Undergrowth painted on the canvas
showing kaleidoscope of feral flower bed.
Simultaneous two human figures.
Man is stepping forward
on shrubs, herbs !
Do they belong to a couple or just met each other
loitering on forest floor
to explore beauty of Nature.
Not sure, whether face of woman looking front
or she has chosen opposite direction.
Long slender straight vertical .
Stems of parallel plants seem branchless.
Lady in gorgeous glossy green
Man in printed black and printed green .
Both looking fresh and clean,
looking matching each other.
Pleasing pretty panorama in calm cool ambient.
Man and Woman : Both may be loners -
whether holding a relationship
or even be unfamiliar,
yet free frolic and mostly like -minded,
as forest lovers.
Both are sure to interact in happy mood
enjoying sublime serene solitude .
Whatever might be,
Both love to walk on pathless wood
Potion of peace offering bliss
amidst glory and glamour of Greenery :
Soft soothing simple scenery
These thoughts we frame and title
hang now from long defunct dendrites,
made branchless by the passé and pointless
now all strung-up upon threadbare strings.
Ones or twice the hanged are molested
by magpies seeking baubles for their nests,
yet most go unrobbed and remain as still as death,
or they twist in chill uncaring winds.
These thoughts shaped to mind-images,
collected together in empty galleries,
these works nibbled at; edited by blind mice
who then hurriedly hide from sight
the slipshod carpentry of our words.
These portraits of spent passions
may still be gazed upon
by the idle few, who beyond all reason
choose to elect a passing cloud
to admire or decry,
plucking out that feathery fragment,
as if it were the real feature
of the faceless and yet untold.
Listen to the cadence of the Elders
of freshly felled trees
Torn asunder, branchless
breaks for cover
The village playground
was deserted
No Moon yet
just a swing
swang by a ghost of a child
Evenings our dull forms appear
We thirst
for the white waters
sweet like our childhood
Anchor buried spurs ensure attachment
Hatches battoned down forbid intrusion
Watertight twine form fidelity's augment
Underpinning intimacy, disciplined union
Ashore in our two mortal trampled petals
Synchronisity sings in branchless canopy
Rose vine vital blood throbs bloat vessels
Deviating tracks twist thorns into arteries
Wants collide on potpurri crackle pungent
Reliant psyches quiet a cyclic voyage solo
Duo devoted woven dig sea floor plummet
Adherence bouys forever's precious cargo
10th April
LOVE
love a human trait
togetherness in nature
instinctive you will find
love
amour
ardour
liaison
devotion
adoration
endearment
idolization
besottedness
unselfishness
hate
~~~
~~
~
'Topical Tree Poetry: Defined:'
A new form of poetry invented by me, (Mick E Talbot), utilising, the 'shape' poetry format overall. Using the 'snowball' poetry form for the trunk, and any form that makes for a good canopy. The subject material must be "topical", ie, trending, current, historical, events.
The format: The canopy; any form of poetry, 1 stanza, no restraint on the number of lines. Lines not to exceed 12 syllables.
The 'trunk'; a form referred to as a snowball. It starts with the smallest word alluding to the topic, then using synonyms increase in size by 1* letter, ending in an antonym, refer to my example poem. The whole must be centered.
* Try to make the trunk branchless, the odd knobbly bump or hole not a problem. (The latter will happen at times).You can by hitting the space bar make the branch/es, hole/s appear on one side of the trunk, Or the other, just an afterthought ;-) Mick
#instinct
Winter Wilds
Calm down the forest greens
Branchless trees stripped bare
Torn apart by weight
Broken limbs by seasons ice
Coupled with sinister wind
Blown away are the leaves and twigs
Tall trunks stand naked on the tundra
Wild, vast distances exposed
Clouds gather birds, insects with lost shelters, homes
No place to hide below their grayness
Placed on hold in cold solitude
What remains is in a frozen grip of winter
Why, whispers through the barrens sound
Winter stumps left standing all alone
The ground seems more solid under snow
Soft crunching underfoot is heard
Woodsmen Day ( Poem)
Sport using handsaws
With a toothed edge blade
One or two handed sawing
On a woodsmen fair day
Traditional log rolling
Is a lumberjacks technique
Style used in river driving
The illustration is unique
Springboard tree is branchless
With live action you can’t beat
Platform board is dangerous
A risk if you compete
Block ax chopping
Is a loggers sport indeed
Hard on your back swinging
Be careful of your feet
Woodsmen day activities
Is part of the fair you see
I bring it all to my channel
Cause that’s the place to be
By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/user/Viewwithme2
Hewn with story untold
Towering mass cut then rolled
Bared, stripped leaving majestic mold
Surrounded with ringed truths manifold
Cored, its residual value poled
Branchless foil whose tender hath been sold
Slighted twig, limb but unvarnished dome not doled
On its base remaining premium scrolled
Trite, sentimental heirloom pared bold
Statuesque sentinal in sylvan fold
Subletted perch, ant stronghold
Milled by termites hundredfold
For weary travelers a foothold
Scortched by fire; its hearth roiled
Yet, remaining viable hostel in tenuous wold
Vulcanized, its pure essence remains for all to behold
A tall branchless trunk,
With lush, palmate sun-kissed leaves:
Tropical beauty.
Sold Out
The blogger screams
And I trembling
Naked before the fogless eyes
Dangled like butcher's meat
Stand on the auction block again, the mist of profits screening pain.
Against the gavel rising and falling
Leading bidders for my flesh speak superficial of my loveliness
Orishas mangled in the history of my undoing
Native faith betrayed by a foreign cross
Emigrants hustled in the market of pain.
Tomorrow we all shall reap the howl of coming misery
Ontology broken as a vase on a strand of prophecy
Debacling us in loneliness, nothing left to sell
Itinerants of the global disaster
Earn nothing from the learning of the dying market.
Sold out: is the "it is done" of the cross
Infinite wonder: profit and futures falling
Nature nailing the arthrithic hands
Gladly to the gallows of our grief
I have known nothing built on innocent blood stands
Neutral before the rope of justice
God dangles from his branchless throne.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.