Best Wood(A) Poems
Somebody suggested I write the tale using the correctly spelled words because my story (below here in the Homophone contest) is simply too distracting to understand with homophones. Hope you will take a peek!!
When Harry Met Terry
Once upon a time in a wood, a very nice prince named Harry
met in the mist, high on the bough of a tree, a fairy named Terry.
The fairy felt low, for he was weak, and he was in need of some meat.
He bawled, “Woe is me. I can’t even stand here on my own two feet!
My poor heart is breaking, and I’m in pain. The last time that I ate
was days ago. You see, I’m in a haze and do not feel so great.”
I perish and long for wine and ham. Even better would be lamb!
But I would settle for a piece of bread with some sweet berry jam.”
Prince Harry knew he had some mints, some Tic Tacs that were in the pair
of new red jeans he wore. He took them out and waved them in the air.
“Licorice too I have right here!” Prince Harry told the fairy.
“It’s not much, but please do eat. Later on, we’ll dine and make merry.”
Prince Harry placed the fairy Terry on his pale white horse.
Then away the royal with the fairy hastened on his homeward course.
All day long they rode and rode. When the fairy started to groan.
Suddenly, from the horse, both the man and fairy were thrown.
Hungrily, they paced beneath the setting sun and through the night.
They pressed on until morning. Harry’s residence came into sight.
Prince Harry’s wife had supper ready, and she’d made a pie.
From utter happiness, the fairy thought that he might die.
She heated up their food for them. They both had grown so pale!
She listened as the fairy Terry told his tragic tale. . .
of how he’d lost his way and, for food, had not one crumb
until her dear spouse rescued him. At last, his prince had come!
AGE OF TEN
Way back then when I was ten
Things were so very different then
I wrote with ink in a fountain pen
Whenever we could we would build a den
And I loved to help my dad in the garden
Way back then when I was ten
I walked to school and was never late
Always ate everything on my dinner plate
Played hop scotch by the garden gate
And was not allowed to go to bed late
Way back then when I was ten
No television colours only black and white
Real Christmas trees and a glass fairy light
We all had a different size of trike
Then I got my first two wheeled bike
Way back then when I was ten
We had so much freedom to roam
But must be in for meals at home
Only a phone boxes with a dial phone
And no phone in many a home
Way back then when I was ten
Latest craze was roller skates
And hula hoop with your mates
Skipping ropes and Meccano gates
But lots of fun with wooden crates
Way back then when I was ten
Coins were in pounds shillings and pence
Mothers talked over the garden fence
Scooters that you could make go at such a pace
Noisy steam trains that always seem to race
Way back then when I was ten
With friends you played out doors
Toys for your imagination scatted on the floor
Skipping ropes, skates and many things more
Sledges of wood, a dolls house with opening doors
Way back then when I was ten
Fun was had with blackboard and chalk
Clay dolls that you could walk
And new plastic ones that wouldn’t talk
Then babies came by way of the Stork UNSUPPORTED CODE
Escape.
Blue sky with milky stars, spiral your way here
and I shall trace your yellow circles all night long,
because breathing is not easy and passion often sleeps.
We sat under the cover of nightfall, drinking wine
and taking in the majesty of night.
Paris 1947, no more war.
The bullets took my father away from me,
now the evening air consoles me, playing with my hair.
“A croissant my dear?” I laughed at the cliché of it all.
Some things still will never be the same.
The taste of the death is the same for everyone;
first it gets hot and then it gets cold.
I draw on the window fog,
a finger slides on cold glass, squealing.
“Escape”.
I can see right through the letters.
A man walks along the shoreline, waves licking at his feet;
erasing his footprints, deleting his presence, making him complete.
I once could hear freedom in the echo of seashells: “Hushhhh…”
Somewhere among the snowy dunes, a solitary tree stood bare
with its limbs spilling into the sky like black ink on a grey page, a refuge
for owls and the thundering foot of a spring hare. This is my home.
I am nestled amongst dry leaves and damp wood, a family of squirrels
has taken me in.
Nature is gracious, wolves don’t belong in public.
These days, I live in lullabies.
One reality is better than none at all.
My heart is like a swollen stream,
a current strong and swift,
beside which banks the mountain giants
their rugged forms uplift.
My heart is like a wilderness,
a darkening wood, a desert sand,
a tempest on a heaving sea,
a blizzard in a frozen land.
My heart is like the deep of night,
the pearling of a dawn in May,
a quiet pool, the winsome strain
a song bird sings at break of day.
