Best Undergrowth Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
rendezvous canopies beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I secretly envy lilies’ arms empty of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care of their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ with their brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels the square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
(after the painting by Vincent Van Gogh)
Does she even exist? Doubting her own reality,
seeing herself vanishing in undulating undergrowth,
fading and merging into summer-scorched scenery.
But cold lurks there beneath shafts of sunlight, the phallic trees...
He wears the night underneath, a fabric of dark and unease,
his hand heavy upon her arm, silver-tongued charm
smooth as the silver-limbed leafless trees,
disappearing, now, on a twisting breeze...
Sinuous stems suffocate, writhing and thrashing;
convulsions of shuddering green and yellow.
Enticed ever deeper into flailing flowers,
evanescing into foam of frothing flora...
Did she ever truly exist? It's doubtful.
The flower-frail faceless and nameless
will always be lured and laid, invisible,
dissolving, under bare, phallic trees.
brushed by the blushing Fontainebleau,
blooming with rainless foliage,
like a poem kissed by the green…
I sigh as thoughts wander
in saffron silence,
in the echoing warmth
of your breathing silhouette...
we are beyond wraiths of wildflowers,
waltzing through the wilderness,
sipping honeyed drops of sunlight,
whilst specks of citrine
soar above olives~
merging in mystical mists of magnetic gold,
oblivious to the spectral leaves
thriving within inner forests,
veiling the vindictive vines
painted with ice-corpse colors of life.
O time, cloaked in cryptic clouds~
in a world that cares not for the forgotten,
let the fields of fervent petals
dress the untouched trees
with butterfly-blue blurs,
as peace is more than a mere noun,
nestled between framed figs…
and to heal is to heed the harmonized~
hymns mirroring soft springs of Eden,
where l o v e is an aesthetic array
ribboned with amorous emeralds~
scattered across meadows
lost in redolent reveries.
I speak to the breeze,
cradling the balmy boulevard
in hushed tones~
to unfreeze the wintry thistles,
to untangle complex chords of woes
piercing the pained canvas
aching within my mind..
for in the layered heart
of external pleasures,
there I’ve found the palette~
that homes not regrets and troubles
but elevates the m a g i c
of sketched solace…
the verdant of swirling hope
fine-tuned strokes of sage~
sun-soaked distraction,
a memory of soulmates
tied
to the timeless roots
infused with trust ...
The rush that occurs with Van Gogh’s brush.
Deep in the undergrowth, drawn to two figures.
The dappled landscape, lemon, lime and vanilla.
The close couple strolls amidst rows of trees.
The ebonic widower walks with his spectral wife.
Trees, like stick figures, reminiscent of cemetery stones.
This dreamy scene, romantic and haunting. Momentary
pause, as if for a quick snapshot. The forest, seemingly,
goes on forever. The lovely lady dressed in pastoral green.
Although the lovers pause, you still hear the rustle of her gown,
and their forward swoosh through tall grass and wildflowers.
Completely entranced, in their edenic setting, and with each other,
they blend with the tall trunks, relaxed and content.
Robust in recollection, riveted by exotic bird calls, earthy scent,
mixing with her light-lavender, temporal-lingering on the canvas.
Contrast with eternal life, where our imagination flourishes, alive,
with healing in the leaves, loving, forever and a day, in paradise.
The rush that occurs with our Creator’s brush.
Our unnoticed actions,
condemned love
The hallucinatory countryside,
complicated
Strong petals,
a song of freedom
Born to poverty
without blame for their fate
Accept me as I am,
don't judge
Captures hope,
in deep undertones
of colorful vegetation
Among tall trees
towering as gates
Walks in beauty
and truthful love
An unpopulated place where
poplars grow
Unseen canopies expose
tree trunks in a row
Wildflowers swoon over
undergrowth below
As back to front figures
watch the panoramic show
Lush vegetation evokes a
spellbinding hue
With violet bark
to engrain their view
Don’t flee this forest
reality will go askew
Stay forever
they may just pull through
Lost in the emerald
is a world of their own
Do they seek solace
have seeds been sown?
In this vibrant thicket
where trees have grown
Have they just come together?
or come back to atone
Perfect is a dream
without fear or dread
One that only ends,
when we go to bed?
The artist knew well,
his final words bled
“Sadness will last forever”
>yet brilliance he spread<
black bat flower speaks to me
invited intensity, profound propensity.
its wings and whiskers —
spooky, grotesque.
its bouquet of flowers, teeth
that devour fear,
courage to stand my ground.
it’s said, don’t linger too long
in its centerfold song.
deep darkness swallows
one whole,
an eye entrenched
in one’s soul.
blue moon or so,
a pity party,
boundary of bracts and bracteoles,
seething bat seeds,
tears that moisten undergrowth soil
with brisk breeze.
one’s madness, compassion,
strength, prattle unleashed.
