Long Bracken Poems
Long Bracken Poems. Below are the most popular long Bracken by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bracken poems by poem length and keyword.
Notes: Part 1 of The kiss at the tor was the first poem I ever posted on the Soup.
Some time later, my life changed and I was moved to write an alternative version.
I always thought I had posted the second part as a separate poem but, on discovering
that I never did, I have combined the two as a poem of two parts here...
The kiss at the tor (Part 1)
My soul was on fire, as I entered the wood
By the old rusty gate, which silently stood
Absorbing history, making no choice
Passing no judgement, adding no voice
The rough ancient path, veined with roots
To test my step, or scuff my boots
Unhurriedly followed the line of the brook
But this was not the path I took
I turned to the right, climbed up through the trees
Where bracken and brambles tugged at my knees
‘til I reached the edge of the open moor
And strode on up to the lonely tor
Where first we kissed on that moonlit night
Where you held me close, as I held you tight
That was the moment I was truly born
My life before you had been tattered and torn
You gave me the courage to truly be me
You gave me your love unconditionally
Yes, my soul was on fire, as you came into view
On the edge of the rock, by the magical yew
And I knew, as then, you were only her ghost
The spirit of the one I have loved the most
The kissing gate (The kiss at the tor – Part 2)
My heart was aglow, as we entered the wood
By the kissing gate, that silently stood
Preserving the memory, of all those who passed
We were not the first, and we’ll not be the last
The soft grassy path, in shafts of light
Caused us to miss, the rough track to the right
Inviting us on, as it slowly took
The meandering line, of the boulder strewn brook
Spirit and power, now came from the trees
The canopy rustled, in the warm summer breeze
While beyond the forest, on the high heather moor
The grit stone crags, of the lonely tor
Acknowledged our kiss, in the broad daylight
While you held me close, and I held you tight
This was the day I was truly born
My life no longer tattered and torn
Your love was the gift that set me free
The love that you gave unconditionally
Yes, my heart is aglow, with a love so true
Freely given, by this magical you
Now, as never, I am rid of the ghost
And with the one I love the most
I am a purple headed chicken with glass beads. I like to roam the wooded glades. I often wear a pair of shades. It shields my precious amethyst eyes from the glare of the sun. Such heat corrodes such orifices. But producing a grin as I pass the goblin who gazes ay my feathers in an admiring stare. Then I make my way up the tree and use the vines to swing over to my favourite picnic spot by the lake. Mrs squirrel has made an amazing spread of acorn nectar which I peck up at great speed. Lovely wild mushrooms mixed with bracken. A treat as I sit in my woodland dream. But oh no what is that? That terrible noise? And why is it so very dark? I feel squashed. My throat is dry. Where are my woods? Oh no I am here and not in my sanctuary. I must claw at the sides of this thing. Far to restrictive. Cant even flap. And isnt that Myra, and Hettie I can hear clucking. If I get out then I will get them out too. Wait for those passing stomping boots and that noise must be on as I go. Means the end of a life but if I can rescue some of my friends it will be fantastic and plucky too. Plucking up the courage she began to claw and finally broke through. Squashing through the tiny bars she found her friends and instructed them how to release. Then one by one they flew up and up and up into the night air. Using the rest of their power gained by finding three pieces of corn on the floor of that place. The ceiling had a sky light which was barely wide enough to squeeze a potato but they managed to kick it whilst beating their wings. Finally having released themselves they soared across to the woods in the distance. Where they were greeted by a squirrel in a patterned apron and chefs hat. Wow Mrs squirrel is real. Not just in my dream. Mrs squirrel smiled and greeted her and her friends. Now you will have safety here amongst the trees. Later you can visit the lake. Then the blanket was dutifully laid and the birds sat down to enjoy their feast. Feasting feathers find fun. Then they spent the future swinging from the vines, visiting the lake for regular picnics, singing with the woodland choir, and working the soil with their claws and beaks. To earn a crumb is to earn a crust. And crusts are neither crumbles nor couplets crouching. Cluck cluck cluck. Ornithomania
Form:
The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.
Oh how alive I feel!
Now spring has come again.
The familiar sun,
My old friend.
Come at last,
Warming my face
As I walk from place to place.
High up in the hills
I meet you each morning,
Rejocing once more
That a new day is dawning.
Singing birds
Serenade your grace,
Of sorrow, there is no trace.
Colours so vibrant,
Venture to be seen.
Left lush from the snow,
The grass shines green.
Golden daffodils
Wave their hello,
As further down the track I dare go.
In a world of my own,
I go back in time,
When the bracken was untamed,
And the fields only just lined.
Happy am I...
Until a pylon cuts in...
But that is the world we now are akin.
