Long Balsam Poems
Long Balsam Poems. Below are the most popular long Balsam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balsam poems by poem length and keyword.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
Wonder’s Darkness
by Odin Roark
He knew wonder well
It could cancel fear
And bestow courage
A nexus for survival
A predawn beginning
His solo-climb of the face
Thought crazy by doubters
Had started swift and easy
The results of plans
Rehearsals
Confidence
The wall’s darkness was his own
Anchoring piton after piton
Securing each meter of ascension by feel
With unharnessed confidence of mind
For this was a climb of defiance
Knowing few if any
Might or would
Ever understand his exhilaration
His unique love of climbing-chalk and sweat
Carabineers and rope
Anchors and ascenders
Tenuous connections to life
All married to his inner eclipse
Yet at the halfway point…
Exhaustion appeared
Adrenalin waned
His pendulum traverse had missed
Time seemed to stop
Flesh and rock collided
Bringing cold panic
Seizing breath to hold
Suspending threatened fate
Even as the skill of a spider
Had kept him safely vertical until now
Death’s harassment had not been part of the plan
His back rested against cold granite
The lead taste of blood from his nose
Conflicted the balsam and cedar fragrance
Gusting up from the valley floor
Fifteen hundred feet below
His straight down reality
Minutes passed…
Awe and respect
Life’s often ignored necessitude
Hung together with him
Against the sheared mountain
Some predicted his dreaded finale
With tenacity as partner
Calmness merged with a blanket of sunrise warmth
The crisis became the past now
This test of tests faced completion
His mind eased back to a climber’s trust
Careful feeling about
Delivered firm grips
Precise movement
Renewed determination
Moving him deftly toward the descent team’s cheers
Waiting on distant topside
Resisting aid
He reached the summit
And gathering minutes of needed rest
Even amidst the accolades and glee
He prepared for the hard part
The trek down the backside
This blind climber knew
Like those with eyes to see
Exhaustion can make even a simple return route
More dangerous than the climb
With the descent team
Assisting his tired body
The crude trail carved
For bushwhacking
Brought danger often missed
Until it was too late
Loose scree
Roots of trees
Ruts and rocks
With sightless vision
He maneuvered the precarious path
His certain smile becoming contagious
Moving shaking heads of doubters once
To embrace a blind climber’s wonder
As their own
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
Many men came today to look at the old empty house;
I have been guarding that house for many, many years;
They spent quite some time looking at and touching me;
I heard them saying that the house was being demolished,
And a condo building would take its place. I can't help,
wondering what will become of me.
I started my life as a whirly bird seed in a wild forest,
And soon I grew into a young tree, one of many trees.
I remember them all, spruce, balsam, fir, and birch.
And some maple, like me, that was two hundred years ago.
It was wonderful in the forest; I loved cradling the birds,
And the squirrels and chipmunks were delightful.
The seasons changed me and in winter I stood proudly,
Stripped of my dress; snow and icicles on my branches.
Over time, my tree friends were cut down to make space,
For houses and streets, but I remained standing, waiting.
Soon a lovely house was built, and I have stood over it,
For one hundred years now.
I have seen many people come and go, and I protected,
And they liked me too. Finally, the house stood derelict.
For years I have been alone with only the birds and squirrels,
And sometimes cats and other creatures as companions.
I love the wind in my branches in the summertime,
And how the fall changes my veined lobed leaves.
Changing them from emerald to red-orange, then yellow,
Oh how the children like collecting them from under me,
And how I adore the feel of the rain and the snow falling;
I even have flowers of green, yellow, orange and red,
In spring, I send millions of seeds twirling in the wind,
And I pray they find their place in the earth.
Do you know that my leaf is the coat of arms of Canada,
And it is on the flag; I am a symbol of strength and endurance,
I am the national tree. But the men approaching do not care;
They do not care that I have stood for two hundred years,
And although, I expect it, the first cut is agony, and I scream;
I am screaming in pain as again and again they cut me.
Until I am lying on the ground, dead.
______________________
August 30, 2015
Poetry/Personification/Maple Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-654-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Peudonym.
Submitted to the Premiere Contest, Number 8
Sponsor, A Skat
Ninth Place
Oh the images we freeze in time
the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls.
Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown
upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets
showing frozen plumped out peeks of
blistering love, gape toothed girls
and sour apple dreams.
We freeze in time on scrapes and shards
on compasses far from the woodlands scene
the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers
as they touched my dimpled chin,
blue eyes behind wire rims.
The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts
Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee
and father's black onyx ring
ah, I still have him.
