Best Sylvan Poems
The sylvan landscape stretched for miles
reached across golden fields by stiles.
Leaves carpeted the ground like tiles
whilst branches lay in gathered woodpiles.
Ancient venerable trees lined the aisles
that wandered willy nilly like juveniles.
Along the river's banks were basking reptiles
with mouths that upturned in happy smiles.
In the midst of the rushing water were isles
that rose up high like big projectiles.
And trees marched up the hills in files
giving shelter to the fox and his wiles.
The peace of the woodlands beguiles
within its tranquillity there are no exiles.
******This poem had special appeal to me in that a friend had brought up that I had a talent for poetry and he encouraged me to write more. I was very proud of this piece, which was written at one of my 'hideaways' where I find inspiration; nature poetry or what some call 'nature erotica'. This poem was anthologized, which makes me feel rather fortunate, since a publisher requested it among many other poets and great poems. I think I finally 'saw' what my friend had after it was officially published*****
Amid the sylvan shade,
the footpaths teem with wooded laugh,
the sylph she giggles atop aerie slumber,
tickled in soft-slender breeze;
the nectar dews,
meady-moss and carpet-leaves,
juniper and berry-sweet breath
She sings amid the sylvan shade
nothing to do but sigh and dream
her wanton-wistful way
The glade whispers wishes (weening)
tempered hush,
echoed odes of faerie-tongue forgotten rhyme,
But for the meadow and vale,
aerie eagle cries,
none has come but I;
to sit and ponder, and listen -----
homage,
amid the sylvan shade
Ancient and mysterious woodland bear,
medieval tranquility and flair.
Heaven sylvan scenery colour share,
massive sprays of bloom flowers scent the air.
Twisty esker gravel ridge, lie through their
beautiful valleys, woods, and bower square.
Echoes of aged venerable prayer ,
lull under trees and gardens, with vast air,
with such depth of love that may never err.
Complete empowering of life we share,
while softly scented zephyrs blew and stare.
Oodles buzzing bees through oleander,
hummingbirds thirst honeysuckle nectar.
Under venerable dome they appear
ancient and mysterious woodland bear.
5/17/2016
Serene surroundings surveil serendipitous seconds
Sending surround sounds surrendering sleep.
Skies soliloquy sings….self supposed sweet songs
Scintillate synonymous svelte synergies suite.
Sheltered savoir-faire synopsis swaying, swinging
Share seasonal’s sunlit sylvan sensibilities sweet.
8-30-22
Bite Size Poem no51 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
_________________________________________
7-15-22
Begin with a letter Poetry Contest ~N/A~
Sponsored by: Angela Tune
At the forest's sylvan edge I watched her magic in flight.
Sunlight shimmered on butterfly wings as I saw her alight.
Tranquility transformed me in her iolite's iridescent light
While tall ancient redwoods displayed venerable insight.
Serenaded by bird songs I admired such a salubrious sight
Of the flapping of feathers as a small flock took flight.
They soared above verdant canopies from their lofty height
Then they circled in unison while the sun beckoned bright.
The fresh scent of the woodlands inhaled during twilight
Endowed a mysterious fragrance to the oncoming night.
As Apollo's rainbow rays began fading from my sight
I felt elated by the greatness of God's glorious might.
May 20, 2016
~4th Place Premiere Contest~6 winners
Monorhyme
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Quiet, the leaves drip from slender woody fingertips
as shadows cast spectral dreams that breath through misty lips.
In the deep the Sylvan rests against the hoary staff he grips
and feels the ancient magic flow between the rune filled tips.
Taken from a Willow tree on summer moon's eclipse
from gnarled knots, the life it gives, his body freely sips.
Across a knoll he slowly strolls like honey as it drips
as hungrily he eats a fruit and buries all the pips.
From which will grow new tender shoots and supple grassy whips
offering once more to him the sustenance he snips.
The world he knows mysterious and old, his life but an ellipse,
going round and round he trod the ground on his lonely trips.
When he meets the Mountain Lions he bows from bended hips
to show respect and fealty for their regal mien and kingships.
And too, the venerable and stately Oak respectfully he dips,
but as old friends, they laugh and smile with jokes and clever quips.
Evening comes through tired eyes as through the sky the sun rips
tearing through to rainbow hues in brushed on colored strips.
