Dryads Poems | Examples

Innocence

Once I ran, forgetting myself in rising excitement,
after fireflies bearing tiny torches of light.
Hunted after tree Dryads in the neighbouring woods, 
and summoned tooth fairies to do my homework.
Innocence is what dissociates a child from an adult.

Autumn Fog

There is something about an autumn’s fog
Specifically in the morning sun
It’s like a scene in a fantasy book
Enchanting, wispy, ethereal, magic

Forests - as if behemoths slumber within 
Winds carry the whispers of elves hidden
Beneath the boughs the dryads dance delight
A dragon’s roar - bringing terror and fright

I wish to live in such a world sometimes
A world where sorcery is not fiction
But I’d imagine it would be mundane 
so a whimsy is what it will remain

New Zealand Pastoral

In the tea trees to the whistling song thrush
  I alone hear the first September dawn,
and outside beyond ryegrass, fern and rush 
  glisten woolly coats of sheep early shorn. 
Smell the petrichor and jade scented hedge,
  the lambs, the honey bees in pollen’s net -
that botany of sights and sounds, that fledge
  of young and new from moonrise to moonset.
See in the mists swamphens and waterfowl
  and behold the prismatic dawn of spring -
the morepork on nocturnal moonlit prowl
  that casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.


            Written: September 1996

My Truths

                        Leaves of Lilith, fall like butterflies 
            as I slither in souls, secluded by time ~ 
where treacherous tulips still mourn the death of magnolia moon, 
hidden within scentless sepals, which couldn't be their evergreen anchor... 
                        Hear the echoes of grieving dawn, 
whose tamed scars forgot to unfurl my truths beyond memories ~ 
scripting me like misplaced intuition, surfing on those whispering waves, 
      for I've always blossomed upon heartaches, in gardens of metaphors ~ 
            hibernating as the turmeric taste of melting sun... 
                        I'm the untouched ink of sin ~ 
swirling across silver patience ebbing along the starlit peacock-golds, 
            where daffodil dryads throb in ancient dyes and I'm caramelised... 
      above sonnets soaked in skeletal promises, 
                        my reason rests within wisdom, an ageless mirage...

Spectral Dryads

Written: April 4th, 2024
                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Behold, arrays of dreamy dryads, 
With lacy halos of azure and amethyst dyads
Their ethereal presence, a sight to admire, 
As they dance and sway, akin to celestial fire. 

Their beauty, a tapestry of nature's art, 
A symphony of colors, playing apart. 
In their delicate grace, they enchant and enthrall, 
A poetic vision, captivating all.

Wisteria, a symphony of divine, 
Sinuous chimes of silky lilac entwine.
As they sway to the rhythm of my soul
Sibilant rustles of a silver breeze consol.

Within the sphere of vibrant hues, 
Melodic whispers softly infuse. 
Lullabies, akin to gentle streams, 
Echo through the world of dreams.

Through winding paths, I roamed alone, 
To my scarlet nest, my heart true tone.

The Enchanted Forest

Glass illusions forestry of butterflies in flight 
swiveling and turning wing, aiming for sun 
hovering over lulling waters of purple hues  
Breathing like flowers, frilling up the air 
inside a cornucopia world of rich and bright 

Birds are calling from afar symmetrical chirps 
of grandeur, across the wide expanse 
nocturnal illumination of the heart and soul 
Varathane music sonatas, flute escapades  
within a dormant brook, nature's usurp 

Fairies, trellises, and magic twigs interlinked 
inside the Foloi forest, the mighty oak respires 
aside centaurs and dryads, of their time
an emerald green, bottled by nature herself 
all is transformed here, even the sky is pinked  

Altered, Remodeled, Reworked, Transformed, 
by my sweet, poetic imagination...

                           "Follow Me  "

Wabi-Sabi

Cars are the wind on the streets
semi-truck wheels shriek thunder,
rain shatters against stone and brick walls
on dusty roads, oak trees fence with twigs—
wushu wooden clatters.

Dreadful arrays of dryads
azure and amethyst gossamer haze,
sleek, silken strikes gist an opera of wisteria,
as they sway to silver breeze's sibilant rustles.
They chant lullabies in lyrical lilts of hued iridescence,
of hearth and opals back to my scarlet nest.

Angelus silver trills, the sylphic sways of pure rays,
Coral rosary—incense strands of aurulent rimes
hum, endless hymns echo as choral evensong
alleluias softly peal out—doves with wet eyes
that drift upward on whispery—ethereal wings.

Ocean's plea emerges from apothic abyss,
a voice conveys the core of faxed shores and stars,
with earth and wind in a solemn tone.

A cosmic biography—in loud squeals and sighs
sea vernacular hinges on nature's lasting awe.
Breath goes to fog—snow melts into puddles—rain returns,
a china-white grave—encases the deceased deer,
before thawing in the morning—icy skin lies frozen.
An eerie distance holds my hand in a purifying blizzard.

The Sagacious Grandeur of Autumn

In autumn's reign, vales of verdure turn gold,
Fallen leaves tell the tale of life's revise,
Brown branches lie bare; trees are brave and bold,
Resilient dryads, keening to surmise.

The frost-kissed morns, a gentle wake-up call,
Reveal the strength in nature's cyclic change.
Upon strange winds, we find the lesson's thrall:
Adaptation, in every rearrange.

Harvest plenilune rising in the night,
Illuminating paths of sage return,
Through this bright arc, we see the world aright,
Each fall divulging, lessons yet to learn.

