Elms Poems | Examples

Flies

Flies love figs, oaks, elms, and willows; we know.
They play hide-and-seek with leaves tinged with snow.
In their purblind fondness, our hearts get sparked?
Do they flee from us because we're crook-backed?

Around us, wingers of every kind fly.
We often love their melancholic cry.
Isn't each fly as fine as a butterfly?
Shouldn't each be the master of the sky?

The colours and vibes of flies are versatile.
Doesn't their existence, yet, appear futile?
Why should frail flies be weighed down by lures?
Why should life move around ecliptic blurs?

Mulberry Trees And Butterflies

(Mulberry trees talk among themselves
About the butterflies that ignore them)

Butterflies love oaks, elms, and willows; we know.
They play hide and seek with their leaves tinged with snow.
Do they flee from us because we are crook-barked?
Around us, lethargic crows and eagles fly.
They think we cherish their melancholic cry.
Aren't, yet, in their blunt fondness too, our hearts sparked?

Our stems, leaves, blossoms, and fruits are versatile.
Do our toils to feed frail silkworms go futile?
Why should we be tied down by uncertain lures?
Aren't dragonflies and hoverflies precious too?
Shouldn't, to each creature, our concern be true?
Isn't existence beyond all ecliptic blurs?

Undergrowth with two figures-Van Gogh

In a forest glade where no shadows fall.
An emerging scene of a lovers tryst
Amid yellow broom and the elm trees tall
They embraced each other and gently kissed

She’s just a young girl, he, almost a score
Their romance is new, innocent and pure
And among the blooms on the forest floor
The fledgling pair find passionate allure 

Fused in each others arms desire grows strong
With feelings of rapture right from the start
The lovers engage, like in an old song
Vowing to cherish and never to part

There in the woodland they plighted their troth
Amongst the tall elms and dense undergrowth

recognizing wisdom tree

Wisdom tree understands the nuances of the forest
She has lost her leaves; her bark is petrified but she is sane
Insanity parades around her, in the form of distorted elms and oaks
Those who meditate are drawn to her, without understanding why
It is an absolute knowing, without knowing how they know,

Wisdom tree is understood by empaths, psychics, and the fey
Dwarfs, brownies, and faeries, gather around to glean her sage advice
She utilizes telepathy to give them what they need; a faerie godmother
Children stand in awe, understanding her in a spiritual way.

Their parents often try to rush them, but they are reluctant to go.
Recognizing wisdom tree from their heavenly playground, prebirth.

Ruby Traces of Night

Written: December 02, 2024 
                          ____________________________

At dawn cradle, 
Dew blankets the earth, 
whispered secrets swirl among stately elms, 
a chorus of cheerful waxwings 
sings beneath the blush of lavender skies.

Willows sway, swirls of grace,  
twilight traces with ruby tones.   
The iris dances,  
emerging from lush shadows,  
each petal a whisper of dreams.

Aureolin moments linger,  
gold glistening in the mist,  
as rustles paint the air,  
the viol of night lilts softly,  
celestial orbs clad cosmic clashes.
 
We walk through opal pathways,  
where the heart shares its stories,  
and neon memories cling,  
as lilacs in a gentle breeze—  
O, the beauty in being lost.

nurturing properties of the woods

Henry was harried and haggard.
down, depressed, despondent and desperate
seeking solitude, serenity and silence
he found a haven in the wilds of west woods
the trees nurtured him back to harmony and health
wood nymphs healed his heart, heartily heartening him
he decided to build a life here
among the evergreens, elms, maples and oaks
trees understood him better than any human ever had
his epiphany garnered enthusiasm and energy
the most humane place in the world, he felt
we who knew him before were amazed by his transformation
many followed his lead, moving to the west woods

ebony unicorn in butterfly meadow

the ebony unicorn pranced into butterfly meadow with happy feet
clip clopping in a gorgeous way, her curly hair flowing in the wind
the butterflies surrounded her, glad to see the prophecy was true
fey came out of the woods to get a closer look- brownies and elves
the faeries arrived in seconds, and made a big deal about her
she left as abruptly as she had entered, enchanting even the elms

ferns wanted a fey mascot

Ferns were sad.
They wanted their own fey mascot.
Lily had a faerie
Marigolds had a brownie
Mushrooms had a pixie
Elms had an elf
Why are we the only ones without a mascot?

Ferns told everyone about their dilemma.
A faerie from middle earth heard their plight.
She had wanted to move to a new place for some time.
She arrived on a Tuesday, announcing she was the fern faerie.
Causing a bit of a problem
As now geranium, crepe myrtle, moss, and tree bark wanted one too.

Bells

Bells

Solitary heart, newborn in brooding silence,
Steps on a cluttered path
Through elms and boughs of broken limbs,
In a pungent, evergreen hush
Absent of astral cacophony 
That falls like mute pennies from wishes,
No buzz nor whirling wings
Disturbs the tacit spell
Until a faint and far-off chime
Brushes against my startled heart
Like the flutter of a butterfly kiss
For at my feet coral bells harmonize
With snowdrops in strings of chimes
Awakened by the breath of angel wings -
Music born of stardust carried on wind chimes
Banishes black spells in lyrical pinwheels,
Melodic whirligigs ringing in silvery silk jingles
Like crystal icicles brushed by soft winds -
A carillon of the winter angelus
Pealing in effervescent tiptoes to remain.

