds us among the tallest sunflowers
that hide us from the bewildered faces
of the common people who surely envy us
for being here between sunset and darkness,
carefully drawing images of a future that could be:
choosing those colors that are a bit daffy;
and why is isolation a favorite place for two little darlings?
And that answer lies in Nature itself surrounding us
with an ideal beauty predestined for faithful lovers-to-be:
willow trees drooping to reach down to us,
brushing our sun-dried hair with their sweetest lullabies of spring;
you'll be surprised how the rascal wind teaches them to sing;
and we listen to that medley as if it were sung by humans,
and the mixed sounds enthrall us with their mellowness...
and how did the silent robins,gathered by the shady spruces,
ever agree to hear that lovely and tender melody?
Live, young hearts, live with a joyous spirit that sets no limits,
be like us among the tallest sunflowers:
exchanging innocent caresses and timid kisses,
and even if your gladness turns into delight ...
never be afraid of the approaching night:
you will have the steady company of stars;
lay down, side by side, and sweetly imagine your paradise!
Vanished are the nightly shadows,
puzzled butterflies land on your shiny noses...
they tickle them until your senses are awakened,
you rub your eyelids to be dazzled by an intense glow;
is morning the emptiest promise without any dream realized?
Run, vibrant hearts, run towards the gleaming horizon miles away;
the zealous eagles will keep pace with your footsteps,
and before you reach the golden ocean with soft waves:
you'll be soaring, like them, over the crimson clouds,
and forever remember that the earth was a beautiful place for a day!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
spruces, childhood
Form:
Rhyme
white keys of birch trees
black keys of spruces and pines -
music of twilight
8.20.2019
One Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Rick Parise
Syllables Per Line: 5 7 5
Categories:
spruces, nature,
Form:
Haiku
There're frost and sun, the day is fairy,
You're sleeping yet, sweetheart, you're merry,
It's time, wake up, my pretty lass,
Open your eyes that are so tender
towards Aurora and her splendour
Rise like the Northern star to bless.
The eve, remember, evil blizzard,
Sky's full of mist, sky was imprisoned,
the moon was just like yellow stain,
It shone through clouds that were so gloomy,
You were so sad, your room is roomy,
But now, look in the window, hey...
Under the blue-blue skies of glory,
under the sun without some hurry
the snow that like great carpet lies,
Transparent forest blackened truly,
The hoarfrost covers spruces coolly
And river's shining through the ice.
I see the room is full of amber,
Room's bright and stove sings with great temper
of burning firewood.
It's good to think near bed, but maybe
order to harness horse, my lady,
to slide, it would be good.
We're sliding on the snow of morning,
My sweetheart, let horse runs to dawning,
There is no time to wait.
Let's visit empty field, let's visit
thick forests, oh, I really miss it,
And shore that's sweet for our date.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
Categories:
spruces, emotions, feelings, inspiration, metaphor,
Form:
Lyric
The American eagles left their warm nests
before snow fell on the evergreen pines and spruces,
so did the ravens, grackles and petrels...
hidden among the white mountains, the river still flows.
So peaceful, so cold is this winter afternoon,
no other sound but the waters babbling on rocks,
flowing into the wide valley below without a tune...
two months ago, the placid lake swarmed with ducks.
Footprints are visible into the frozen snow that no one loves...
who would venture in this life-threatening wilderness?
Could it be a grizzling gone astray, or searching for his cubs?
Leave it to the imagination, or simply take a guess!
So peaceful, so cold is this winter afternoon,
and the more I look, the less I think of danger...
I would love to get out and discover it like the slow-moving raccoon
seeking food until he shivers and decides to turn back with anger.
Categories:
spruces, animals, fear, nature, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
Restless is the evening's song,
so eager to release the throng
of scented jasmine's sweet sachet.
A first star takes my breath away...
while clouds pile high like pink parfait
with fringes gold in soft bouquets.
Two lonely spruces thrash and sway
in orchestrated breeze ballet,
while dappled in the shadow's play,
a weary earth turns shades of gray
My silhouette is growing long.....
as moonlight begs to come along.
