Long Branches Poems
Long Branches Poems. Below are the most popular long Branches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Branches poems by poem length and keyword.
Then:
The sun rises.
My world is small.
Everything has yet to happen.
One day, I'll go to school and learn important things -
Like my brothers -
I wish I was a year older.
I wonder, "who am I?"
The whole wide world teaches me.
There's inside, with mom, and my big brothers -
And the record player.
The magic transpires when the little platter spins,
And I find my heart.
It sprouts, sings, flies me to my friends -
John Henry, Ol' Dan Tucker, Clementine, and Puff -
And pretty waltzes, mom likes them too.
There's outside - where I find peace.
One day, they'll be sorry.
The morning air, so bright and clear.
Exotic plants and animals everywhere - all in my backyard -
The sun shines through sycamore leaves, swinging and swaying in the breeze.
On the ground, light shapes and shadows dance,
Keeping time to a growing me.
Leaves and branches stretch.
Butterflies, gaily dressed, trace a fascinating path -
Tour guides to my backyard universe.
The black and brown bumblebees -
Scary, fuzzy, fat, and cute.
Below, the earth's wiggling treasures -
Under rocks, under the dirt.
Pill bugs, shy and scared.
Potato bugs in ugly glory.
Oops, I didn't mean for my shovel to cut that worm!
But it's OK, now there's two.
Above, the sky -
How high does it go? Forever?
Forever, a mystery, forever...
Buttermilk clouds
Look like the beanstalk giant's floor,
Or maybe the floor of heaven.
God blinks.
Heaven looms.
Everything has happened.
I don't miss the 40-year career -
The late-night phone calls and sixty-hour weeks.
I wonder "who am I?"
I wish I was a year younger.
Nobody has discovered the fountain of youth.
My only hope - a grandchild -
Don't tell my son.
Now, my grandchildren are the kids I tutor math -
They don't know it.
Most don't care about triangles or sums.
They're learning who they are.
For them, everything is yet to come.
I've done, for better or worse, all I can.
Everything has happened.
The world is small.
The sun sets -
Now.
When glancing out my window this morning I was pleased to see,
Golden leaves wafting to the ground from my mountain aspen tree.
A carpet of gold now graces the lawn on which frisky squirrels play.
Emerald leaves of summer that provided welcome shade are now passe!
Gone is the robin family that upon its spreading branches nested.
Winter winds will warp its fragile arms and its mettle will be tested,
But it will brave December's storms and come April of next year,
Another generation of quaking aspen leaves will magically appear!
I enjoy the colorful leaves that carpet my lawn but for this one thing;
Alas, I must rake the consarned things with all the bother that will bring!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Contained within the coconut
Is universal truth:
It's hard, but when you open it
It's filled with tasty juice -
Inside the pomegranate
Is truth still more profound:
The branches are extended
And fruit and seeds are round
Which seeds are shared function
Of themselves and the soul
And form, through interaction,
The integrative whole.
Inside a Georgia peanut
A truth still more refined:
The twin seeds are within it
Like, in a brain, two minds,
Each one with its own center
And each having a chance
Inside the ground to enter
Or die forever hence.
The truth within a kiw
iIs truth still more complete:
The prickles are deceiving
-Inside it's nice and sweet
Contained in a banana
More lessons for the mind:
Like woman in bandana
It's lusciousness that hides
And in its fruity essence
The hardy seeds are found
That move through the intestines
To fall into the ground.
In grapes and in the apples
Some lessons can be seen:
The seed-transmission happens
When fruit is red or green,
And which attracts through sweetness
The animal and man
To overlook the seeds as
It spreads them through the land.
Strawberry and raspberry
Have even more to teach:
Inside each one is carried
A multiplicity
And as they work together
And with each other strive
They fight the stormy weather
And make the best survive.
The fruits have much to teach us
About the world and man,
With passion they beseech us
To know and understand,
And lesson is quite simple
And maybe even cute:
I say to all the people -
I'm proud to be a fruit.
When I walk among the trees with their branches stretching high into the air
I think of all the wonders they have seen…all the wisdom stored in there.