The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes
hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards
relentless, heartless is the passing
passing into the frayed, worn fringes
of our dollop of mirrored time.
For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days
bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie
do not forget the taste of the love
the cotton candy kisses
their first chocolate cone.
On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes
without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,
play all the old tunes from radio days
and invite your loved ones
to come home.
This is my form it is called Etcetera.
Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no
syllable count.
I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of
Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz
She That Rivaled The Glowing Moon
Thy *hyacinth* hair upon white shoulders laid bare
thy face, mirror of love in heavenly skies.
The miracle of thy body, so sweet and fair
its soft innocence, destroyer of worldly lies.
Walking behind thee, in steps where an angel trod
among meadows, flowering in moonbeams there cast.
Must be a heaven for thou art proof of a God
that giveth to mankind a beauty that shall last.
Thy touch, ecstasies that rival paradise
ravishing smile, cool breeze blowing on a hot beach.
In all the universe only thee will suffice
to heal my aching soul and my heart, true love teach.
Thou art my *Irene*, that I drink of thy calm!
Blessed am I, to be soothed by thy kiss balm.
R.J. Lindley
June 26th, 1989
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables: 168
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 122
***************************************
1. "hyacinth"- Luxuriant and curling
2. "Irene"- According the Greek myth, the goddess of peace
3. ****" balm"****
Home British & World English balm
Definition of balm in English:
balm
noun
1 A fragrant cream or liquid used to heal or soothe the skin:
‘a skin balm for use after shaving’
**** 1.1 Something that has a soothing or restorative effect:****
‘the murmur of the water can provide balm for troubled spirits’
2A tree which yields a fragrant resinous substance, especially one used in medicine.
? balm of Gilead
2.1[mass noun] The resinous substance yielded by a balm.
3[mass noun] A bushy herb of the mint family, with leaves smelling and tasting of lemon.
3.1 Used in names of other aromatic herbs of the mint family, e.g. bee balm.
Origin
Middle English (in the sense ‘preparation for embalming, fragrant resinous substance’): from Old French basme, from Latin balsamum (see balsam).
*****************
Note- I had her but my mad wild streak( I was 18 years old) drove her away..
She saw something in me that back then (1973), that could not stay..
Only many decades later, could it reemerge to remain and slay my demons....
Deborah’s Grandfather was fond of saying, other than at Thanksgiving, turkeys had no worth
for he believed that turkeys were the stupidest creatures on Earth.
He told stories of turkeys innocently and ignorantly standing on the ground
and staring up into the rain so long…they ultimately drowned…
Of course we know this isn’t true….and the reason for her grandfather’s sarcasm
is a genetic condition in turkeys called titanic torticollar spasms.
In truth we know turkeys are quite social creatures who also have big hearts
and contrary to what old farmers think…turkeys are quite smart.
I felt the need to test these competing theories…I figured it wouldn’t be hard
and for my test case I would use the turkey family that frequents our back yard.
They travel through once a day looking for the things that turkeys eat…stopping for a rest…which gave me the perfect opportunity to put my theory to the test.
I started taking handfuls of birdseed, “Hello turkeys!” I would say
then I’d toss those handfuls to them…at first they ran away.
Eventually however…those hungry turkeys found their way back
and seemed to be enjoying their complimentary mid-day snack.
The next day when I saw them in the yard…I greeted them…then tossed them seeds
eventually establishing a routine….as they became accustomed to our Balsam House cuisine.
Now the turkeys perch on the fence near our cabin…under an old chestnut tree
and If I don’t see them when they arrive…they gobble up at me.
“Hello turkeys! I yell to them as I hurry out the door…
then toss them the handfuls of seeds I know they’re waiting for.
So there you have it proof that turkeys are quite smart…no longer should we disdain them…
after all look how easy with some birdseed it was for me to train them.
However…as I watch them enjoying their mid day snack as happy as turkeys can be
I have to wonder when I hear them gobble from atop the fence…
If I was training them…or they were training me?
Whatever the answer…when I see them…my pride I can’t contain…
Hey…I notice it’s beginning to sprinkle…and they are gobbling…
I think I’ll go outside and join them…staring at the rain.