11/17/2020
By his hand was grown a forest
trees aligned as fence posts
trunks accentuated lavender and blue,
but not as a spruce
and purple strokes, not disguised as prose
in a woodland cut short in proportion
somewhat a distortion of towering height
over wildflowers it stood,
sans a canopy of leaves
for the profusion of those umbrellas
would've barred sunlight from the copse.
Botanicals, merely painted as smears
A scene filling my senses
with thoughts of Spring... except
to mourn for branchless trees
barren to give motherly birth
and nurture buds as their worth.
Reflections on canvas of golden blossoms,
topaz gems and white faceted diamonds
windswept by Mariah's winds
blowing North and South
then, changing her mind... East and West
temperament is what she does best.
An undergrowth of green but
I don't find it serene
as side by side two plod
through stems and grasses
feet tangled in masses of vines
Was that a wise decision?
With derision, I wonder...
if the brush strokes had a purpose
a plan for the man to be more relevant,
standing tall, garbed in black, high-top hat
while barely visible, the fem
camouflaged in Van Gogh's jungle.
Whether facing front to back,
one coming or the other going
there's no starry night to be found
That would be profound
even to an eye that's unappreciative of art
when part of the scene
has no semblance of a sky.
Vibrant and radiant life abounds
as lovers, sealed around devotion
thrive midst nature's care...
mindful of paradise
blest, blooming, blissful
entrusted to their stewardship
for functional optimization
they both are committed to fulfill
since trees and vegetation witnessed...
the Creator exhorted them to
"Go and multiply."*
*Genesis 1:28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.
February 15, 2025
1st place, "Select a FEB 25 POSTED" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/19/2025
He walks alone in silence as the ghost in his mind wants to come alive
Trees and wildflowers at his side,
paralleling nature’s balance
and symmetrical harmony,
as the yellow faces and hollow bodies beam
In his wake,
he sees a picture painting,
caressing his every step along the way
Seas of yellow in his harbor
peaking through
Where docks of trees, like boats,
line his thoughts,
while the yellow faces of the sun excite
He continues on this path
With an eerie voice pointing toward the light,
look not at a horizon but out past the trees
where a silhouette spans in the forest mist,
trees and wildflowers yearning for a home
connie pachecho
2/15/25
A couple stands side by side in a woods
among the tall slender trunks of many trees
lifting high to the sky,
the unseen crowns of which
I can only imagine.
The man and woman’s feet
are planted on ground
wildly overrun by white and yellow flowers
which seemingly have bloomed
free as a breeze.
Dressed in black,
the man resembles a strange scarecrow
who has escaped his stake,
and his mate in her frock of green
might be a forest nymph who set him free.
Describe what you see my love, she queries
A game they often play in the depths of the forest
He replies, Turgid are the woodlands densely they’ve died back
creeping where no life is seen,
between the flowery meadow's cracks
The poplars have shed their leaves leaving violet trunks bare
For it isn’t rare, sun light that shan’t filter thru the canopy
Entrapped is the pale old plant ivy green
However, the white roses striving and yet flutily parade
whilst tolerating the languorous shade
As he describes his innermost inhibitions
without interference or shame
In the distance, expanding their horizons together
Both aware 'tis a harbinger of the end game
Spilled from dew drenched petals,
an overflow of laughing ferns
warring with the still forms – graceful
amazed by the atmosphere of light
softly woven through the inklings, aglow
stirring winds beneath shadows
pouring from the twilight’s joy
softly threaded into the horizon, a sky
worn gray by the gentle hope
arising beyond the meadow’s charms
leaking, a trickle of melancholic
born of grief and glory
spattered with golden blossoms, dozens
bowing and kneeling to worship
praising their Creator, the Author of light
nodding like they’ve some reason
beyond the presence of silence
still forms, guided by the heartbeat, the rhythm
a song amid the savannahs quiet breath
pouring out joy through the air
bending and falling, calling to the morning
a reflection of still beauty, on the wings of truth
blowing across the steely skies
remembering the day when this artist transposed
the music of the heart to a story of genius
Her face tilted up, so serene.
Marvelling at the vastness of the blue sky
As she walks arm in arm
With her fiancé,
Glowing inside,
Basking in the aura of love.
Their union, as strong
As the tall trees surrounding them.
The fragility of life—
Two souls walking as one
As they tiptoe through the dense maze of flowers,
The sea of yellow opens up at each step,
Radiant and beckoning,
Their scents wafting and tickling the nose.
His gait, so gallant
As he delights in the beauty beside him,
Holding on,
Together,
Forging
Ahead—
The stepping stones
Building a world for two,
In a field filled with light and hope.
In luxuriant terrane of verdant sprouts
opulent golden understory unveiled,
stemmed by swerving jade blades,
entwining the pairs of legs petrified
within the maze of floral profusion.
The black figure of deviant prominence
stands out like a towering protector
in sutured closeness fused with her,
camouflaged to evade the predator.
Bare trees aligned in harmonized motif,
outline the floral boulevard for them
to walk away from the onyx horizon
to the sunburst meadow ahead.