I am all ready to climb the tall tree,
The branches are loftily Swift and free.
Far away is the golden fruit that takes the tree from dust to glory.
It looks as pure as the justice yields a place in the poetry.
It pushes me to the limit of urgencies,
curvy and thin branches Challenge my tendencies.
The contemplation creates an obstruction in the event,
In between a monkey jumps to catch the fruit hidden and latent.
I am immensely disappointed not to act fast,
But my sadness will not linger and has to last.
As I approach the tree closer to a minimum, The number of fruits beat the counts to a maximum.
So I sit there with a sense of satisfaction,
There still lies the beauty and its addiction.
Death
in autumn
colors in their beauty
falling without fear
without grief
simply ending the
story of the summer's
green outgrowth~
similarity cries out~~
Autumnal Tints in Concord.
"It is pleasant to walk over the beds of these fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves. How beautifully they go to their graves! how gently lay themselves down and turn to mould!—painted of a thousand hues, and fit to make the beds of us living. So they troop to their last resting place, light and frisky. They put on no weeds, but merrily they go scampering over the earth, selecting the spot, choosing a lot, ordering no iron fence, whispering all through the woods about it,—some choosing the spot where the bodies of men are mouldering beneath, and meeting them half-way. How many flutterings before they rest quietly in their graves! They that soared so loftily, how contentedly they return to dust again, and are laid low, resigned to lie and decay at the foot of the tree, and afford nourishment to new generations of their kind, as well as to flutter on high! They teach us how to die."
-From "Autumnal Tints" by Henry Thoreau; 1862.
Poetry Misunderstood
Instrumental music flows through me
Coffee is soothing
Writing poetry is therapeutic
I didn’t invent the pen
Mind racing, document waves perspective
A melody journey
Paper writer purity
For we are misunderstood
Deep thinkers
Limitless potential
Creative sculptures
Vision absurdities
Ink bleeding
Candles burning
Beautiful scenery
Pictures travel photography
Paint a master piece
Heaven hues with golden shades
Many colors ablaze
Outlandish vast array
The love of poetry
Write a short story
Document your own journey
Sink loftily into the night
Mysteries on every page
Two beginners here
Speaking softly
Relationship to steer
Both thinking loftily
Never lack of boundaries so *****
Denial of the highest sort
Never excepting emotions
Each barrier a impenetrable fort
Yet still going through the motions
Only success comes through the truth of court
The answer does not take a sleuth
They like each other you see
Open questions are uncouth
Answering to no fee
Oh the strangeness of youth
In my mind on my time
I row down the river of dreams
on days the water is calm
and I row in peaceful solitude
sometimes coming to a place
where it babbles wanting to race
then it will carry me or a while
we will drift along the current
then we will come to a spot
where we race along the rapids
being tossed and turned
if lucky the river will quieten
and not be overtaken by flow
every so often we hit white water
it is like riding a roller coaster
our dreams are taken on a ride
we are to awaken and see the danger
that the once calm peaceful river
has become a place of danger
a place where solitude no longer exists
it is time to pick up the paddle
battle the waging currents
loftily encroaching our dreams.
Diagonal snow
Glides effortless through
the countryside of the
Amputee windshield
For the passenger side
Has always had a reticent view
Steam rises loftily
From a topless treat
Of gas station coffee
That which further
Obfuscates the scene
Mousey and silent
Each flake falls
Like the wings of
An owl unhurried
Speckling the air
With flurries of tiny
Feathers
If snow is a blanket, is the
Earth a frightened child?
Is there a force, a specter
So haunting it summons
A crystal storm that beguiles,
Sure, a burden to some
But a spectacle for all.
High beams undress
The night, slipping away
Its silken onyx sundress
In its unblinking gaze I
Recall conversations with
Someone I no longer see
Hoping for fireplace romance
Surrounded in snow globe scenery
I try not to live
in the squall of regret
Even if every drop
Falls so softly, I must
Simply keep my foot
On the petal, and listen
To the engine’s counsel
Its kind whispering pistons.
