Best Walnut Poems
Like a lost firefly my mind strays
Concealed like a ripe walnut
My heart is shelled by enclosure
Waiting to be cracked open...
To be served on platinum trays
For whom ever needs some exposure
My donation of hope and faith...
Or perhaps you need just a little love
If you need some, it's yours to take...to pull
You may take as much as you need
I am serving plenty for all
Widen your fingers, grab a handful
My friend, what is mine is yours
My world just wouldn't be the same any other way
After all, is life really life...without love
Sharing and caring for one and for all
I'll be cracking open walnuts...
Until I'm way high...up above
Tri-Con Poetry Contes
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
7-16-2019
as my fears subside the tree I planted in spring is showing growth
Written Aug 18, 2016 For John Hamilton's Monoku Madness Contest
a walnut tree -
the fruits of its labor
spilled at its feet
April 29, 2018
universes in reverse
verses in reverse
still form words
less symbols to believe
less letters to read
folding back into past
accidents
that could never quite
realize or
describe
all the mechanics going on
after all this time
gone
The old walnut tree in the meadow weep
Time had arrived her strains in sorrow steep
Echoes of a nameless and powerful storm break in
I feel shivers on my bare skin
I would like to touch and hug it, before it dies
The roots of the tree pointing up towards the skies
In the backyard of mourning, distant in all its splendor
Never a new spring, feel its shaking so tender
05/09/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Writing Challenge 1, September 2019
- Eight Line Form - Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
4th place in the contest
a walnut waltzing with a willow tree
A molecule is neither a destitute mop without a bucket house. Nor is it a seven acre field that is very cold due to having no grass. Even the most prepared of ground is a haven for a gloved concrete whose acidic greedy greyness freezes the earth allowing for no breath from the ground. It is located between the purple mountain and hawks head valley. Where the hypotenuse causes a massive erosion and lesion in the wild vibrant landscape. Birds sigh at the chaos. Trees cry for their home. And the dark eyed mystics shaking rattles speak of prophesy that was spoken and handed through time through pictorial evidence, speech, story and song. Moving a large display of teapots in a shop is imperative to create a nice display for consumers. They might buy one so always make sure spouts are facing an easterly direction for this will ensure sales and sales are salivating selfish sea lions with suits. When placing the money. When digging for liquid gold. When leaning on graves. When balancing on a breadstick over a precipice. Exert no power. Exert no pollen. Exert no excretion. And always move to the sounds omitting from a nine mile moon in a cereal packet. Harnessed by wire but untamed. Pockets picketing players. And a nice big soup causing chaos at a roadside. Yachtsman yawning yay. And the gang members are swimming in tutus. Up the mountain down the mountain. Peeling the spoken steely grey suits. Lucid suits. Sinkhole weapons of underworld. Chat chat chat. And an operatic gold star warbling on a shelf or a door. Put into a cake tin then and bake at 800 degrees. Thus ensuring leverage is even. Events equalling extraction. Then boom boom boom. All gone fishing. Xxxxx formulations Z Z Z Z
As I passed my wicket fence
The ageing walnut tree,
Showered me with withered leaves
And said something to me;
That it stood since ages past
But I had never seen,
Crimson light upon its leaves
Thus how twilight had been;
I glimpsed not the sparrow's nest
That lay upon its bough,
Few spotted eggs closeted
Though which the night winds plough;
Neither I the twitter sweet
That morning brought with it,
Nor did I the moon savour
And how the stars were lit;
Felt no spring nor summer heat
Hues autumn ever passed,
Soft snow upon its branches
Know how sweet nuts amassed;
Had I known the squirrel small
That in its hollow stayed,
A smile would cross my dried lips
Under its dappled shade;
It said I need pause beneath
It gnarled and shrunken stem,
Inhale a puff of fresh air
And lightly say ahem;
I could not make much of this
Until it whispered soft,
It knew the angel of death
Who paid a visit oft;
The angel had confided
Of men whose days were few,
My name too she uttered
Something I never knew;
The wisely tree then advised -
That I take heed of days,
See the world with different eyes
And change my baffled ways;
Knowing soon my time would lapse
I now bask in the sun,
Glimpse the trees and hark the sounds
That I had never done;
Strange I find some precious time
To kiss the balmy air,
Immerse myself with loved ones
Indulge in that I care;
Late I am for having missed
The best life had to give,
Sadly spent my living days
Not knowing how to live.