If only I could stay up there all day,
Playing hide and seek with my little dog,
Until we come upon the cows,
Emerging lazily from amongst the fog.
Standing so firm,
Blocking our way.
To the next path, then, we shall stray.
Looking out across my nowhere town,
Always a journey's chapter, not destination,
Not thriving but there all the same,
With it's dying high street and long gone station.
I know every street,
Every square and alley,
Toady it wakes so very sadly.
Gone are the days when Henry VIII,
Favoured the White Horse, as his inn.
Gone, too, are the days of strong Industry,
No more do the men at work sing.
But it's my little town,
No matter how dull
And if you want, you can still find it's soul.
That's why each morning I wake at dawn,
To go up the downs and stand my watch,
Looking past the cars, new builds and shops,
I see the Market town, whose past was forgot.
To the cross roads, as always,
My eyes are drawn
Of the romans they were born.
So that's my morning,
That's my little town.
Part of my little world,
All up on the downs.
With each spring,
It ages once more,
But for all time, I'm sure it'll endure.
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It is here at the point where no life exists
where shadows lurk and life is made
while Creation does nothing but watch itself
in a hole that never ends
Ether dances and joke at beginnings of dust
as we bring to life that which longs to smell
misty dew, try luck and fate on stages of illusion
Here we eat pomegranates in custard
apple skin, breathing in salty spice from
pink peas in tunnels of horns
here throats are channels of finality
columns of joy in hope
Here silence is the loveliest sound
sights contest to bloom on trees of golden chandeliers and flimsy nightgowns after
dinner mints
At this point of open fluid blueness
sightless serpents mingle with lights down
their spines
bracken love is made then broken like
crockery on a shelf overburdened with fear
At the beyond orange magic exists in
hair without roots, round and round
in bones without marrow, mouth to tail
as God puts together noses and arses
makes granite curves with candy floss fingers
Here man is woman, woman man
goddesses in curls and red sequined
slippers witness Tarzan at work eating
pineapple with prickles, tongue to tongue
Here a point becomes the only space
space falls into time, time into circles
numbers into letters, letters into nothingness
while black Persian cats cavort on blankets
of faith
At the beyond things jump and don’t move
spring by standing still, guitar notes run
along in blessed focus, locked in flights
of danger
Here you fall and fall, scream a soundless scream ~ blond lashes in a teacup filled
with ovum and sperm, where a flame is
not a straw to hang on
At the beyond, it is so
I walked past leaving the noisy streets behind
Entered a less travelled path leading to the woods
Where the scene gleamed with refreshing verdure
Here Nature lay in calm repose, deaf to all hustle n’ scuffle
Welcomed by the scent of flowers and foliage,
I stood in this engulfing ocean of silence.
The place calmed my mind and lulled my nerves.
As I proceeded, watching each blade of grass n’ flower
I sighted a pathway between thickets
Like the midline parting of a woman’s hair
Seeing it strewn with stones and thorny brambles
I was resentful to take that route, but something
Caught my sight....! Amid the bracken
There was a bramble full of ripe blackberries
It was an unexpected bounty, the wilderness offered me
How beautifully the ripe berries clung to one another
Those onyx beads, those cobalt shiny spheres!
How temptingly they looked in their glossy sheen
Braving their prickles that scraped my wrists
I reached out my hands to pluck them
I wondered-was it wicked of me to have picked them?
When I tasted them, I couldn’t withstand the temptation
To pluck more and more, so sweet and succulent
With no dust or dirt and not needing to be washed or wiped
As the tangle of thorns caressed my hands and skin
With bleeding arms and purple juice in the corners of my lips
I plucked and ate them as much as I could
With no can or container to collect them,
I left the rest for birds and bunnies to relish
While leaving, I felt the curved prickles hooking into my clothes
As if inviting to munch them till my tongue turned into indigo hue.
August.1.2022
Thoughts on Blackberries Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Matt Caliri
The old ice house is where it happened
The old ice house where cold still grows
We ventured down the hidden old footpath
By the stream where now only the ducks go
A dare to see past the old iron fence
A dare to go over the ivy strewn wall
To creep through the overgrowth
In the sunken garden where wild flowers grow
'Tis there where we witnessed something strange
An eerie shadow cast over the stone
Behind us fast movement but nothing seen
Though we knew something was watching us go
We stopped and looked at each-other
We knew something now was wrong
Had we ventured too deep past the folly
Had we stepped where no one should go
Now movement happened around us
With sounds unholy and low
Shadows danced through the bracken that shouldn't be
Without some kind of form
As we looked up-ahead we could see
The old ice house entrance; like a hole in the wall
We wanted to go further but we couldn't you see
Because as we looked we saw a dark shadow grow
Then some noise of a squawk type of moaning
Then a figure out of the shadow was born
It looked at us and appeared to stand staring
We both thought it's time we should go
I have never moved so fast with such dexterity
Like a commando I manoeuvred over the wall
Like a jungle cat through the trees
Until I got back onto the old road
I turned to see where you were
I heard movement, some weird sounds, then there was nothing and none
I know this sounds so weird but please you must see
Please Mr policeman I can't tell you where he'd be or where he has gone
But please Mr policeman don't try to see what we did see
Please, please, please don't go over that wall.