With myrtle and listenability
I undertake the words of the prophets
Memories relapse in an unhealthy fashion
Man the forgetful
this rectangular mouth
compromises loftily
The Moons harsh splendour
boasts its specious context
as marigold and beam
sway across my October windowsill
like salt peter cleansing the pelt
truth is unburdened
The couch grass has withered
for winters change
I make no apology
Milkwood so loftily summoned
As I venture forth
A prompt remainder
into the celestial wilderness
Time is running out
The lunar moon indicates
Even the sky can be shrouded
through the thin line
Asleep on an indian pillow
did i dream you
Girl with a boa
backlit with dance
will thou
paint your eyelids
stranded on this scential island
will you use my intervention
whisper now to me
by the fire
loftily dreaming your sycamore thoughts
In a mountain valley
on a moody summer day
dark pink and purple clouds loftily hang
above dense dark evergreens
the clouds reflect on the narrow stream
as it winds along the valley floor
a storm is about to brew
swaying of bull rushes
that line the bank edges
among this thick foliage
delicate blue flowers bloom
this wide picturesque valley
has become a boggy area
filled with unknown dangers
no one would dare to thread
beautiful to look at
but like the coming storm
many dangers can unfold.
into the clouds
my spirit
flew up high
and then flew
downward fast
and faster
into blue
alabaster
a troubadour of song renown
followed it the way down
happy when both were met
the melodious duo
sang the song my spirit
loftily sought and found
together spread the word
God is Love in sonorous sound
*** Trees ***
With or without their leaves,
Call out to me
Especially with a spiritual mystery
That amplifies as I investigate
And admire the vast variety
Of their beauty —
Borne in the costumes
of their diversity —
Their created, sweeping beauty:
From some with innumerous twigs
shooting straight, clean
Lines — arrows up into the blue;
To others with gnarly branches clearly
Dancing out from trunks— curving freely;
From those with tops rounded completely;
To others forming spiked, rotated V’s,
Like wearing upside-down crinolines,
appearing truly
Wind-tossed so loftily
As to hide their heads,
their crowned peaks;
And,not to be forgotten,
All the evergreens, exquisitely
Full and tall, proud to be seen.
They keep travels looking lush
throughout every
Season, giving a symmetry
To what we see —
From bright to deep,
From city to country —
Over the rolling landscape scenes
Surrounding us where each
Tree stands growing high
Humming a kind of reverie
They, perhaps, want us to glean
Someday as friends in a sharing reality.
———————————————————————————————-
(c)2/15/22 sally young eslinger
Thanks be 9
Would I write, were I on an island
with only self to read, and perhaps
applaud? Yes. Then, do I write for
self alone? No. There is always hope
another would visit, thus poetry
could I share – if not another mortal...
then a stray angel passing, maybe
one stopping long enough to show
timely care – Who knows?--to be
presumptuous, thinking God on High,
Himself, anything not entirely about Him
yet would want to hear – something not
motivated by damnation and fear –
I guess then, to be heard, I must
limit my subjects to those of Divine
Light and love...though I have
never met a true poet, who was
not always somewhere just outside
here while slightly shy of anywhere
so loftily above –
R.I.P lovely sunflower, rest your head in your leafy bower
You have given so much to inscts and bees, and now your seeds the birds hunger to appease
In the hot summer days when your life had begun, Your blazing face did
challenge the sun,
Fully eight foot tall you stood from the ground, loftily surveying the flowers around.,
Bestowing your smile to the birds on high, the Swallows and Swifts circling the sky.
But now your life is fading fast, the stems are turning grey
such a pity your beauty cannot last , the colours wasting away
But I've saved some seed from your bountiful store,
I'll plant them this spring , and come summer we will be able to see.. your beauty once more
Warriors of righteousness, they are the Christ’s soldiers*
Persistently marching on with God’s might steadfastly
Standing midst adversities, they fight thru faith’s strength
Verily empowered by the Holy Spirit.
Upholding Scriptural standards of holiness
They lift up decency-banner loftily high
Battling against evils of immorality
Honouring their great Commander’s exalted name.
Fear of the unknown does not intimidate them
Believing that God knows best by His omniscience
As they acknowledge their human infirmities
Their trust in the Almighty conquers every doubt.
Superiority complex does not grip their heart
While in serving, they exercise humility
Never allowing arrogance-domination
With their complete surrender to the Lord’s control.
*2Timothy 2:3 Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.
May 16, 2019
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.