Hillsides Poems | Examples

Jetpack Royale

Flying past the hillsides,
flying pat the bays,
flying past the cabin
where I might just like to say.
Flying past the tall trees,
branches scrape my feet,
’tis the finest jetpack
you can buy with money.

Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.

Flying through the cities,
over the suburbs,
flying past the park where
kids by swings wait their turn.
Flying over mountains,
past the birds of prey,
the eagles give strange looks
then dive out of my way!

Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.

Oh, free flying,
so high and free,
I wish you had
a jetpack like me.
If I had cash
I’d buy you one,
we’d soar up high
and have too much fun!

Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.

1410

1410 Rhyme Time - New Untitled  9-5-25
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1410

Thin layers of amber curl around hillsides
Tendrils of dawn on a sunrise joy ride.

Forests of Green Coniferous Trees

Forests of Green Coniferous Trees

Forests of evergreen conifers
(Fir, spruce, cedar, pine, and hemlock trees)
Keep their colour throughout the seasons
And don’t shed foliage in autumn.

Rooted in soil and basking in sunlight,
They grow on hillsides and in valleys,
Encircling rock outcrops, swamps, and leas,
And near rivers and lakes, and on islands.

These hearty trees endure nature’s throes
Of cold, harsh, winters to warm spring thaws,
Thriving in summer and fall to help provide
A habitat for the forest dwellers.

Conifer pollen and seed cones pollinate,
And fertilized seeds disperse on windy days
—Or get stashed away by squirrels and birds—
And grow into stately coniferous trees.

Elegy for Old Growth

Elegy – 7-17-24
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Elegy for Old Growth

Through measures of metered melancholy
The tattered winds sing a rent elegy,
A pensive wail for pristine old growth,
A drifting chant in pure pitch of final farewell –
The mute tongue howls in eulogy
For virgins of a thousand turns around the sun
For helpless giants surrendered in atonal sacrifice.

Gentle titans with feathery boughs lifted their faces
To embrace misted melodies of summer and winter snows
Forest zephyrs sang lullabies for sparrows 
Nesting in their rustling wombs
Then shared the secret lyrics of their song
With robins sheltered in their lofty grace of red bark
In evensongs, matins and spring symphonies.

The myrrh of burial mixes with their lingering fragrance
In desolation and in their exposed flesh,
Nude hillsides of purple rage
Scream in final dirges of farewell
Modulated into anthems sung to saplings in circles of renewal
Little ones, like half steps, change elegies to odes
The threadbare zephyr now chants paeans to remember.

Leaving Tipperary behind

Leaving Tipperary behind 
the rolls of greenery industrial 
findings fields of yellow catering 
to my innermost calm I’d always 
remember my home in Mason 
thee unforgettable rebellion 
costly revolution the insurgents 
blocking broken roads rushing 
over cattle filled lands beholden 
to a quiet comfort so well hidden 
beneath the hillsides where 
Gaelic melodies sang out above 
the melancholy mountain tops 
tis behind me now morning glories 
bloom sparingly across wide open 
plains peeking between the wondering 
shadows of the beaming sunlight

If Only You Knew

If only you knew the feel of a zephyr,
With its current swooping around hillsides
Ruffling the spruce trees everywhere,
Or descend downwards towards verdant vales
Where flowers bloom all through the year.

If only you knew what the oceans utter
As wonderful waves smash into each other,
Or roll nonchalantly towards the bays,
Destroying sand castles or wiping up
The poor love letters which were written there.

If only you knew the various sounds of Earth,
The laughter of little children playing in our parks,
The parade of grown-ups commemorating feasts,
The sounds of aeroplanes fighting for supremacy,
Whilst on the ground tanks rumble on firing at will.

If only you knew the evil concocted by selfish persons,
Where kindness seems to be at a premium.
Yet I discern others who are compassionate
And help others less fortunate than themselves.
How grateful receivers of good works will be.

If only you knew how many angels fly above
Around the silver stars that orbit in perfect harmony.
Angels that care for this poor land which 
We have ruined successfully through our unwanted trash. 
While food is thrown away when others die in famine and pain.

Placed 1

Digital Box Tops

When food and clean water linger moments from lips and anything else at our fingertips,

Quadruple consumption settles to stay and anything paper is just one click away

When they sell us our problems bottled cutely as cures, but the only real answer seems to be 

MORE 

And hillsides are speckled with hot springs caged in now man’s only purpose is to feel like he “wins” 

When invention’s mother shifts from necessity to ease, you get all you want and don’t even say please 

Addiction to dopamine is clawing up throats and it’s never enough for who needs it the most 

When she is raging and screaming and ravished apart and not even this can appeal to our hearts ---


We are broken.