Whispers we'd heard for many a year
But we were so far north they never came near
Then the day came for us Highlander men
It wasn't just where, just a matter of when
Down from the Glens came us Clannish men
To fight for our freedom to cleanse us from them
Soldiers unknown marching so fine
But soon we would meet, it's just a matter of time
Mountainsides so boggy, bracken lush to waist
Trepidation in our hearts, our Claymores desire taste
Shields of wood, Dirks of point
No shiny armour we carry, adroit
The time is nearing our scouts have declared
Intruders now sighted none to be spared
Marching like ants as if on familiar terrain
No care to their flanks, simply constrained
To the mouth of our Glen to these hideous men
Unknown to them, to them descends
Clannish, we many and all
When our ire erupts, our enemies fall
Ahead of them blocked, bails of hay now fired
We have them where they are, soon to expire
Confusion abounds, horses in throw
To whom they look up, administered blow
Arrows aplenty, spears of destiny
Targets hit, as our aiming should be
Reddened eruptions from flesh torn wounds
Claymores thrusting deep, admiring life consumed
Panic abounds amidst limbless souls
Crimson trails confirm our goals
Men of us in deadened taken
Battles like this should never be forsaken
The sporadic scattering of our Clannish men
To their beaten enemy, many lost in ascend
It's not the way we fought, it's how we fought together
When Alba's Clans unite,
"Were never to surrender"
My Bike exercise Ride
I have a bike , that stand still
No matter how much I peddle
But when Im riding this bike ,
I'm off in a dream a yonder
Im off to all the places
That I would love to go
I ride my bike to the sea
And all the way home
I go up in the mountains
And the cloud is down below
the sun shines all the time
And there's snow all around
I love to ride my bike
It takes me to my dreams
I so enjoy my morning ride
In among the trees
All the tracks around the wood
And though the tall bracken
The birds sing amongst the trees
And the woodpecker keeps knocking
And on a new dawn when I'm wide awake
I can cycle to the lakes
There's Rhododendrons all in bloom
A bright purple shower
the water ripples in the breeze
And hovering just above
Is the most beautiful dragon fly
It's blue and green and silver
And flying over the Lillie pads
Are tiny knatts all hovering
And all the lilies are out in bloom
A wonderful pink splender
I can go off into town
In all the hustle and bustle
And stop and talk to any one
And talk about the weather
The market stalls are so busy
Selling there fruit and veg
There's lots of bargains you can buy
My dream just carries on
And As I peddle off again ,
I'm think we're to go,
I can go any where
My dreams would like to go
And even though I'm standing still
You only have to close your eyes
And dream of all the places
Your exercise bike might ride
Susan Gage.
O
Sun declines, beneath the emerald rim
And I'll be headin' home...
to a cottage in the moor lands
with a fire to warm me' bones
The kettle of beans are boilin'
and some coals will bake me scones
I will rest my weary shoulders
And be glad for what I've seen
I've witnessed bracken turn so reddin'
like a wildfire on the mountain
And wee nanny goats on hillsides,
too many now, for countin'
Heather waves in summer breezes...
Granite stones, and bogs of grass,
water gleams like shining glass
and harshness blows for but a reason
to turn around the seasons
Thar' be wavin' sails upon the blue
And leafy shamrocks on the green
Where rugged shores, and seagulls cry,
and pink skies capture me
Friendly folks be bearin' ruddy cheeks,
There's a colleen, fair thee lass
Who will tip our mug at village pub,
And we'll make a toast to Patrick's kin
and order one more glass
Let me always sink me' Irish eyes
upon the rugged land
Upon the skies, upon the streams,
where druid legends live
Upon the grand home of the clan,
where many roots began
Where the ole' pale moon at nightfall,
scatters me memories all a'glowing
Of fair thee rose of old Tralee,
over garden trellis growin'
Charming valleys, greener hillsides,
fill thee heart of all 'me clan
Pick ye' a shamrock.... look for gold,
shake yer' hands with leprechauns
Kiss a Blarney stone in sweet Killarny,
come to all that's home to me
Where names of O'Reily, or McDougal sprung
and the color green began
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