_____________________
Now Entered in PD's Contest: Never Before in a Contest: #7
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duo Rhyme Contest: Lovely invention of poems by Mary Port: Sponsored By Andrea Detrich
Categories:
spruces, nature, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
He carries the love of the generations,
A performer accomplishes that,
Chosen by God to sing beautiful songs,
A minister of song,
I love the hikes and mountain trails,
Picnics on the mountainside,
You love his manner with humans,
What a miracle and blessing from God,
He is a minstrel of the Lord,
Christmas reverent and holy,
Blessed by the pines and spruces,
The chalet warm and welcoming when the day is complete,
Author; Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Categories:
spruces, appreciation, beautiful, december, god,
Form:
Free verse
The day awakes with the beautiful sunrise,
Refreshed with the early rain.
Sun kissed and bright,
Blessed with good weather.
The sleeping beauty awakes,
A beautiful day for walking and socializing.
Summer blossoms on the trees,
Reaching out to the sky.
Rain appears on the leaves of a nearby tree,
The sun shines on the spruces and pines.
Flowers in a nearby garden,
Beautify the day and afternoon.
The kingdom awakes with pedestrians,
And roller skaters coming and going.
You hear the blue jays and starlings,
Singing their melodic song.
A scenic walk through the park,
With the water lilies at the side of the pond.
Wild flowers at the side of the willow tree,
A walk by the conservation area.
You see a friend now and then,
The beautiful spruces and pines by the lake.
The Canada geese by the shore,
The ducks swimming in the pond.
Large gold fish swimming,
What a delight to be walking by the conservation area.
Gardens and a bench where you could sit.
Arriving home at the senior's residence.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Categories:
spruces, appreciation, beautiful, god,
Form:
Free verse
If hadn't been for the chill
which made me peak outside,
I could have missed out on the thrill
of seeing a landscape covered in white.
Far beyond the virgin, silent forest
of firs, oaks, spruces and maples...
grotesque pine trees stand at the entrance
as snowflakes weave a soft blanket.
Unhappy bluebirds find no melodies...
as they did in the previous seasons;
even flying is very risky, if not boring, as they land on icy logs,
and instead of doing many miles, they limit themselves to yards.
At high noon, sunlight doesn't bring relief to trees that easily break
as their very heavy branches drip from the thick snow which freezes
like teardrops, instantly turning them into sharp, glistening icicles...
ah, winter's surliness may seem unpleasant staring at an icy lake!
It's warm and cozy being protected by four walls of sturdy bricks,
sipping hot chocolate and watching those, thick shards of ice
suddenly crumple, making the soaked squirrels scram in surprise...
o sweet serendipity, should I go to bed and miss out on winter's tricks?
Categories:
spruces, animals, inspirational, nature, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
Back in nineteen hundred and three
I working with a logging crew,
cutting and limbing mighty trees,
be they hemlock, pine, or spruce.
We worked for the Nowell Paper firm,
in the shades of the Adirondacks,
spent all winter in Camp Seven,
sending full sleds down icy tracks.
One morning in late December
we got up before the dawn,
that was just par for the course,
our work days were rather long.
We made it to the cook-house,
where waited the salt pork,
with flapjacks and potatoes fried,
we ate until enrgorged.
Then with a nod to the bull cook,
to let him know he’d done good,
we grabbed our axes, our crosscut saws,
and headed out into the woods.
By noon we worked a stump garden
we’d cleared back in the fall,
when we’d cut down the spruces
though a few still stood tall.
Those ones are the seed trees,
to make sure it grows again,
but the ones we felled we had cut
into fourteen-foot lengths.
Now in that deep chill of winter
we worked with our pike-poles,
hauling the logs to big sleds
drawn by horses, rather cold.
We stacked them for the ice road,
in air that made all shiver,
the teamster waited to haul it
all the way down to the river.
Now lumberjacks always work in pairs,
and my partner was Guy Montreaux,
a Quebecois better with an axe
than any farmer with a hoe.
