¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
¦¦¦ darting swallows soar and sing.
And from ¦¦¦ stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.
¦¦¦ blue you winding river flows,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ an outlet from the sky,
¦¦¦¦¦ waiting till the west-wind blows,
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ clouds at anchor lie.
All things ¦¦¦ new;--the buds, ¦¦¦ leaves,
That gild ¦¦¦ elm-tree's ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ crest,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the nest beneath the eaves;--
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ no birds in last year's nest!
All things rejoice in ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ love,
The fulness of ¦¦¦¦¦ delight!
¦¦¦ learn from the ¦¦¦¦ heavens above
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ tenderness of night.
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy ¦¦¦ youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of ¦¦¦ prime,
For ¦¦¦ it is not always May!
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To ¦¦¦¦ good angel leave the rest;
¦¦¦ Time will teach ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!
(Blackout of It is not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
before I was me, I was the wind
blowing through valleys and meadows
stirring up leaves
rustling the hair of cats
before I was me, I was the earth
heavy and solid, a haven for oaks and elms
sheltering tiny dropped acorns,
before I was me, I was the clouds
frothy, all-seeing,
watching over the planet
before I was me, I was part of the God mind
being what I wanted whenever I wanted
a chameleon, a shapeshifter, an eclectic being
who knew her purpose was to nurture and love
the desert was begging for a bit of green
underneath the earth was a verdant queen
she represented oaks, elms, maples and willows
she appeared on a Saturday, her hair in billows
The rest of the desert recognized her as royalty
They were gob-smacked by her beauty and pleasantry
She brought to the desert an oasis of greenery.
This livened up this dry spot, it seemed to me.
Wind sighs gently, breathing her smile through the leaves
Whispers of light flow with each word, so I’m blessed
Praising and praying with kind hearts love believes
Oaks, elms and maples writing memoirs I’ve guessed
Autumn has a grace that can’t be written gone
It is with my last breath, I’ll sing her love song
Though I love her ways, I sometimes kneel to pray
For those who cannot see past the forest’s gray
Wind weeps as the snowdrifts climb higher, wilder
Ice paths cross through the darkness of this season
Seems I’m grouchy, hope winter will be milder
Hate this weather, who feels lost, without reason
Living through winter, one of life’s greatest feats
As the sun swallows up the darkness she cheats
Leaving shy flakes surrounding me with night’s grief
I pray through the silence, met by one lone leaf
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?
Right and wrong are basic concepts, and like
night and day, it's clear what sets them apart.
Fight or flight warps my vision and clouds my
sight when I stop listening to my heart.
My world is changing so negatively;
I am scared of what tomorrow may bring.
Sky-high prices fuel inflation, while
sly grifters promote bitcoins, memes, and bling.
Folks are tethered to smartphones that act like
yokes around their necks, keeping them in line.
Hoax or not, climate change is happening;
oaks and elms are dying, replaced by pine.
Crime and anxiety are starting to
climb, and everyone's filled with dread and fear.
I'm afraid the world is primed for war, and
time is fast running out; that much seems clear.
(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?
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
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.
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.
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
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 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
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.
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.
Sub Categories
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.