Best Tree Poems
In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow.
Up above grey skies foretell
perturbed crows to seek shelter.
Down below,
an isolated tree - naked and fatigued;
Listens in silence.
Her soul is wounded,
but you do not see her blood.
Defiant against dysfunctional adversity,
her roots are stronger than an anchor.
Diversifying in deep directions,
kissing the mouth of the Earth.
Her torso may seem tall and mighty,
but her appearance deceives.
Sins of mankind have exposed her sap,
as bark beetles crumble the surface.
Forceful winds and bullet rain blasts
against her weary teary face.
Her tame frame trembles,
as naked broken branches are
blown away by brutal gusts.
It is just another battle for life,
as birds leave her behind - suffocating.
Raindrops stream down her body,
creating puddles of sadness,
soaking deep into her roots.
In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow;
where a tree yearns for Spring.
To bloom prosperously
and to bathe in sunshine -
so departed birds return.
Silent One
20 February 2018
The Mother Tree
I am the mother tree that spawned the seeds of you.
My children, you've grown and branched away from me.
You've married, left home to start your life anew.
Where e'er you go remember you're my family.
My roots run very deep into the earthly soil.
My centered rings are many, you may not yet view.
They show the story of my years of work and toil
And of growth and wisdom I've tried to share with you.
As you branch out, your little seedlings too will grow.
You'll try to keep them safe under your canopy.
One day when they grow up and leave, you too will know
The painful pangs of missing branches on your tree.
As they return for advice from their mother tree
Remind them to honor God with humility.
6-13-20
~First Place~ Poem of the Day June 15, 2020~
Non Human Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
The wind billows out from the seat of his britches
With determined blue eyes, skinned knuckles and knees
he climbs up the rails nailed from old cedar pieces
to the uppermost yoke of an old pecan tree
He is Captain on board, in pretend salty breezes
From his perch in the bird's nest, the world's in his view
A small town boy, who has never seen oceans
sails a fantasy vessel, where his wishes come true
The tall cornstalks stand duty, in the weedy-field waters
He breaks off a branch and a sword fight ensues..
He says "Tally Ho...Land Ahoy!!" to his crew
Dogs are barking below. He must shout out a warning
"There are sharks all around, so his shipmates must heed!"
He is Master Commander, the ruler of nations
He dreams of adventure from his loft in the tree
As he watches the clouds sail across a blue sea
Till his mother calls him in, for his suppertime leave
~
Well, little boys grow, and a childhood will fade
The leaf of the pecan, no longer holds shade
Now a stump of the tree, is all that is left
Yet the memory still thrives, so deep in his breast
When the weight of the world comes tumbling down
He visits this place with the stump in the ground
The rings wrap around him, to take him aboard
To a ship from his childhood, a place he adored
Tonight he will sleep in a bed of contentment
From his bunk he will dream he is sailing the seas
Tomorrow he'll climb up the steps to his vessel
Tomorrow he'll be where the eagles fly free....
...........................................................................................................
Autumn Afterglow
As halcyon summer days
wave goodbye
Bucolic trees seen from
an autumn sky
Become a cynosure
of colored bliss
So heat of summer days
we will not miss.
When dawn's hoarfrost gleams
on gossamer seams,
As diamonds are bestowed
by sunlit beams
With pastiche of rainbow
hues in tall trees,
Leaves begin their dance
when cool zephyrs tease,
Imbued with beauty and
susurrus sound
A wayward wafture before
touching ground.
7-19-22
~7th Place Premiere Contest~
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
10-30-18
A Personal Favorite Poem Written in 2018~First Place~
Contest Judged: 12/12/2018 4:26:00 AM
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
EARLY NOVEMBER 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 LINES
Sponsored by: Brian Strand ~First Place~
SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL Poetry Contest~5th Placement~
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
Oh, weeping willow - friend to me
enchanting thee shall always be.
I have bequeathed secrets to thee
whilst whispering gently to me.
Taketh comfort when hie to flee
nature’s maddening outburst spree.
Cometh rain, shine, you hear my plea
and protect me from life’s debris.
Graceful thee stand my eyes to see
awaiting and weeping with me.
Seasoned branches becoming free
to kiss the ground - teardrops from thee.
Your arching harbour so feathery;
long green leaves a pillow to me.
I rest in safety, hope, to be -
revived afore take leave of thee.
Nectar flowers that feed the bee,
bell shaped yellow, so bright to see.
Catkins fall as you give to me
a token of friendship - bless thee.
Oh, weeping willow - friend to me
enchanting thee shall always be.
I have bequeathed secrets to thee
whilst whispering gently to me.
One day while passing by a tree, I heard a sigh.
It seemed the oak could speak; I felt my knees go weak,
for like a siren’s song, his whisper made me long
to stop and lay me down upon his shaded ground.
Because the day was hot, I lingered at that spot.
The oak got in my mind because I felt inclined
to slip out of my dress, and yes, I must confess
it was as if that tree had cast a spell on me!
With words of poetry, he started wooing me.
His leaves then brushed my skin. I trembled deep within.
His branches were so lush, I hoped I would not blush
to think each sturdy limb might draw me up to him.
I don’t know how or why, but under summer’s sky
I disappeared into his essence and I knew
the tree had captured me. His wood nymph I would be,
for he and I were one that day beneath the sun.
As if immortal, now I live beneath his bough;
at times I disappear within him, but no fear
lives in me any more because the forest floor
I roam now with great joy; the woodland is my home!
Beneath the firmament, lost in my oak tree’s scent,
I feel completely free, his beauty all I see.