The Colorful Dance

Written: December 1st, 2023
               _______________________________________

Colors waltz in a rainbow kaleidoscope
cynosure of sun sparks steel drum teams
Emerald elms embrace periwinkle sky
among fragrant spikes of purple lupines.

               Monet and Van Gogh are arm-in-arm
               spin a diaphanous color wheel off charts
               starry night, yellow circumduct swirls
               over white water lilies on mirror ponds.

Consider both humanity and nature
emollient color splits and multiplies
A flamenco actor will kick and clap
Hot crimson ethereal feeling whirling flies.

                Gold and yellow dance to evocative music
                downpour is brought on by charcoal gray
                rain and brightness dance across earth
                awaking felicity from fugacious winter sleep.

Akin to a roulette ball of a gossamer color
gambling my emotional imbrication away
winning when the ball stops in blue
dancing sea and sky arouse my day.

Passage of Praise

Persuading October from her quiet lair
Shedding the pleasures of life’s fictional realms
Mouthwatering plunder, gathering to share

Swirling through the silence, round oaks, pines and elms
Secrets and shadows reflecting nature’s rush
Flames of ginger, shushing dark who overwhelms

Sweet dreams are splattered with hope by God’s paintbrush
Storm wrecking peace calms souls who reflect this time
Much like a coryphée, plied by a wood thrush

Closing those moments by the sea, maritime
Breathing in crisp air, whispering a prayer
Carrot colored leaves twirl in a soothing rhyme

Reflections so daring arrive on sun’s glare
Lifting the past’s tears with grace beyond compare

Autumn Artistry

Autumn uses a painter's brush
To color rustic landscape scenes.
Leaves turn crimson, as if they blush
Golden harvests, the farmer gleans.

An artist who makes my eyes weep,
Autumn uses a painter's brush
to wither the leaves, trees can't keep.  
They tumble in a windswept rush

There's the trilling of a wood thrush.
A melodious song it sings.
Autumn uses a painter's brush 
on canvas, where one last leaf clings.

Upon the ground beneath the elms,
Fall's burnished beauty makes one gush.
Its palette of hues overwhelms.
Autumn uses a painter's brush.

Ethereal

 If carelessly, we lose the ethereal things we value, 
what other treasures might we then forsake?"    
                                                        ~ Quote by poet     

           
I will always hold dear to my heart, ethereal things,
love letters, written and received, feathered wings.

Poems I've penned about castles within fantasy realms,
and the fragile seedlings from a grove of ancient elms.

There's my mother's yellowed Alencon lace wedding veil.
Carefully, I must handle it, now since it's become frail.

A diary of dreams I've had, those I never want to forget,
songs that my love and I shared. Losing them, I'd regret.

What could be more Angelical than an infant sleeping?
Memories of such ethereal things are worth safe keeping.

I treasure dried roses because it's such an exotic flower,
and time left of living, when it's measured by the hour.

Friendships that for whatever forgotten reason have been lost.
Sorrow for unfinished poems that never should've been tossed.

I will cling to good reveries that live in my heart forever.
It's an undertaking worth the crusade; a satisfying endeavor.

Leaves of Fall

There's a crispness billowing in the wind today
Sending russet leaves swirling to the ground.
So many are falling and sadly being swept away
Soon Winter's chill will arrive, and snow will abound.

I watch them fly like slight sparrows on the wing
at the deep-rooted feet of majestic oaks and elms.
No longer to their branches can they safely cling.
How pitiful the thought of them dying overwhelms.

Farewell to the ornamental clothing you wore in Fall.
So long to your crimson and golden windswept tresses.
You danced to songs of bamboo flutes at Autumn's ball,
wearing tangerine and sage green wrinkled dresses.

I'll look for you when Springtime bestows new birth.
As tiny buds you will appear, from descendants born,
adorning giant oaks and elms throughout Mother Earth.
No longer for your vanishment shall I weep and mourn.

Fallen Leaves

Farewell to you, ornamental russet leaves of Fall,
and your crimson and golden windswept tresses.
You danced to bamboo flutes at Summer's ball
while wearing tangerine and sage green dresses.

You whirled and twirled happily before you fell
at the rooted feet of majestic oaks and elms,
growing on every mountain, in valleys and dell.
Your varied mantle of blush always overwhelms.

Autumn stripped the limbs where you used to cling
to branched hands and fingers reaching to the sky.
There you whispered welcome to birds on the wing.
But pines keep their leaves. I'm left wondering why.

I should never question Mother Nature's reasons
for changing the clothing on trees like paper dolls,
or covering them with blankets in Winter's season
when she gifts us with beauty in crystal snow falls.

I'll look for you when Springtime bestows new birth
unless Jack Frost decides to stick around and stall.
You'll adorn the oaks and elms throughout the Earth
until you take flight again in the brisk days of Fall.

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