Attune your attent to autumn's dressed stage,
Unveil the gilt crown, of wisdom of age.

The Naked Ape

The Naked Ape


                  Dreamer paddle a transcendental canoe adrift somewhere
                  Granting immortality dryads require acquiescence abound
                  Truth unravel illusions urging heart to conquer primal fear
                  Awareness begs the naked ape to strive for higher ground


                  Mind senses advanced evolution sculpting surrealistic land
                  Indisputable claim heralds the exodus of unknown entities
                  Before the deluge alien artifact found beneath desert sand
                  Man can erode bias with pragmatic and moral objectivities






04/30/2017
10:08 p.m.
West Palm Beach
Florida  USA

The Midnight's Princess

Oh, 
The Midnight's Princess is awake!
She who brings light:
Shining upon the greenery of the forest
Penetrating through its coat of darkness
That overshadows joy... and let's fear linger 
She who brings joy to all her people,
Sitting upon her cradle of stars. 
Her light it is: that kisses each ripple in the lake,
Singing soft lullabies as it sighs in its sleep. 
Her light that kisses the Earth with love: 
Plants her blessed halo upon its beings,
And fears withdraw from a sleeping child's dream. 
Her loving whispered voice, channelled through the prisons of bark,
She who sets all Dryads free: 
Gives their freedom to dance free. 
And Satyrs with their lutes and flutes, 
Elven maidens, Nymphs and Dwarves, 
They dance in the light of her grace:
Until the Midnight's Princess's chariot is driven away.

Into the Woods

Into the woods, into the Dryad's lair,
here enters a maiden so fair! 
Her cheeks rosy - deep blue are her eyes -
looking excited, for what? Yonder it lies. 

Merry chatter of birds, in her ears they echo -
they, who nestle among the treetops so secure. 
Fish cats that test their stealth and leer:
wings are unbound for all those who live here. 

The maiden shifts, inwards she goes, 
Where to? Just she would know. 
She plunges into the heart of the woods,
underneath great dryads that brood. 

And there, she rests her head on the moss,
She dreams to wake in a far land... far across.
And there she dreams still, forgotten is her past,
Never to leave: though her wings are unbound at last. 

01/08/2019
Into the woods contest sponsored by Silent One
*This poem doesn't tell much about the maiden. It is up to you. You may make your own story about her. Personally, I love woody areas and I wish I could live somewhere like that forever.

Missing Muse

Where is my muse when I need her?
Now, she is gone & I cannot write.
She must be dancing in the moonlight.
Playing with the dryads & a faun.
I ignored her & now she is gone.
She wears a dress of leaves & flowers.
I hope she is safe. She's been gone for hours.
I miss her twirling across the floor.
I miss her stories of ancient lore.
Sometimes, I wish she had a cell phone.
She has taken off & left me alone.
If she never returns...I'll be the one to blame.
I never took the time to ask for her name.

A Prostitute's Tale

Her broken voice
Gathered the strength
To sing again, but tonight the
Rough winds restrict her effort.
Nor she could fly away to a faraway
Land, for her wings are severed too.
Bruised and defeated she lies perched
In the low branch of stolen freedom.
Yes, stolen it is, for whatever be her
Triumph in the past, she knows that she
Cannot escape her own shadow; a mocking
Rebuke of a proud arrogant bird.
In the past, her song would lighten up the
Glade as the dryads danced to the heavenly
Euphony she created, but the king of the jungle
Grew tired of her juvenile voice and instead
Forced her to sing songs that would summon
The wolves and hyenas, and so her song matured
Into a lustful cacophony that tattered the
Heart of the forest. She had choice then,
To fly away to another land, for she had
Wings, but Alas! She was also starting to
Enjoy her newly found freedom.
Then one night, after her song had finished,
The hungry king decided to feast on her
Little body to get whatever source of flesh
He can muster. She somehow survived  the attack,
And now she lies perched on the low branch
Bruised and defeated. She is the nightingale
Of the forest.

The Tree of Life

Standing at the edge of a lush cornfield
Snuggling close to a bubbling brook
one majestic oak tree stands
upright like a sentinel guarding
the crops swaying in the breeze
with sunbeams dancing upon them
under a brilliant blue sky.
 
As the day wears out
the dusk gracefully sneaks in
blushing like a shy bride
entering the bedecked bridal suite
wearing a wedding gown
embellished with the radiance
of a crimson sunset gilding
the landscape in a shimmering hue.

The birds of all sizes and colors
and dryads, ducks, squirrels and owls 
converge upon 
its welcoming foliage to roost;

This expansive canopy of leaves
like one mammoth quilt
affords these weary souls
a safe haven in the quiet of night.



~07/30/15
~Nature poem contest by Shadow Hamilton

After the Storm

Soft yellow-gray light of early morning,
Butter and wool
The two bedroom windows
Still beaded and streaked with rain.

The world calm again, routine with traffic,
After its night of convulsions,
When storm drains closed at the throat,
And trees shook in the wind like the hair of dryads.

In the silent house, its roof still on,
Too early for the heat to come whistling up
And the guest room still closed,
I am propped upon these pillows.

A gray moth-eaten cashmere jersey
Wrapped around my neck
Against the unbroken cold of last night.
I am thinking about the dinner party.

The long table, dark bottles of wine,
The odd duck and brussels sprouts,
And how, after midnight,
With all of us sprawled on the couch and floor.

The power suddenly went out
Leaving us to feel our way around
In the tenth-century darkness
Until we found and lit a stash of candles.

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