My heart is like volcano fire,
seething terror at the core,
an open mouth, a vast desire
forever hungry, craving more.
My heart is like a gentle rain,
the greening of a field in spring,
a sighing breeze through tender leaves,
a butterfly on glistening wing.
My heart is like a somber dirge
in sorrow's lonely, minor key,
a gripping ache, a widening void,
a vacillating mystery.
How shall I ever meet myself,
elusive stranger, face to face,
when I must search a universe
where each thought holds a hiding place?
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
There was this smart ass way back in high school,
sharp as a fiddle but so unpredictable;
he ran the school paper and worked as editor,
you might say he’s intelligent and that’s for sure.
Well, this man liked to dabble in prose and poetry
but assumed he could be just as good in carpentry;
thought that talent was transferable, the darn old fool,
and quickly grabbed the nearest basic manly tools.
So he set out in his new-found trade and pushed his luck,
grabbed some wood, a hammer and few nails from the shack,
then proceeded to the front yard under a tree
to start building an outdoor bench for all to see.
He exerted and sweated for a week or so,
it soon became obvious he had a tough time too;
but nothing could stop him from being macho,
you have got to give it to him, Mr. Can-Do.
When at last his labor was over and he's had his fun,
I burst out laughing when I saw what he had done;
for instead of a bench the rotten carpenter
accidentally built a lousy rocking chair!
*****
My bonnie wee babe hush hush now your cries
For darkness has come and cool is the night
White stars of heaven shine bright in the skies
And moonbeams glow soft with pure golden light
A butterfly kiss on your sleepy eyes
To sooth from your face that tight little frown
Will wash away tears and calm melting sighs
So snuggle up close neath soft eiderdown.
Fat little sparrows are warm in their nest
And fluffy young ducks hide under soft wings
The kitten’s curled up on old Papa’s chest
And off in the wood a lone songbird sings
Asleep is the sun in the western seas
Tomorrow she’ll rise and shine through the trees
Plumes of smoke rise up
From dead wood, a red hot fire
Decayed leaves, Autumn
Dry leaves rustle with each step
Noisy autumn here beneath my feet
My golden wood a wondrous place
Woodpecker's song repeat, repeat...
The stag his antlered crown parades
While gleaning in the harvest fields
The pheasant cock calls his mate
Such small wonders this autumn yields...
The fire draws me to sit awhile
And ponder the passing of the year
How quickly it is autumn's time again
Time to remember and hold it dear
All clad in green and quite unseen
By all eyes save my own
Across the wood a faerie stood
Upon the Trestig Stone
I gazed in awe at what I saw
When music swirled and trilled
And all the while with charming smile
The faerie danced and twirled
Her steps were light, her eyes were bright
Her skirt both swayed and flared
Her tresses gold did weave and fold
So pure I likely stared
Could I but hold this faerie gold
I'd gladly fly away
To splash in strands of Faerie Land
So strange to us, they say
But ere I spoke, the spell had broke
She flies to realms unseen
Yet still I ken I'll see again
My faerie wearing green
Dat gal done gone an lef me? '?lone
went t'town wit huh red shoes on.
Hi' ole heels,dress on tight
Powda and paint,sum'in ain't right
They's som kine of problum I caint explain
I believes sum main done turnt her hed
stayin out late,alw ays rais'in sayin
gotta take uh baf, fo' she get in bed
So I follered huh one night to see
Lemme tell ya I seent real good
Dat woman spose'd to be lovin me,
Sportin ah nuthah main, in yonder wood
ME, I tries to be uh good main
work ever day; try t' serve da lord
My woman wanna ride in Cadillacs
Alls I own is uh beat down Ford
Ever night she cum home sweatin
ev'n tho the weather been steady cool
I'll make a flea uh wrestlin jacket
fo I let huh make me uh fool.
Bag packed, gwine to da railroad track
catch me uh train to eny'where good
If'n ya wanna fine dat woman I lef behine
Dig down deep, in yonder wood.
