Long Conifers Poems
Long Conifers Poems. Below are the most popular long Conifers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conifers poems by poem length and keyword.
Two hawks aloft
crows anxious banding together
neighbor comes over to my croft, likes the warm weather, November
a California Christmas and maybe species will migrate to reflect that,
paints watercolor ornaments, gentle Jewish lady
how far from her past is she now? or is she quite aware just not talking
about it now
I wonder what she thinks the solution to Israel-Palestine might be
ask her sitting around the pool next summer
almost always disappointed people haven't given the single state solution
more thought
we discuss Thanksgiving, the cleaning and cooking before and the
cleaning after, then the insane Christmas potlatch
deciduous trees have a special winter beauty, conifers among them.
Imagine me the creature in broad daylight
with green metallic crest
as I flaunt a copper plumage wild and free
whilst feathering my nest
native of the Himalayan range I scale
the sun drenched mountain peaks
the zoom and swoop spirit I encapsulate
when skimming gold vein creaks
I dwell on red oak conifers or alpine
meads bound by rock-strewn ware
pale blue eye patch forager whose curved bill dig
unearths a snow crust fare
coruscating migrant over altitudes
whose bone chill turf I fly
rooster among canopies I hatch my brood
with poignant shrubland cry.
I am a Bird - Personification
Tania Kitchin Sponsor
Date submitted 26th July 2020
Mum sat in her aromatic garden,
admiring its charm and grace.
It was a cold morning,
but mum never seemed to feel it any more.
Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll,
yet the smallest things filled them with joy.
Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming
among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots.
The tranquil scents of lilac lavender,
blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage,
always made her smile.
Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient,
despite years of hard work as a single mother.
Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display
of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses.
Mum always told me the thorns were like knights -
there to protect the rose's fragility.
That a woman is a man's most precious flower,
requiring tender care and appreciation.
Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of
my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers,
protecting a beautiful, yet delicate,
Japanese cherry blossom tree.
Mum always told me it reminded her about life,
how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds,
that only blossomed in the spring and
how the lightest breeze blew them away.
Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration,
picked me up when I was defeated,
taught me that only in defeat do we learn.
When the world tried to change me,
taught me to accept myself,
to love myself before I could love others
and be true to who I am.
As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown,
melancholic tones flooded my emotions,
wondering how I would cope without her.
Was I selfish wishing to die before her,
so I would not have to mourn for her,
but it would be so heartbreaking
for her to mourn for me.
My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain.
Mother simply smiled and said:
"Rain is mercy from God, my son."
Written 26 February 2016
Mother Wit
It chooses to whisper
Having endured shouting decades
Feigned listening
Maelstrom's noise
Left behind
Is but a parade
Just married tin cans
Tied to mankind's bumper
How circular the process
Sitting atop time's tree house
This place of early discoveries
Where dos and don'ts became but chaff
Covering kernels of slow growing wisdom
Where innocence washed down
Curiosity's adult fantasies
Ala clandestine Smirnoff watermelon
Now
Hearing tiny sparrows
Nesting high above
Chirping hunger pangs
Awaiting mother and worm
Below
The squirrel rustling through
Acorns
Pausing
Listening to It
While listening to itself
A smile envelops the moment
As far as the eye can see
Roof tops recede
As conifers take their rightful place
Hosting fowl and predator alike
Hoping this stand of nature's essence
Will not be a last stand
In the distance
Heavy earth moving sounds
Pause to be absorbed
Swallowed by evergreen
Rock
Life
Nature's patience
It whispers
As It knows
For all who'll hear
The ancient sound
The BCE echo for many
The Big Bang frequency for others
Peace
Tranquility
Prescience
Hears not noise
Discerns not silence
But embraces the quintessential
Everything
That
Is
Nothingness
In disguise
Dare listen
I wake to crystals upon the white-dusted fields;
Billowing fog creeps around a logged-cabin.
The blazing fire of the smoky chimney yields
The frigid dews that drips from the icy pellets
Of the rosy ruby ribbon made from satin.
Overcasting clouds of haze grants us snow.
For the caramel drops upon the cocoa fox,
Scatters for warmth to bare it must grow.
To leave home to his vixen of bronze socks
That whimpers and howls through the winds blow.
Pebbles upon the icy stream skip and hop down,
The scouring cloves of gems with a drop profound
The earthly pleasures by the river bank of frost.
By tall conifers meeting the paths that crossed,
To other lands beyond the wintry battles around.
Scavenging squirrels search for acorns, scratching old stumps from trees.
Scampering up my sugar maple, they steal my bird feeder seeds.
Sleepy salamanders wake from their slumber to search on slippery stones for a spider lunch and a caterpillar filled home.
Pigeons flock together to peacefully perch on an church.
Puddles are for parched puppies who suffer a little thirst.
Ponds become a drink for blooming blossoming trees.
Patiently I’m waiting to plant petunia and poppy seeds
Rubbery rain boots donate dry feet.
