Long Acorn Poems
Long Acorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Acorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Acorn poems by poem length and keyword.
verbal rhythm mnemonics
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Don't say it's clever
I mean us together
sorta amazing
how it all came about
Whats that your saying
for what are you praying
it's so sweet and lovly
you know what I am talking about
Whipping Cream
Milk
Eggs
Vanilla
Acorn Squash Puree
Sugar
Pure Maple Syrup
Bourbon (optional)
Ginger
Pumpkin Pie Spice
Salt
Pie Crust
The Cajun Short-Cut
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in a bowl mix
1/4 cup of Dr. McGillicuddy's Cinnamon Flavored liqueur
1/4 honey
1/4 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup of white sugar
1/4 cup of Maple Syrup
simmer and bring to rolling boil
remove allow to cool.
use as an additive to the recipe to increase flavor
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6 acorn squash halved
roast until soft and carmelized
scoop from the skins and place in mixing bowl to slightly cool
add butter 1 &/2 sticks
2/3 cups of cream cheese
1 cup of heavy cream
2 T of Pur vanilla extract
2/3 cup of minced smoked alomds
4 eggs
5 T of the Cajuin Short-cut
3/4 cup of maple syrup
1 cup of sugar
4 T of spice rum
1 T ground Ginger
2 T of Pumkin pie spice
2 T Corn starch
mix smooth
fill pie crust bake until golden brown crust
chill for 2 hours
whip up some whipped cream and serve cold or room temperture.
they were instructed not to began pie eating until after 2 hours
it was 10;00 p.m.
ND AT 12;01 EVERBODY
WAANTED SUM!
our Spring was a whirlwind of newness
learning our emotions
exploring the worlds we were
that had left their long-held orbits
as we began a dance among the stars
in each other's arms spinning thru galaxies
never losing the gravity in each other's eyes
we then burst into the fullness of Summer
idle days as companions upon a trail
each step brought us deeper into fruition
a fullness of an accrued life
we had reaped the orchards offerings
swung the scythe in union
as fields of wants and needs were harvested
now we sit on a bench
as everything begins to come to rest
it is our Autumn
holding your hand, the age spots
are now a part of what was pure alabaster
still, the precious cup
my cheek holds in reverence
when you guide my gaze into yours
the skin has folded a bit
here and there
condensing years of accruing love
pouring inward to an ever-growing heart
time has been good to us
a love that has grown deeper
its roots match the canopy
joy hangs from the branches
rooted in the happiness below
we are the strong oak
a love was borne in a single acorn
what we have is the most precious gift
our singularity in the devotion we have
for each other
what we share deepest in those roots
is knowing these seasons are but
life in the garden to come
there are still times when our lips meet
i have those butterflies
still, times as i peer thru those roses
you grace our special evening meal with
you are red and i am pink
i skip a breath
the heart races an extra beat
i breathe in the potpourri she has become
i still read to her poetry on that bench
where we first began
i have never wavered in my intent
each poem has but one purpose
to win her heart, again and again
the never-ending story of my love for her
children still lost in the magic
2/1/19 Kismet
Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and extraordinary part of the lives we live. ? Nora Roberts, Charmed
The last Acorn, I stand forlorn
and alone, yet firm and strong
God's kindness filled in me, all do adorn
The last Acorn, I stand forlorn
I protect those who keep me airborne
granting them immortality for long
The last Acorn, I stand forlorn
and alone, yet firm and strong.
The fruit of the oaktree, I forsee very far
before I fall down to kiss the ground
I get picked up and quickly stored in a jar
The fruit of the oaktree, I forsee very far
Warding off evil spirits, I fight them as a czar
Bring luck to those who consider me profound
The fruit of the oaktree, I forsee very far
before I fall down to kiss the ground.
6.5.2020
From my home on a living oak branch, I viewed
birds and rodents food focused with much ado.
A wise, elder acorn approached me to say,
“buffet, café – either way, son, we’re an entrée.”
Pure fear sent me to securely clutch a branch stay.
When my alarm calmed about being critter food,
I wished to be with others in an upbeat mood.
Seeking all acorns, I searched tree high, ground down
and all around before concern earned me a frown.
What mystery had vanished acorns from this tree
leaving just one to be found – the searching me!
Needing to look for all fellow nuts now gone,
I got my brave on and dropped down to search on.
For days, I dodged jays, woodpeckers and one duck
before wild bears, deer and pigs wiped out my luck.
Such hunters forced me to hide in a leaf motif
and there I was eyed as food prized by a thief
who plucked me into his mouth – rude squirrel!
To my relief, it buried me - death deferral.
Many seasons of sun and moon danced to time’s tune
while my roots produced health in a growth boon.
My squirrel thief must have died, (hopefully pan fried.)