As the night exudes from day, the dark oozes like chocolate dips
in which the fairy, sylph and sprite flies, sings and skips.
But, at the end of each sullen day beneath sweet buds he slips
Folded in their tranquility and ever loving friendships.
05/15/2016
Beholding the natural intricacies of nature
Is a sight most intriguing for the gesture
Found in the flamboyancy of natural art
Observed in picturesque landscapes in part.
The land lays in calm tranquility
This Sylvan land, a beneficial quality,
A background of lofty mountains with breeze
Venerable parks of forested trees.
Mysterious is the beautiful and creative layout
That the Creator gave all creation as a payout,
To enjoy the ancient splendorous Eden-like
But forested evervescent garland theme pike.
Included too are also Earth's moon, clouds and
Often a rainbow lurking over for his majestic stand!
Contest Title: Monorhyme - Poetry Contest
Poetry Contest Deadline: Tuesday, June 07, 2016
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date submitted: May 20th 2016.
Amid the sylvan shade,
the footpaths teem with wooded laugh,
the sylph she giggles atop aerie slumber,
tickled in soft-slender breeze;
the nectar dews,
meady-moss and carpet-leaves,
juniper and berry-sweet breath
She sings amid the sylvan shade
nothing to do but sigh and dream
her wanton-wistful way
The glade whispers wishes (weening)
tempered hush,
echoed odes of faerie-tongue forgotten rhyme,
But for the meadow and vale,
aerie eagle cries,
none has come but I;
to sit and ponder, and listen -----
homage,
amid the sylvan shade
Keith Hunt (c) 2011 Anthologized in 2012
Looking from a foggy window pane
Onto luscious Sylvan Forests, in the rain
Greens abundantly covered, as they wane
Aromas from earthen cleanliness of terrain
Where behind ancient mountains reign
Meandering for miles, so lazy, on a slow train
Enjoying our views, daydreaming, so insane
Of how the earth is lovely and must remain
Tranquility came; visiting this mountain, again
The grand old venerable hills of Spain
Here my heart shall linger and abstain
From wanting to stay, though, I shan’t constrain
How mysterious is that mountain forest, in a holy domain
Curiously de’jevu visits my cerebral nostalgic brain
Written May 20, 2016 for the Monorhyme Poetry Contest of Shadow Hamilton
The escape commenced.
The endless drive from middleclass suburbia
ala Levittown; across hill and dale,
packed in a 1947 black beauty
of a Lincoln Continental; to the land of Peyton Place
and Steven King; Maine.
Lemon up and tangerine down, Dad drives.
We wiggle and whine, Mom scolds.
A leg cramping journey made longer by
one too many pee brakes.
The dirt road pinged rocks of the chrome bumper;
we near the amorphous clapboard dream.
The violet light of the dash shows nine o’clock.
The ramshackle ashen white farmhouse
full of kissin cousins, cows and chickens;
Madonna’s home. Uncle Ken a mere decorative necessity;
Uncle ken who could charm the pants right off ya,
and obviously had, voila; cousins Georgie and Wayne.
Uncle Ken of the sweet smile and Chiclet teeth;
beer bottle in hand with his concrete company hat cocked to the side;
one long, tall, strawberry blonde, drink of water.
He was a God to us, two little girls, Snow White and Rose Red.
His only rival his son, gorgeous George;
Georgie boy, first cousin, first love.
Nights saw us hunker down under patch work.
Kissin cousins in twinned rooms.
Meeting for body heat in the frosted dawn
in a single wrought iron bed, scrawny eight year olds.
Heads under quilts breathing in and out to warm the pocket of air
we were the only heat on the second floor. With a mighty dash;
reminiscent of our favorite mouse [Mighty]
a charge was launched across the unfinished attic
to the backstairs to country kitchen.
Barefeet dodge raised square nails and splinters.
Bark bits impress frozen soles, as the stove's in house woodpile is jumped.
Twin dynamos skate across the linoleum to a copper kettle's whistle.
A white Windsor landing achieved, Aunt Madonna pours
cornflakes in porcelain white china bowls with a laugh.