As the night is consumed by crimson mist, I stand surrounded by all manner of nefarious foes, both human and demon, living and dead as I stand my eyes burn with draconic flame I feel the lust ,the lust for blood and vengeance revenge for their words and actions, chains and abuse their acid venom The blades they used that flayed my flesh from my body leaving me with bones and sinew leaving me raw not an inch of skin left to protect me
As I start toward my foes, consumed by blood lust and the flames of vengeance when wolves of silver rush in front of me and from the shadow of the wood a man and woman appear both handsome and lovely clad in white; from the black skies a wall of gold and black shimmering with light appear holding back my foes
In the air clad in gold and black scales emanating power a dragon comes and from the earth rises a sylph ,a cold wind blows as summer leafs and the scent of honey mix with the frigid air around us and two Fae one of the winter and one of the summer court come walking out of the wind
then dragon fire flames the barrier between me and my foes , the Fae speak in an unknown tongue immediately wind gathers gathering my foes in a tornado of such power that non could avoid the earth arose around the fury of the storm as the pair in white strode into the storm soon I heard not pain but moans of joy emanate inside wolves rushed in soon there came limbs flying from the maelstrom of power the dragon rose into the air above the magic’s of those around me soon the smell of burning flesh flooded my nose soon the carnage was over
this is also a personification
Flameouts there
and thereabouts while
tigers watch old thoughts
dismay young whipperwills
Another train got hijacked last scene
heading-south new-tracks
laying wherever
you look if you do how
about that road we're on
Is it all left
turns colored red
Does a rat bastard really ruin it
for everyone Does living
have anything to do
with it can you think
more than one
at-a-time is opportunity
the incredible shrinking
meme slash #hashtag
cloudshoverthoughts@
rattle-like loose change
in tin-cups revolving
planets
and Doors
charge accounts too
meanders just
do why
usually wonders
Flat feet
get caught tiptoes
rarely smile if
this itsy-bitsy
piece and
that itsy-bitsy
piece are
supposed to
fit why don't they
just depends on
the measure of
Can a judge not be
judged wood-a-chuck
if-he-could So
it goes
this year of time
Long before Nintendo or Atari were invented,
At birthday time you bugged your folks and maybe they relented
And added to your toys a game you’d coveted, I’d bet:
A marvel made of solid wood, a real Nok-Hockey set!
The game was table-sized, although you’d play it on the floor.
No matter if you won or lost, you always wanted more.
Your wooden stick hit wooden puck and aimed it like a rocket;
The object was to sink it into your opponent’s pocket.
It’s kind of retro now, I guess, or maybe just passé.
It’s not the type of game that modern children like to play;
And that is why the set I saw did not evoke a smile,
‘Cause there it was just sitting on a curbside junkheap pile.
It’s sad to reminisce when all those remnants from the past
Remind us how the years have disappeared so very fast;
And all those things we valued once when we were young and brash,
Just like that cool Nok-Hockey set, get thrown out with the trash.
On a cold and frosty morning I gazed across fair fields, woods and copses,
I heard a wood-lark sing a sweet song, so sweet, hairs on my neck raised,
Did I hear it earlier in the month, I thought my ears were playing tricks,
Standing in my back garden a thrush joined in with his song, a magical day.
Peering around there were tomtits hanging on the eaves of the thatched barn,
Rooks began to revisit their special trees and arrange their future nests,
A harsh loud voice, the missel-thrush rang from hedges and boughs of trees,
The missel-thrush became quiet, the hedge sparrow renewed its chirping note.
Turkey-cocks now strut their stuff they gobble and partridges begin to pair,
House-pigeons have had their young and field, crickets open their old holes,
Gnats begin to play about the insects, swarm, under weak watery sun hedges,
The stone-curlew clamors and by ponds, in wet water mead's the frogs croak.
Ravens lay their eggs and in a far off wood a green woodpecker sings loudly,
An elder treed discloses its flower buds and the catkins of the hazel grow,
Young leaves are budding on the gooseberries and currants begin to take shape,
And late February is a time where life is regenerated for another four seasons.
Winter in spite of occasional frost and frowns is now leaving for pastures new,
The voice of the turtle and the singing-bird is heard once more in our lands,
Frost and icicles hanging from high old oak trees begin to drip on hard ground,
A fox can be seen way off in a fallow field looking for nest-eggs for breakfast.
I tiptoed past the medicine cabinet
So as not to wake the sleeping pills
I looked at worms with a magnifying glass
But could not tell the difference between boys and girls
I looked for the corner in a round room
For about fifteen hours
I peed outside into a stiff wind
And was baptized with a shower
I threw my clock out of the window
To see if time really does fly
I could not balance my checkbook
Though I gave it a really good try
I do not look into the refrigerator
Because the mayonnaise is dressing
How much wood a woodchuck can chuck
I try to keep on guessing
I am the Silly Billy
The composite of simple folk
Laughed at by everybody
As the butt of my childhood jokes