Searching for family and pals will never end
but older, mighty oak trees now call me friend.
It seems the future will record us as done for
by failure to score seeds as easily bore before.
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( ( ) \ \ /
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* O * \ / /
@ * \ / \ /
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* * * * \ / V
(( ))/****** * * * \ /
(())\******** * \ /
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| bushy tails on trees |
| burst on twigs' fying trapeze… |
| acorn fanatic |
You held me in the palm of your hand, You put me in the Earth,
You coddled me: YOU covered me in dirt; anticipating my birth.
I put nature’s warm blanket of fluffy, crisp, snow over my head.
Crawl into a fetal position, and for the duration of winter I go to bed.
Springtime comes, I awake, stretch little arms Towards a yellow strobe.
I feel a warmth from this far away, high in the sky; Brilliant Globe.
I wriggle newborn tiny toes, in the cool, moist, ground; each one grows.
The warm breeze, moves my sapling arms, the sun heats my shoots.
From a tiny, tiny acorn, to the Oak I will become; I can trace my roots.
Through the years, YOU’VE nurtured me, I’VE grown tall and strong.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter the rain sings to me; a sweet and loving song.
Fifty years Together : your old and I’m still young and in my Prime.
You rest in a Chaise lounge under my limbs : Shade in the Summer Time.
Seasons pass away little by little
time moves hour by hour
Within your branches, your hearth of leaves
I wait in patience, moment by moment
years turn decades, nurtured in hope
rolling in your epochs of excitement
murmuring in your sighs of endowment
Yes, at last... the first acorn is born
nestled in your sturdy arms, I hang on
a mighty code etched within my heart
a passionate life packed within my soul
an embedded oak weaves silver dreams.
all compressed, and then I fall...
My shell wailing the hit, hardness of a thud
No shade , no comfort, no more birdsongs
On a ground of dirt laid a bushel of acorns
Scattered hither and thither, broken wreckage
remnant memories of sweet honeybees
hammock swinging close to our boughs
Is this our graveyard?
cries of siblings dissipate in crisp air.
No, please let me live once more.
woodpecker's beak I travel unknown lands
a solitary tree, ..a scampering squirrel
swashed in a lake , strewed amid grass
random winds of luck to a mossy rabbit hole.
Seasons pass away little by little.
time moves hour by hour.
Life sprouts a tiny shoot, a thread like root
I wait in patience, moment by moment
years turn decades, a strong oak stands to tell
an acorn rose and fell,...long story in a nutshell.
23rd April 2020
Sponsor John lawless
Contest Name The Last Acorn
The squirrel council gathered
beneath the old oak tree,
debating this year’s acorn tax
with wild indignity.
Red Tail argued loudly
for equal stash for all,
while Gray Tail filibustered
by climbing up the trunk and stalling.
Chiptooth formed a committee
to count the winter stores,
but half the nuts went missing
before they reached the floor.
White Tail, the Treasurer (a clever one)
insisted on a vote~
but bribery with hazelnuts
kept everyone barking a troat.
Yet somehow, through the chaos,
a compromise was made:
each squirrel keeps their acorns
but must share one… someday.
And so the forest functions,
in its nut-based parliament~
a jittery, tail-flicking congress
forever in dissent.
I look around, and they're all gone-
with me, they fell from the oak tree.
And one by one, they met their fate;
I'm here alone on this stone path.
My purpose was to land on grass-
on fertile earth to propagate,
and now I see, this just can't be;
alone, my days are numbered too.
Oh no, it's coming- it's too late-
I am the last to go this way!
That gray fur monster sees me now
and scoops me up with tiny claws.
And round and round and round I go,
it spins me now held by its nails.
I'm in its mouth- we speed away!
Oh dear, a tree, I'll never be.
It stops and drops me on the grass
I see the dirt go flying fast.
And all at once, there is a hole,
and quick inside, it buries me.
I'm covered now with dark, soft dirt;
the monster quickly runs away!
A thunderstorm brings heavy rain-
thank God- I'll grow to be a tree!
April 11, 2020
~8th Place~
Contest: The Last Acorn - Personification
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 05/07/2020
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Outside the Pinecone Coffee Bar,
dappled sunlight sifts through
oak branches like powdered cinnamon.
Beneath bark-striped awnings,
two squirrels sit debating
virtues of hazelnut cream~
claws tapping porcelain.
One stirs her espresso
with a twig so precise,
the other debates nutmeg~
twice or just thrice?
One sips with pinky raised,
with dainty, pawful grace;
the other gulps hers,
prefers dark acorn roast.
They chitter-chatter
and lean towards one another,
tails twitching over stolen scones,
plotting the morning’s next heist:
a sugar packet,
and in which oak to nap in
when the caffeine fades.