Robin fledglings begin to eat.
Rain and sun meet as one,
making a ribbon of lovely hues,
arched green, yellow, and radiant blues.
Ribbit then repeat, frogs wake up to a
repetitive beat.
Imagine a katydid, butterfly or flea,
drinking sun warmed cinnamon tea !
If inchworms can measure a dragonfly’s wings,
imagine a butterfly that could really sing!
Indigo Buntings dipped in blue, grasshoppers and cicadas are their favorite food.
Nuthatch, a feathered acrobat that can climb upside down, and circle a tree around and around. On peanuts and cherries they love to dine, with conifers and prickly pines.
Nature welcomes spring with lovely bird songs, while tall grass hides a new spotted fawn.
Geese with long black necks eat gracefully from the ground, where berries and spring grass is now easily found. Larger than a duck but smaller than a swan.
Soon goslings will appear when wintertime is gone, singing proud, petite songs.
Where conifers gaily waltz tempos evergreen
Unspoiled by human deeds, pure, and pristine,
Eagles soar there, spanning freedom wings
And trees gently whisper to rhythmic bird trills
Echoing grey owls, blue jays, robins, crossbills,
Hopping, jumping, circling, frolicking in breeze
Reveling with hatchlings, feeding on berries
As sun rays filtering-in on wildflowers glow
Oscillating shadows in gusting, windy, woes
Amidst bears’ huffs, woofs, raging ugly growl
When raccoons coyly snarl at foxes’ feral-howl
Hiding from pitter-patter of tropical rainfall
In heavenly paradise as birdsongs toll daylong
Serenading the land where liberty is paramount
In forest of my dreams’ blossoming sanctuary~
A temple, a hideaway, a refuge, an ecosystem,
A reserve for humanity, a shrine for sanctity,
In equilibrium, edifying calmness and peace
Where elixir of sacred life flows in holy streams
Sustaining earth’s renewal in tranquil harmony.
April 17, 2021
Placed 3rd: In the forest of my dreams premium contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Placed 1st: All yours (Apr 24) contest
Tufted white-tops
on pale beige staggered-stalks,
the coneflowers crowns
dressed the perennial bed;
leaning precariously against
the conical mushroomesque birdbath.
Snow, soft and wet wrapped the grape arbor like ermine;
making trellises reminiscent of Kanji on a blank page.
Fragile, frozen, flowers hung decoratively,
from frail clematis twined about cedar posts.
Brittle brown maple leaves, left behind by autumn;
drag branches draped,
as in bridal lace to the frosted tarp;
defying winter to do what fall could not.
Conifers cried under the weighty white down.
Their limbs straining not to crack, surrender,
snapping to attention as the day warms.
The snow plops pleasantly to the ground.
Winter waits patiently as the garden dreams.
a brown and curling maple leave hangs suspended mid-air
in the clearing by the lake, transfixed by the view and kindness
woven within the web it watches the rain fall
within the transparent lace-like web, it curls inward
its only movement seems a solemn gesture of reverence
with its last bit of I it sighs, what better place to die
shielded from the gentle rain within the prayerful curl of sable leaf
the spider waits for the Autumn wind to tear them free, to fly ... on
to see the conifers green among the forest's rise
brisk winds rent the leave from loom and upward rise the pair
a spider spinning on the sable leave of maple anchored by a strand
as we our spirits torn, are reborn, within the clutch
the center holds sound its claim nature's umbilicus, man
like the spider's leaf born flight, we seek on unknown winds to rise
gentle the breeze or harsh the Fall's feverous gale, still … we rise
First Published in Fall Legends - Kind of a Hurricane Press 2013
The only problem with 'Moonstruck'
is Cosmo's moon could never be so large in winter,
stand for luck.
Mid-winter sledding brought joy
snow, speed, although the kids were beautiful
none were boys.
Walking the boundaries, and the old field
boundaries. Aged maples, barbed wire
past the cambium.
Northern hardwood all the way, except
less than an acre scotch pine plantation
and a few primeval spruce.
Pendant spruce cones in tree tops
colonizing the old field too. Conifers
a primitive civilization.
Lyonia has red, scaleless buds.
Shrub or small tree, maximum height 12 feet.
It's a heath, Ericaceae.
Small, white, bell-like flowers become
seamed capsules, similar to but smaller than
laurel, Kalmia.
The buds had me thinking red chokeberry,
Rosaceae, but of course the fruit
was completely wrong for a rose.
A timber stand improvement now
in the scotch pine would encourage tall
even straight trees, a cathedral.
The maples on the upper rocky slopes
where the skidders couldn't or wouldn't go
are impressive as eagles', hawks' nests.
Mid-summer, Spiraea, field of pink flowers
fully encircled by mountain ranges.
Bees working them.
Nancy, the broker, coming at five.
These 160 acres, a dream, are unnecessary.
Offer 500 dollars per acre.
Not an investment, a sanctuary.
Backed against the Taconic ridge,
real moon rising.