***********
Out the back
Behind gran's house
Halfway down the street.
The little yard with the mangle.
And the narrow concrete strip path
That led to the other end,
Where the walnut tree ruled.
A musty tangled wilderness
Of corrugated iron and wire.
Only bluebells were allowed
To grow in the cool shade
Of the walnut tree.
Spreading it's branches.
Like an urban exile camouflaged Subjects
Wood ants foraged it's fissured bark.
In the summertime
Drooling old moggies
Lolled, cradled among it's boughs.
Autumn,
Gran stooped to gather the walnuts
Stuffing them into stockings.
Hanging them in cupboards.
Until Christmas.
My gran and the garden
She shared with the walnut tree.
Once summer green
then Autumn gold
bedecked this ancient tree-
Today silhouette laid bare
misletoed in winter frieze.
recalcitrant nut
will not yield its hidden heart
resists invasion
patience gone where is hammer?
walnut obliterated.
" N" Poems
Nutty
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
Constance La France
20/09/2021
walnut tree in fruit
best pickled green eat with cheese-
carved Chinese treasure
By Dawne Zacharias
Walnut Hill was a favorite place for us
When the snow had covered the ground
The sledders would go and the saucers would glide
there was no other place, in our winter town
then dear old Walnut Hill.
We'd look outside, the snow four feet deep
We would jump out of our sacs and go
With our scarves, hats, boots, and
gloves, we looked like Eskimos
We pulled our toboggan all the way, five miles felt like nil
To the best place, we could spend a day
On dear old Walnut Hill.
We marched up the slope,
with smiles all around
we came down with a bound
from the highest mound
we flew with ease
the whole way down
we had taken our fill
On dear old Walnut Hill.
Sometimes we would crash
and everyone would fly
We laughed and joked and got up to climb
to the top of that hill one... last... time
The memories there, the fun we had,
we all in smiles review, the strength of will,
the climb uphill, our energy zapped its true
mom picked us up, tired and tuckered through
The wet clothes we threw in a heap
it was a quiet house we all lay exhausted, asleep
after coming home from living the thrill
from spending our time on dear old Walnut Hill.
There’s not a sound
In the woods
But for the lone, heavy
Thump
Of a walnut
Shed
From its tree
To the ground,
Re-affirming
That the Earth
Is not hollow.
I’m startled by the thud, so thick, so full
It could be a bull
Stomping its hoof into a dry field,
But, the Earthy wallop reveals
An abundance
From underneath,
A community of roots
Braid together like the synapse connections
Of a human brain,
So that the forest of trees
Breathes as one
From the soil,
That’s alive, thinking, blinking
With a 100 million
Microbe languages
Chirping
Through its heavenly rot
From God,
A summon to a muddy galaxy,
To a billion year old feast
Where man and tree
Were first split from the same, single seed
From Eden,
The trees
Eating the sunlight
And making the air fresh
Like miracle machines
Chasing, in divine migration,
The retreat of the butterfly glaciers
From Man,
The fauna of new love,
The discovery of,
A little poem
And its feelings swiped from a scroll of paper;
It says,
The world is not a place with trees.
Indeed, the trees are the world.
When a walnut
Falls,
The universe remembers,
And shakes.
THE AMAZING BLACK WALNUT
High in the tree, Daddy shook a branch
to make them fall
don't let them hit your head.
An outer shell,
green halfway to the pit
as time would turn it black
after their fall.
Our gunny sacks now filled,
fried chicken for reward
under the ancient tree
of hardest wood by time.
No fungi stands a chance
nor ringworm, we are told
blood sugar stableized.
Heart pumps more like it should
God's blessing realized.
How sad to know a tree
Once scores of years are sold
A hundred dollars for one tree
and fallen from buzz saw.
God's blessing's been betrayed
for coffee tables
of the rich.
© ron wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet
. for public domain
Fourth and Walnut, so fine, so chic,
what a place for God to speak,
or for that matter, Satan too.
Both would like a word or two.
So Merton opened up his soul,
as if standing on a knoll
in his Kentucky, US of A,
offered up his heart that day.
God's Love came pouring like a stream,
drowning Satan's evil scheme,
and Merton went out with the tide,
to choose the better life inside.