contest : Alpha Rhymes
sponsor : Joseph May
3.9.25
PLACED 3RD : Standard Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
APPLE BLOSSOMS CAUGHT DREAMY EYES
fairy farm was ablaze with fruity trees
gentle breezes swayed laden branches
canaries sang, cows mooed, all at ease
FIGS, GRAPES, HACKBERRY, IMBE, JACKFRUIT
with Turkish splash pool glimmering awaited
tiny tier temple newly whitewashed invited
brass buddha bell and rose garden gated
KITES LAY MOTIONLESS NOTICEABLY OBVERT
which leisure activity would we choose
as fruity farm holiday commenced covert
like in paradise peacock strutted with goose
PEACH, QUINCE, RASPBERRY, STRAWBERRY TARTS
stole our minds, stomach and hearts
this heavenly place embraced tired souls
stress dissolved in nature’s eloquent role
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She missed out on music lessons as a child.
Her parents taught her piano, which was so mild.
For years, she worked poorly and was lackluster.
And quit piano as a preteen as she couldn't muster.
She preferred Brian May over Freddie Mercury.
Elton John fan, she felt the piano music was a nursery.
She should have taught the guitar, yet she didn't.
She believes pianos lead to libido and dint.
Smokey voice, tactile lyrics, and superb piano skills.
Hart's 13 albums since 1993 will bestow you thrills.
Her violin fingers and pretty tone sing in harmony.
Her hands master the piano, guitar, and drums perfectly.
Beth Hart battled, as did catalpa trees and hackberry.
However, as a wild Sequoia, it maintained its worry.
Dismal feelings of pain, rage, shame, and exasperation.
What if these factors led to her artistic inception?
Several War in My Mind tunes left fans breathless.
Stones, blocks, rough slopes, and hills are breakless.
L.A. Song shows how to shun inner pain via denial.
Beth's Crown ranks among the finest lyrics trial.
Written: May 08, 2023
Beth Hart Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
admit our love for poetry
as too, sacred geometry
gentle rhythm and soft cadence
throbbing delight of soul vibrance
soul soothing shade of hackberry
11-August-2021
When we were little twigs sprouting from the ground
I sensed something special in you I had found
Though we were different, I don't mean to sound sappy
Just a whiff of your aroma makes me so happy
As the wind blows your foliage in my face
My limbs long for your branches to embrace
Your curvy bough around my trunk weaves
Covering me with your beautiful green leaves
We live in the woods by sunny day and moonlit night
Although tangled together, touching your bark is a delight
As we continue to grow from our roots to the sky
We stand twisted forever together
Love is the reason why
A True Tree Story
(As told by Hackberry to Red Ash)
PS: As you look at us I hope you can see
God's beautiful creation
Was for you and not just me
Phytolacca decandra
(Pokeweed)
By: Miracle Man
4/27/2020
Things allowed to grow in parts of our large yard
are Poke Weed and Wild Onions.
I allow them space, near the patio and others question why?
Last year Poke weed, at maturity, reached the height of seven feet,
and fall berries were a treat for the Mocking birds, and Robins.
But most of all it is one of the remaining links to my childhood.
Each spring we would go cut the young emerging Poke shoots for “poke sallet”, And the Wild Onions mom would scramble with eggs. Our chickens pecked the table scraps and laid the eggs and the Onions were free. Sometimes I hear music of tree frogs on a nearby Hackberry and I’m reminded of summer nights and two young brothers sleeping outside on a pallet under a Weeping Willow tree
because it was cooler than inside the house.
songbirds herald the beginning of the day,
calling from branches of hackberry tree,
waking the squirrels, which start to play.
the greening woods come to life around me.
a new spring season is now in full bloom.
the air smells of fresh rain and flowered scents,
nurtured by bright sun and light of new moon.
the sights and sounds of this earth heaven sent.
the trees filled with splashes of brilliant green.
vibrant flowers, colors bursting from ground,
shades, the like of which, i have never seen.
such beauty growing everywhere unbound.
springtime fills my old heart with sounds and sights;
i remember each day well into night.
You Texas Cuspidata!
Not you, and not a curse:
Taxus cuspidata, for Japanese Yew!
So, don’t confuse a plant with the Ibex
Ilex serrata – that’s Christmas Holly
Or Japanese Winterberry
Butterflies, butternuts, a Buttinsky?
Shut your eyes, it’s Conocarpus erectus
(Pastor here is only saying "Buttonwood" in Latin)
Meanwhile in nature, the pines of Japan
Are dwarfed like bottled thunder:
Pinus thunbergiana
The Christmas Spirit is perennial in China (?)
Schinus terebinthifolius
(Again, Latin for another plant: Christmasberry)
Try to bonsai gladly;
A creeper in your home or villa;
Haha! Bourgainvillea glabra
My dad called this beauty, Pride of India!
Myrtle set me right, but India won at the end:
Laegerstroemia indica
Neighbors, boyhood buddies, international relations?
Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry? No plant connection:
Just Hackberry named Celtis sinensis
(c) Modified 20170417, Deo. This poem was previously published in my book in 2005 (UnAmerican Education: Poetry and Politics, by Red Lead Press)
Autumn brings leaves in multifarious hues,
Time's flow quickly readies us for winter's blow.
Fun days on our patios will soon turn to blues,
As it takes its leisure neath a blanket of snow.
The Sycamores have shed like some molting dog,
And each Crape Myrtle is dressed a yellowish red.
The huge Hackberry resembles an old upright log,
Now, too soon our days may be filled with dread.
The Hibiscuses are a gathering of pithy stalks,
Where once dinner plate size red flowers hung.
Now no cars come, stop and give strange gawks,
But things will be normal once spring has sprung.
Fallen leaves unmistakably are whispering to me,
Dancing at my feet they swirl along the ground.
As if they can't decide where they're supposed to be,
Each movement choreographed to whispering sound.
There stands a tree whose climb I've shared,
Thereby, stacking hours, we'd fill our day.
Where boyhood dreams oft were pared,
While observing others passing our way.
This tree is huge, and through time's flow,
Climbers have been more than its share.
Beyond downward branches we would not go,
Unless responding to some friend's dare.
In youth, one of our grandest trees,
At last gasp, growth appeared the same.
Now, no foliage to greet spring's breeze,
It stands, unable to escape time's claim.
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