Is there only one shot? 

Not all can be lost

Can we bring back paper box tops?

Road Trip Sonnet

Gas station snacks piled in the free seat,
windows half-cracked to catch onrushing air,
velocity cools the day’s outer heat,
blowing around my girlfriend’s auburn hair.
Avoid dull highways, take the scenic route,
the country unfolds, villages and farms,
small valleys and hillsides I never knew,
each mile with its unique mood and charms.
Listen to old rock, then outlaw country,
stopping for views, or old buildings preserved,
maybe a state park with something to see,
or roadside diners where pancakes are served.
Compared to an airplane, it may seem slow,
but roamers like me love the open road.

Not Ready Yet

Not Ready Yet

Give me just one more day of Christmas jubilee
 Not ready to let go of Christmas, yet
Or stop gathering flecks of stardust
 Scattered from the Heavens
Still reveling in the sweet aroma of frankincense
 Or bovine straw
  Lingering on evening's breath
To walk by candles in the window
 Enchanted by twinkling lights of welcome.

My heart pitches a tent
 On hillsides among olive trees
  Craning it's neck to hear newborn angelic carols
And longs to cradle the pure cry of Love
 Again and again
Infinite Love I can hold and understand.

Stay one more night, sweet season of hope,
Beside me
 Not letting the lights twinkling with wicks of joy,
  Festooning trees and doorways,
   Dim with memory
Or exchange red and green for blue and ice
 On starless nights.
Not ready to eat
 The last crumbs of Christmas manna
Or leave the firesides of desert travelers
 Stargazing.

Just one more night precious holiday
 And then you can slip away
  To walk from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.

winter flurries fall

winter flurries fall
crystal snowflakes quilt hillsides ~
lustrous in moonlight

Blazing Hills of Autumn

Hillsides were ablaze
from sunlight's saffron fingers
Leaves fell like raindrops
from branches of ancient trees
What a stunning Autumn scene

Beautiful Rain

Beautiful rain
By Michelle Morris
02/08/2023

Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain 
I see your gentle tears

Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I feel your love draw near

The grass is green and bouncy
The earth sighs a big relief
They're bathing in your comfort
They're enjoying your cool mercy 

We are blessed to have you
This joy and happiness
The peace of verdant hillsides
And luscious summer fruits

I love the flowers that smile
I love the ocean that sways
We're all enjoying your bounty
Our Earth needs you every day

For water is our life force
Without which we cannot live
I thank God for your comfort
I thank God for your gifts 

Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain 
I see you softly descend 

Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I feel your love neverending 

© Michelle Morris, 2023

A Small Lake

A small lake
There was a lake not far from the white-washed hamlet
in the interior of the Algarve; on hot summer days, witnessed 
by my dog, which shuddered at the thought.
It was a small lake surrounded by hillsides, modest
almost unobstructed, just water, no big deal 
One day when driving past the lake had disappeared
a dent in the ground full of thistles and tine of tunny
Oh, come think of it, a rowing boat that once had been
optimistically blue, but now sad dried teardrops.
The plane between the hill where the lake lived
is a center for helicopter services; not that much I mind
but I would rather see the lake again in the moonlight.

Appealing Belles

Ring in the spring,
The bluebells bob
As gentle breezes blow. 
We breathe a sigh
As we know now
There’s no more winter snow. 

The vibrant hue
Against the green
Bathes hillsides regal blue. 
Announcing to
The countryside
That summer will ensue.

Design My Threads

If only I could sketch landscapes and moors.
I'd paint hillsides yellow and fill them in gorse.
I'd use a fine needle and the core green pose.
In between, stitch a line of grass on the floors.

The dales would have a purple heather carpet.
And line up the woods with their lovely lilac bells.
I'd blend bracken and heather colors like shells.
A green-purple seascape on my fair fabric scarlet.

I'd stitch a pile of daisy chains using soft white wool.
Along meandering hallways and beautiful meadows.
I stenciled the marshes as clean glass white yellows.
Buttercups and deft water lilies along the wild pool.

Red, yellow, and orange flowers bloom freely.
On a colorful canvas, my own stunning tapestry.

Written: April 09, 2023

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