It was likely lichen's provided the fuel
Evolutionarily leading to mortal and mule
They worked with the fungus that brung us to fore
Elevating our thought to what we thought was more
Than what had preceded, receded and left
We then reseeding, believing the best
It was what our creation and station now made
Us to invent cultivation and blade
Use in one allows us to grow strong and tall
The other decides what will stand, or will fall
It's best in the harvest when feeding us all
The test is the anger that comes with the Fall
Incessant drizzle soak pith
of each and every dense tree
in evergreen forest where
moss, algae, lichens paints lush
hues of green, blue and rich brown
While wet birds forget to sing
glistening snakes search shelter
termites, ants, crawlers, stingers
start climbing slippery trees
inundated forest floor
Near to dusk, a shy sun shaft
reaches decayed fallen log
adding chill to eerie air
a great gray owl looks at me
I count my heart-beats to dawn
in the midst of death lichens come to life
My secnd alternate Tien form of ten syllable, no title
Tien is inspired by Chidiock Tichborne first line of his monosyllabic 'Prime of Youth'
in the midst of death- lichens come to life
in the midst of death-
lichens come to life
(moniku)
this summer morning-
azalea perfume hints
& yellows the lawn
(hiku)
with buzzard on high
o'er fields prairie dry
walnut ripen in husks
the afternoon turns to dusk
(quatrain)
She raises her façade to greet the dawning sun;
Yggdrasil a goddess, the empyreal one.
Tree of life, tree of hope, in sunlight’s kiss;
nurturer of the winged, in ethereal bliss.
She births her children with or without light;
nature’s sacred, matriarchal and wizened sprite.
Fronds of green, adorn her brow while
varied lichens are sprouted on boughs.
Nine worlds she guards, this venerable soul;
nine worlds her gasp will forever hold.
Concepts held of cosmogony;
concepts of origins of anthropogeny.
Symbol of the great of visica piscis;
a link of Tetragrammaton devices.
A soul is born of spiritual essences;
into many lives, existence coalesces.
A mossy pebbled path I took,
I came upon a babbling brook;
Meandering around the bend,
I could not see where it might end;
An idle copse of shrubs and trees,
Whistling in the calm, morning breeze;
Boughs shrouded with lichens hang low,
Dangling over the waters flow;
Dainty ruffles taunting the shore,
Smooth stones adorn the basin floor;
Sunlight streams, a magical light,
Appearing through the trees, a sprite!
Date: March 30, 2022
For: Form -L – New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Theme: Nature
Syllables verified on howmanysyllables.com
Grammar and Spelling verified on P.S. checker
Placed 3rd in contest
Tynecot. God's acre.
Here..
A quiet churchyard on the Kentish Weald
Finches flit from holly to yew
Shafts of gold pierce the morning sky
Calm is the air, serene is the view.
There..
Silence.
No lark's sweet song
Gravestones stand shoulder to shoulder
In perfect lines of shining white.
Here..
Ivy cloaks the forgotten tombs
Aged and weathered, no order in death,
Most tinted with lichens yet peaceful, at rest,
They welcome the warmth of summers first breath.
There..
Manicured lawns disappearing from sight
A carpet to cover the fallen below
Over whom I now walk at a death's march pace,
Most marked with a name that they just didn't know.
Here..
Silence.
The finches have flown
The departed are lying at rest,
All souls together, both here and there
climb slowly little squirrel
cling to the lichens and bark
enjoy your travels, bring home
cheeky souvenirs
9/26/2020
“or bust,” an idiom expressing a determination to get something
done or die trying. Used in travels. For example: “Florida or bust”
in the midst of death-
lichens come to life
NOTE
A one line haiku known as a monoku (was the original form of haiku,written vertically) my version is a variation( I introduced here on PS some years back in 2007 )a broken line monoku.
in the midst of death-
lichens come to life
This oak tree and me, we’re made of the same stuff.. Carl Sagan
why lean on my
unmoving breast?
breathe my rest...
climb my milieu...
hull me out
an adventure.
soar amidst
the forest of my branches.
i’ve squirmed as you shimmy up
and scream to be rescued.
i’ve dreaded the hearted-blade
score and singe in my bark.
you’ve left your bloody initials,
therefore, you’ve enslaved
yourSELF TO ME
in thorns and lichens.
i wonder when you kiss
off this puppy love
will you restore my health
or leave the scars of the past?
i wait eternally for your return
with roots sopping tears of regret.
perhaps your progeny approaches -
the wind whispers such vespers to me.
i ache ancient rings of arthritis...
crows nibble nebulously i fear...
in the end’s gratitude for sultry sun
and merciful cups of rain.
goodbye my dear. . .
the lightning strikes
12/28/2019
I am a tree poetry contest
Sponsor:
Delilah Ventura
Elfin forest,
Hiding in Peru,
Waiting for fog drip
Gnarled trunks,
Lichens, ferns, orchids,
Mossy forest's trolls
Intense tree canopy
Keeping shy mountain gorilla's secrets
Holding raindrops hostage
Perpetual fog,
Adding a mystique
of shadowed magic
Tropical delight
Heavily affected by
Global climate changes
Elfin forest,
Lending her mosses
To lead the way
Past the graveyard deep in snow
where icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps
as memories in warmth she keeps,
all dressed in black like winter crows.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
past the graveyard.
As by the iron fence I go
the granite gapes in pewter rows.
My heart into my throat now leaps;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
in frozen ground while snowflakes blow
past the graveyard.
11/14/17
This is a rewrite of my Terzanelle, "I Pass the Graveyard".
I pass the graveyard deep in snow.
One woman at a headstone weeps
all dressed in black like winter crows
as memories in warmth she keeps.
While icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
while icicles from boughs hang low.
On granite crags do snowflakes heap
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps.
As past the iron fence I go
her mortal love in silence sleeps
where frost on trees like lichens grow.
My heart into my throat now leaps.
I pass the graveyard deep in snow;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
all dressed in black like winter crows.
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