In all the years they’ve spent listening as loyal sentries…silent monks
I think of all the knowledge…all the wisdom stored within their trunks.
And I wonder since trees cannot speak…how is their wisdom meant to reach us?
How are we to learn all the things the silent trees are meant to teach us?
Then I think…perhaps with silent wisdom is how our creators have designed them…
and if there are lessons in the trees…it is up to us to find them.
Lessons like strength and patience…and reaching for the stars
How to stand noble…tall and confident…proud of who we are.
How trees are kind and accepting to all the trees…how they help one another thrive…
how trees are all connected and need each other to survive.
How to weather any storm…how’s there is nothing they can’t face…
How they accept the wrinkles on their bark…and age with dignity and grace.
As they provide us with the air and beauty and shade perhaps the best lesson we should learn…is how to give to others…while asking nothing in return.
And I wonder since the trees and I are still growing…
every time to the forest I return….
how much more they have to teach me…
and how much more I have to learn
It’s so difficult to sustain the life
in this senseless-tiresome-dry world,
and that’s why I decided to fool the world to ease my life.
I took my head out of my shoulders and put it on the road
the very spot where I decided to beguile the others;
the way was happened to be a moderately sloped downward road
and that’s why my conscience rolling downward with very little or
no effort at all.
For I was moving forward without any hindering object or resistance
it became monotonous; I felt like play a prank for some fan,
so I bounced up and down, danced around here and there,
but it didn’t do any good because these were another dull
and slothful recurring motions. I closed my eyes being languid.
On the way I saw the snobs, who impudently
insist upon themselves are the microcosm,
arguing each other wearing the ridiculously ugly masks,
“my territory has to be greater than yours.”
Because of those ridiculous masks
finger point one another with infuriated yelling
I opened the eyes terrifying. As I woke,
I saw a giant standing before me holding an apple
in his hand staring at me; and ridiculous masks carry the explosive.
Who is this giant? And what is the explosive? I tried to
move forward again after gave a moment of thought;
but this time, I was trapped in the midst of a battle field
where a rusted lump of heavy iron moves back and forth
on a double-headed serpent’s back, throwing flames from its mouth.
I gave up moving forward thinking,
though it may not be the place to dwell,
here is the place where I have to take a root;
after rooted, the gray hairs grew to the limbs
and branches of a dead tree, and bear the leaves
and flowers, and some of them fell on the ground blown by the wind,
then the rolling leaves on the ground
become stones and road side footmarks.
When colorless paper flakes
bleach the road side footmarks,
they turn into the scentless petals
and cover the crushed masks lying here and there;
though these distorted masks didn’t say a word
a goldsmith comes in the evenfall displaying proudly,
sprinkles the gold dust tinted with the reddened glow.
Summer comes slowly to the northern shore,
Spring’s pale promises are brought to the fore
As branches of birch renew, glorified,
Green the paper-white trunks in dress once more.
Delicate blooms marking summer’s return,
Layers of lupine are backlit by fern,
Now is their moment, they lift to the sky;
Be fruitful and flower, quickly they’ve learned.
White ladies on horses ride in the bay,
Summer’s strong rainstorms are having their say,
Pine trees and poplar bend down in response,
Dark waves crash heavy as thunderheads pray.
E’en I gaze across summer’s blue water,
Reveling in beauty, Gemini’s daughter;
A fawn draws close, stumbling as she nears,
Etched in gold light, the sunshine has caught her.
Summer comes slowly to this northern land,
All the more grateful we welcome its stand,
In laughter and joy we live day by day;
Suddenly summer, she makes no demand.
10-29-2018
The truth was concealed with many branches
because the trees were giants standing guard.
If anyone passed by, they’d see nothing.
They’d never see the ground so badly scarred.
The ground, which was pounded, had been virgin.
No man had entered that one spot before.
Beneath titan trees, it had stayed hidden -
a sacred section of the forest floor.
Pummeled and raped by an evil monster,
the ground beneath the trees became a tomb.
A corpse was then tossed by that same monster -
roughly tossed into earth’s ravaged womb.