A young maid passes by; perhaps she hears us sigh
and thinks it but the breeze now passing through the trees.
But no, it is but I, beneath the summer sky
locked in my tree’s embrace, and with my new found grace,
I look at her and see the girl I used to be,
and my reality is this sweet fantasy
Painting sky before I was born,
Draping my grave in leaf and acorn.
----------------------------
Contest: Crystalline
Sponsor: Rick Parise
11.22.14
I am somber
like November days
and my words speak
weak, as if through tired tongue
I see the trees
stand naked
reaching their limbs
across the stream
as if touching
and comforting each other
from the bitter cold
that's settling in
sometimes I envy them
I want to stand naked
arch my back
reach towards hands
and feel the comfort
of more than I am allowed
and escape the bitterness
as it settles in
it doesn't seem fair
to question a day
or night that wears the same veil
as me, colorless
and silent in the breeze
as it whispers
through the trees
sometimes
I want to lean my ear
and eavesdrop on them
I want to peak beneath
the skies veil and see
the colors blend
to see the rain
less clear
through colored drops
fall upon a canvas
and paint a masterpiece
I want to feel my hands
finger a pen, without tingling
from bottled up emotions
to feel my soul inside me
not as if locked outside
looking in, as if a stranger
to my own life
not be the afterthought
or an emotion beyond words
of some poet's muse
I want to know the meaning
of this emptiness
I want to understand
why the tree is as naked
as my thoughts in winter
yet dressed heavy in the summer
and most beautiful in the fall
why does beauty fall
become grounded
and dance in November's wind
somber, like the day....
RETREAT TO HEED OUR HONEST DEEDS
Two old oak trees weathered by winds and rain
with fallen leaves, branches and toughened bark
to shield a core of grandeur, and sustain
the wisdom borne to see the light from dark.
Two noble men aware of twilight time
both face evil world with courage and grace
Love and Nature gifts each, a life sublime
all standing with courage none can erase.
Each rooted within mother earth's great fold
weathering this world's darkest raging storms
images show lives lived regally and bold
tho' existing in weakened earthen forms.
With words of wisdom written in our seeds
we seek retreat to heed our honest deeds.
22nd June, 2018
T.J Grén & Robert Lindley
spring wakens my tree -
a bejeweled perfumed bride. . . .
love birds make their nest
summer’s yellowed lawn
beneath my tree’s sombrero. . . .
grass breathes sweet relief
fall’s quick change artist -
from green to gold to crimson. . . .
disrobed, my tree naps
As my roots grow deeper
I find my reach extends further
Nourishment I draw from the soil
clothes me in splendid garments
My branches stretch towards the sky
so that I may embrace the sun
The moon is my night time companion
Stars come out to express their delight
I am shelter to the small
The strong perch high on my branches
Magical creatures have made me their home
So I have vowed to keep them safe
In anticipation of Fall's arrival
I adorn myself with magnificent colors
Knowing I will soon be left naked
Seduced by Autumn's winds
There is no reason to fear for me
For within my core there is warmth
Soon Winter will blanket me in white
She will crown me with ice crystals
for I am of Noble Birth!
A coloratura rises
from the suede-edged shape
as the gnarled grande dame
comes to light.. a vision
draped in sweeping evergreen
and a pale cape of kidskin haze -
a beguiling soprano in soft-
focus fools the guileless sunrise
with a diva’s deception --
for in the vaporous golden hour
she can still be breathtaking
the age of change
is beclouded - softened
in gray’s cashmere atmosphere
where blending and bending of
over-ripened perceptions
are smoothed with a dewy smudge..
roughened boughs
and litter-fall is obscured --
unless, you get up close
harsh lines become artfully coy
in the bosom of the pearl mist;
a bedimmed dreamy blur of
Impressionism masks her reality
with the sleight of hand and a mockingbird’s aria
Susan Ashley
March 8, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Contest No 1183
Sponsor: Brian Strand
N/A
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*coloratura: runs, trills, and other florid decorations in vocal music.
A lyric soprano of high range who specializes in such music*
*aria: an elaborate melody sung solo*
I write so many poems that you don’t see
They end up in purple poem cemetery
Mangled in the **** of my maroon mind
Tangerine tangles of wasted time
Violet vines of not good enough
Tall teal trees of unreturned love
Winged words white like albino leaves
Falling to their death from teal tree
Falling for you’re deaf to my poet tree
Bass treble cleft left in green cerebral dream
Unsung songs unmade love
Sing a longs gone wrong
Made in maroon lust
But somehow I manage to hold on to it
Maybe it will be reborn as a chocolate kiss
of rainbow reflection of historical views
Of future endeavors red spice unused.
Oh how I hate the winter where my limbs are exposed and seen
I just adore the spring time, I wear my dress of emerald green
Draping myself in lush foliage, not an inch of body you can see
Until warm winds of autumn arrive and begin to undress me
Then I start to shiver as my gown of golden leaves falls away
Leaving me cold and naked until spring returns again one day
08~22~15
One April day when spring was in the air,
I stepped outside so I might relish it.
I came upon a cherry tree so fair,
beneath its limbs I was enticed to sit.
I fell to sleep inhaling fragrant bliss -
the vision of the tree still in my brain.
I dreamed one sweet, pink petal, like a kiss,
fell on my cheek, and soon there was a rain. . .
A rain of lovely silken blossoms! Then
they softly made a pile upon the ground.
Warm wind embraced me; that’s the moment when
I woke to pink resplendence all around!
Upon a bed of petals I then lay.
Inside a dream I had no need to stay!
For the Dreams poetry contest of Nayda Ivette Negron