Island of fantasy
No swim wear on Bikini Island after all those testing years
waiting for the hidden radiance to…stop this is reality
I need to escape from where into what or do I when
one flash and blip in the history of time and my projections…
So here it is the nude beach stripped from another reality
granting a moment here or then stranded in magic another truth
in the loops and coconuts circuiting in the mind grapes hanging low
sweet and sour Me Robin’s son Friday or not…forever and another splendour
Essence food and shelter in abundance too much too plenty so
I’d rather bring a friend my lover soul-mate curvaceous sparkling
inspiration expiration joined in motion rhythm rhyme sequential
horizontal upright teasing poet tree in motion exploding fusing solitude
Cinnamon bark and musky flavour salt of the ocean chilli peppers
soul on soul skin on skin soul on skin intermingling penetration
of ideas creation words artistic dependent independent work in progress
giving taking heading truthful tongues lips balsam for the sun and tanning life
Books and poetry are also intimate wise companions mentors faithful fellow friendly
fire water earth and aerial dreams conjectures built up climax rest regeneration
and I suppose we like to write our own of rainbows thunder lightning comets
starlight moonshine distant proximity close by far away lands in kindness loving
Lotus flowers in perfusion fragrant storms meditating torrents stillness for
the mediation stories lived experience speaking hearing narrative exploration
where they rest on beauty interwoven follicles frolicking whims of nature nurtures
exude petals inner peace and outer seminal gentle epitome of sensual wisdom reason
But wait...why search on other ocean’s tide lines why run away from what there is
the island carol coral reefs and rainy forest dew in sunshine sweet perfume of life...
the envelope of brightness togetherness carnal mingling intellectual fulfilment
is here right here when we beam out from fantasy and run from insular fight or flight
06th June 2016
The soft snow was gently falling
on this winter evening-
it was quite dreamy as I walked
really peaceful-
I had only walked two short blocks
and there was a Christmas tree lot.
So inviting
with bright lights and Christmas music playing
I just had to visit-
there were many- varieties
all sizes- and oh, the smell was divine-
I can still hear mother
telling dad- get a good tree- nice and strong
I walked among the trees
all the Balsam, Fraser, Spruce and Pine trees.
Even rare, Douglas
I had no plans- to get a tree
but the graceful beauty and lush green
enchanted me with a vision
of a tree with bright ornaments
and garland and silver tinsel
shimmering-
with colorful lights, in my living room.
They were selling hot chocolate
so I got a big steaming cup
while I shopped for my tree-
it needed strong branches
and would not lose needles
until way after the holidays-
and it had to be lovely and lush green
who knew picking a tree
would be so difficult to do
I went around and around that tree lot
then I saw it.
Just waiting there
it was a Fraser Fir- but a bit expensive
oh, I turned away a few times
only to come back- again
and decided no other would do-
farmer Joe carried it
down the street and up my steep stairs
let it sit
awhile to thaw, he said-
so that night I just sat on my sofa
looking at my lush green but frozen fir.
Next day- decorating
I have my mother's- and grandma's
Christmas balls stored in old tattered boxes
and I have some too
I spent the day at it-
first the lights around and around
then the delicate ornaments
some fragile old- some new
and last the angel on the top
and there it was-
my tree
so beautiful in the corner of my living room.
____________________
December 10, 2017
Poetry/Epic/'The Christmas Tree'
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9699-52-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
How do I explain what’s special about our cabin…that she’s not just a cabin anymore…
How, after all the years we’ve grown old together…she’s evolved into so much more.
Sure she creaks more than she use to and she’s added a few wrinkles as time’s gone by…
But, as she remind me when I mention this, over these same years…so have I!
But because of all the time we’ve spent together her walls hold memories of our past.
which makes each time we walk through her door….a little more special than the last.
Awaiting in this cabin are the memories we’ve made throughout the years.
Most are happy memories…but a few are brushed with tears
Deborah’s mother’s laughter, her father’s garden filled with veggies we eagerly awaited
Bryan, Ali and Ryan performing full length plays they wrote, produced and then created.
Picking blackberries, holding a stick in a campfire then pretending it’s a torch,
coveting the Goddess of Uno, chasing fireflies, laughing together on the porch
Flying paper airplanes from the upper deck…watching them soar and glide
Playing games with Grandma and Grandpa…laughing so hard we cried.
This cabin saw Deborah’s mom’s and dad’s passing…
saw sadness grip the trees
But she’s also watched their great grandchildren sharing similar memories
Over the years this cabin has inherited our genes and chromosomes….
mix in all our memories and this cabin is our home.
We even call her Balsam House…
yes we’ve christened her with a name…
I wonder…since we think of her with fondness…
if she thinks of us the same.
Yes, somewhere along the way she’s become part of our family…
A safe…a loving and happy place….
where each time I enter
I promise to ignore how she creaks a little more these days….
If she’ll ignore the new wrinkles on my face.