The fiend had abducted a sweet virgin,
uprooting her from home and family.
Her body, like the ground where she now lies,
was raped and also beaten savagely.
The truth cannot be known; it never will.
To hide her broken body and his sin,
her murderer had found the perfect spot,
a place where not a soul had ever been.
The earth cannot cry out. Nor can the one
whose broken form lies rotting in the ground.
The wind-blown trees moan dirges for the earth
and for the girl to whom the ground is bound.
Written Aug. 9, 2016 for the Camouflage Me A Poem Contest of Broken Wings
form used is quatrain, in which lines 2 and 4 must rhyme.
Everything was green and lush as I walked the hiking path,
little did I know that soon I would be hopelessly lost and
entangled by the forest with foliage impermeable. I walked
miles. Soon I was weary and so thirsty, I knew it was a requisite,
even perhaps death, I needed water soon or die. Suddenly a
needed precipitation, a sweet drizzle of cold rain falling on me from
twisted branches above in the tree canopy. I cupped my hands and drank.
Stillness surrounded me, not even the birds sang, all was quiet.
Pausing, I then heard the sound of water in the distance calling to me,
and I started to walk in that direction, energized by the thought of the coolness,
running through the thorns and decaying fauna, stopping and starting,
twisting and turning. I stood there panting listening and still hearing water.
Then I rested on the decomposing forest floor and fell asleep and dreamt . . .
How did I get to this lovely place of waterfalls and brilliant foliage and a
river of icy blue flowing into a lagoon with flowers blooming and trees so green.
Every perfect thing you could image was before me. I plunged into the lagoon,
exhilarated. How I needed the hydration and I drank to invigorate myself.
Wonderful sprays of serenity held me and I never wanted to leave,
and under the moon I swam and dived in the emerald blue iciness, but
then, I awoke and knew I was not of this realm anymore. I was to be
eternally part of the icy blue, a water fairy dwelling in a beautiful lagoon,
reality gone, now I am the crystallization of water, a sweet hazy reverie.
From my watery grave, I whisper to you in dreams, come my lovely, come
and join me in the misty blue, oh it is magical where I dwell in water deep.
In my realm all is tranquil and peaceful and we can float free and calm,
rest your soul in my crispness all the night, come my lovely, come. I promise,
you can leave when you wish- or perhaps you will stay with me in the icy blue.
_______________________________
April 1, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Elements Part Three- Water Fairy
Copyright Protected, ID 16-773-743-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Elements Part 3: Water
sponsor, Brian Davey
First Place
we know the world about ourselves now.
The consciousness we had of stars far above feels closer than before,
And the earth we cherished as home throw stones that prick our bones.
Our teeth grin with termites, our tongues lick the bottoms of worms.
we ignore the sounds above us and the smell of the winds that swoosh past.
we fellowship with no leaves or branches or tree trunks,
diving into the roots of eons,
hoping the minutes count no more,
'cos our sleepless nights end here.
The rest we dug for each day
on office grounds and market squares,
no longer are the abodes of our dreams.
We cherish something greater beyond
the sight of a breathing man and his son.
houses made of stones and raised beams,
fast moving cars that reddens the face
and cause the eyes to tear in excitement,
no longer lifts our lids and widen our eyes,
but of wooden caskets beneath the grains of humanity
that turns our skins white and lips crack
with silence of a billion years and more, we find ecstasy,
as we soul travel in the light.
Bark entwines the branches of-
tall eucalyptus tree
Nest was placed with much haste
Now propped so hauntingly
Baby bird has disappeared
Egg shells-left other pinch
Though tweeting can be heard close by
Perhaps a baby finch.
Amazing such a special home
Has captured me to pause
Inspired by the work made from
Little beak and claws.
Empty nest-such a shame
For crafted loving care,
A new beginning for the bird
Left inhabitance vain bare.
The bird is labelled brainless
I voice Intelligent
To nurture young to have them sprung
To bring sheer sentiment
The aves continue cycle
Freedom, love to nest
Astonished by the workbirdzip
Animals at best.
Copyright © Paris-Maree Boreham 2020