Best Wood Poems

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of the audio. Do not listen to audio portion if you wish not to 
Know the author of this poem.

In forest's night, the trees bend low
beneath a slice of half moon’s glow;
    ...

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At a dead man’s throat

lies the rain drenched woolen scarf

that stifled his screams.

Cold Winds howl through decayed trees -

witnesses in the shadows....

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She listens to the whispering of trees 
and views the dance of wind on dew kissed leaves. 
Surrounded by tall silhouettes, she sees 
emerging patterns as each shadow weaves 
the light that lingers on extended limbs. 

Green arms reach up as if to glorify 
the...

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light and dark are swallowed up  
      I watch it play out  
   total 
and utter control  
     how can something so monstrous  
be so beautiful?

    ...

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Eight decades and a half "young" is my mom.
Nine years and half a century am I.
How quickly I have aged gives me a qualm,
but one good thing - I now CAN'T multiply!

And right behind my mom I'm following. . .
The white hairs keep appearing; it's...

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Standing all alone in the woods;
eyes shut, I feel the lilting light.
Sun dodges needles through the crown,
beams land on my skin softly so.
Brisk breezes quicken and rustle.
Bristlecone pines ever sway slowly,
while pockets of air blush my cheeks.
Staying stalwart in meditation,
cones crinkling as puffs roll them
gently...

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Have I jealousy of my dear mate?
I don’t think I have any, but wait!
I sure wish I could pee
in the wood near a tree
like my husband does, standing up straight!

For Line Gauthier's Funny Limerick Contest...

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Wood Carving


He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul.  “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?”...

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New never is...  
	(Charles Wood)
	
	
	
	We are but voyeurs, 
	peering through the iris 
	of the painter’s eye’s recording 
	details of a scene 
	not meant for sharing, 
	when wealth and power 
	are kith and kin 
	of the common man, 
	and rank hath neither 
	meaning nor memory...

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A humble man is what I am before you.
You see, I am not worthy to say…
“Sir, may I have your daughter’s hand,
But please yield to your wife’s pleas:
Calm down a while as I explain what’s deep in my heart.
Why deprive your daughter of a possible...

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stoic or mourning
in a time of depression
or keepers of secrets
with a hostile divide?

why daylit drawn curtains
made from fabric she's wearing
and 'mother-in-law's tongue'
on the porch to the side?

is the pitchfork that's upright
a symbol of darkness
that's repeated in lines
on the clothes, arch and face?

a tribute to values
in...

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Wood Fairies There Often Play



Deep in that far wooded glen
was a place made for men
Was not so easily found
complete with Nature sound

Comfort for man and beast
just a mile northeast
Great to rest my soul there
peacefulness makes me aware

Wood fairies there often play
stacking rocks in my way
A...

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Wood Hills Creek

All is quaintly quiet on Wood Hills Creek
The day after Christmas a silence unique
No shaking hands or exchanging of smiles
Only symmetrical snow as it pleasantly piles

All is fractal frost on Wood Hills Creek
The air chilled and damp a barometer bleak
No warming of hands...

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There's a path I always take
down to the river where the woods
are dressed down open
The light of the sky
doesn't shine in your eyes
but leads the way to redemption
 
I like to stand there for a moment
on the shortcut created by troubled feet
woven with wilderness bliss
and cigarettes...

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At Halloween

     At Halloween, just a few nights ago,
     I saw a sinister dark and tangled wood
     Beside a town where two rivers flow.

     Entering by hidden paths not...

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