He was quite an entertaining man,
lifted spirits in our shanties,
and knew the words to every bawdy song
ever sang in the north country.
On that grim day he huffed loudly,
having been put through his paces,
as he loaded up the last big log
a horse jolted back in its traces.
The equine kicked, the pile shook,
the teamster cried,’Get clear!”
Me and the boys all dove away,
filled with a familiar fear...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
spruces, death, history, loss, nature,
Form:
Narrative
On seeing the painting of Edvard Munch
Of the woodland stretching endless
One would feel, one has entered a sanctuary,
Where stillness prevails and coolness overpowers
There is no sound except the sound of rustling leaves.
Tall trees touching Heaven’s seams stand proud,
Telling how they withstood the harshness of the sun and the hail,
And endured the storms and attacks from humans.
The trees that figure in his painting are spruces and pines,
Growing in neat rows, forming a cool canopy overhead,
As if thoughtfully planted by nature’s caring hands.
They stand erect in purple trunks and leprous barks.
On the ground lies a tree mercilessly cut down,
Sadly, exposing its naked death wound to the sun.
It sure is a victim of man’s insatiable greed.
It is stripped off its bark and the yellow log,
Cut into pieces, show it must have been the tallest.
Greedy eyes are poised always on the best!
Doesn’t the fallen tree speak aloud this grim truth?
While all the trees stay tall raising their arms to heavens
In boundless gratitude for the fruitful life, they are granted,
One lies down on the sod, having met with its untimely end.
Thus, life and death are contrasted, one can rightfully assume!
Categories:
spruces, appreciation, art, rainforest, tree,
Form:
Ekphrasis
The miracles of summer appear like a long lost lover,
Sunlight's warm rays caressing each person and bringing them warmth.
The rain gently refreshing the soul and the mind,
A walk with God and the rainbow appearing above.
Like God's angels watching over us and protecting us,
The tall green spruces and pines like tall soldiers along the walkway.
The sound of the summer songbirds, ever so eloquent and melodic,
Many treasures of God's kingdom guest.
Squirrels scamper about and their quest for acorns continue,
Pinecones, clusters live by the tall spruce or pine.
Humans' summer dreams unfold like a good book,
Friendly conversations guest revealing a paradise of complexity.
Author: Gwen von Erlach
Categories:
spruces, appreciation, august, beauty, day,
Form:
Free verse
In the rugged mountain passes
Of the western Carolinas,
Just west of Hendersonville and east of Kentucky, USA,
In the land of the foothills and steep valleys down,
Exists a remote land forgotten in time.
Steeped in country legends, handed down long ago -
A matchless region the locals, call Christmas Tree Mountain.
Thousands of trees spread, over the lands -
boundless pines, spruces and firs;
Home to mountain families at one with their land.
In these broken foothills in the lands of the mist,
On steep, rocky outcrops, barren but for the pines,
Rising above the lowly, bottomland plains,
Far above pedestrian highways where the grizzly roams free,
And the Winter's freezing cold,
With its fierce winds whipping through the trees.
On the Carolina hillsides is where it all begins;
Conifers contorting in the harsh mountain gusts.
Edging their way skyward one inch at a time;
Twelve inches a year the extent of their growth.
Like emerald clad sentinels oft standing at arms,
Like boundless militia watching o're the valleys below.
Seasoned veterans awaiting, their clarion call,
Their final, fateful, farewell, fore' their Christmas accord.
An all-too-short harvest's complete by Autumn's end;
If yields are bountiful, all cuts will, be bundled and penned.
Warmly dressed buyers trekking these remote mountain farms;
Back country charms tempered by the winding, rugged passes.
In the Fall the Scouts come - heeding a higher call;
Selfless endeavors to help earn much-needed funds
To support an ever growing contingent of troops.
Finding a world of fulfilment in these simple deeds;
They learn the values of good stewardship and all its rewards,
While learning to respect all of God's lands and all His designs.
End of the Season finds the mountain families gathering in prayer;
Thanking their Creator for yet another year.
Categories:
spruces, appreciation, culture, environment, mountains,
Form:
Free verse