Ancient relic your stock declare
Blanched, burnished cloak but meager fare
Your precious pulp carefully lay bare
Crescent, lobed leaves bleed a fathom or share
Nutty residual, fleeting equity you'll readily spare
Sylvan fortress; natural haven
Artfully sculpted; gratuitously graven
Fertile proprietor whose bounty is raven
Perennial bulwark; temporal sanctuary to the craven
Vaulted repository tapped by every enterprising maven
Your wavy blades insect's armored chair
Your peeling canvas terminators doth pare
Your fawning tentacles avionic lair
Your brigand hull leased for wear
Spring unveils the vibrant sylvan beauty
Lying quiescent under winter's mysterious tranquility
The honeybees, suddenly sharp with visibility
Land on peonies with an honest predictability.
The larks and jays hopping with agility
Recite ancient melodies with renewed ability
The merry robin aplomb with fertility
Flutters away, skirting unbound virility.
The verdant leaves smile with humility
Accentuating the bulwark trees dignity.
The nascent buds sway with such fragility
Filling nooks and crevices with love and sensibility.
Basking in venerable nature’s nobility
My heart knows no limits or stability.
Written on 05/07/2016
The cracker crisp Maine air
rang with the rooster’s revel.
Moving day, time to clean the hens shed.
Monstrous three story hatchery,
thousands of burnt umber; beauties a laying.
Lace edged bobby socks, red Keds, barrettes, T-shirt and short;
and off to the hen house, pony tail bouncing.
Immersed in the acrid reek of chicken dew;
Blue jean boys, Georgie, Wayne,
Aunt Donna and pony tail girl [me];
wade through squawk, cluck and doodle.
The boys were more than sure this
horrific chore was a girl eraser.
The mini-men had their gawk, on not at all convinced that this
pretty little missy was going to be up for the job!
And up they must go all those dirty, sticky cluckers!
Up they all must go! Sunny side up!
Up, up, with the upside down
their pointer pecker heads darting
toward gapes between sock and pantleg.
Their leathery legs in the grip of my small pink hands.
Winging flapping with all their might
as if they could fly the three of us
right up the poop covered stairs!
Oh but these Betty's were beauties.
And each omelet laying pecker
each shoelace eating Grande dame,
each button and barrette bobbing bird
wings flapping, feathers flying,
with their deep brown questioning eyes
must be moved! UP, up to the second floor
of that p-you-trfying hen house in the heat
of a windless Maine August.
“Get along with you three!”
Aunt Donna screams spitting feathers
above the din. “Up stairs
with the whole damn lot of them!”
The boys eye the girl and with a tilt of my chin
and scrawny pecker in each diminutive hand;
we troop gingerly, over the sawdust refuse strewn floor,
up the tangled trio go, up!
For they weren't going to get rid of me that easily
no man ever has [wink].
*More for Carry and Bob
The sun barbequed the skin, raising a tenderized pink glow
to the cheeks of the children in the ramshackle red barn.
The three story hay loft partly empty was bristling with tikes.
Pincushioned with straw, sharp as needles,
in their hair, tee-shirts and socks
an “itch-o-rama” of gross magnitude.
Hoarse screams of “Geronimo!”
propel a girl child out ward, over the abyss;
letting go directly over the haystack on the first floor.
Barn boards groan under the weight of her flailing form.
Sweet, so sticky sweet, was the air with sweat, hayseed, and manure.
Red welts form on errant scratches rising up on the her skinny arms.
The boy plops from the thick dangling rope inches from her.
“Hi-Ho Silver!” he hollers; kissing her cheek with a big wet raspberry,
running deer-like from the barn doors toward the pastures awaiting bossy.
Up the stone tossed rock wall he clambers at ankle breaking pace.
Leaping from stone wall to the cow’s back;
“Come on, chicken!” he yells.
The girl follows more timidly watching out for
the broken, blue-bottle, glass shards
that poke out from between the fieldstones.
Reaching cow side, she blows brown hair from her face.
Hands on her tiny hips, she eyes the cow and rider.
The cow's evil eye stares at her from one side of its huge head.
He slaps the cow's rump. Sneakers wail into cowhide
and with an indignant bellow of disgust rider and cow are off, girless,
toward the saltlick, leaving the kiss
and the red barn, but a memory.
*PS I am the girl LOL, I had a kissin' Cousin!
Listen to the silence,
hear each frozen word
wrap your mind around itself
distant from the herd
Feel the bracing numbness,
lift what can’t be touched
free one starling in the night
—windblown through the musk
(Dreamsleep: February, 2022)