Long Crabapple Poems
Long Crabapple Poems. Below are the most popular long Crabapple by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crabapple poems by poem length and keyword.
Try as I might,...I could not get it right
My small fingers that fumbled over the ivory whites
While scowling her face with that crabapple frown
One, two, three, four...one, two, three four...., her eyes looking down
"Try once more..." she repeated, and I would struggle, so hard....
She would point at the notes, with a yellow Number 2 .....
And circle the flats, and would circle sharps too
One, two, three, four......one, two, three four...
Don't bother to look at the exit or door
The room was too warm..." I keep the thermostat at eighty she'd say"
It helps old bones, , rhumatism, you know..it keeps the aching away"
A scent of Vick's Vapo Rub when she leaned in too close
"For my horrendous allergies".... she'd boast
A Kleenex all waded, a ball in her fist,
Her glasses hung from a nose,
That constantly dripped
One, two, three four,...one, two, three, four...
Oh how I wanted to run straight out the door
"Now, try it again", she'd say, as I glanced through the glass
Out to the sun and the summertime grass
With the sidewalk so ripe, for my playing 'neath trees
For some hopscotch, or jump rope, or roller skate keys
A day, ...not for Mozart, or Bach, or Beethoven...those guys...
What could those grim, long dead, wearing wigs in disguise
Understand of a little girls heart? One, two, three, four....One, two, three, four,
Oh how I wanted to run out the door
But now................My dear teacher....I wish you could know
How I grew to love music, and remember the days
When you gave me the knowledge and spirit to play
This beautiful gift, which I cherish today.........
One, two, three, four.....
May I play you a melody?......
And then, if you don't mind...
I'll be happy to play you one more....
__________________________________________________________________________
Miss Ella Mae Engle.... Rest in Peace, God Bless You, and Thank You From My Heart
My Valley
Tucked away in the north-central part of the state, about ten miles or so from where the clear and slow-moving water of the Grand River mixes with the quickly rolling mud of the Missouri River. Was my isolated valley. A tiny insignificant place dotted with small farms and rolling pastureland of bluestem, switch, and Indian grass. Somewhere just off the beaten path and a little left of “where the hell am I anyway”. From high up in the hills where the Crabapple and Cottonwood creeks merge just outside Log Cabin Station, there is a small creek that begins to snake its way south for thirty miles or so along the northern boundary of that rich Sugar Maple bottom land. For seventy centuries the Sioux Indians fished, hunted, and thrived there. They were the first to speak its name. The abundance of wildlife in the area led them to believe that that small waterway was the ‘River of the Great Spirit’, and they called it…Wakenda.
Life moves in circles,
Like the oceans ebb and flow,
There are no shortcuts.
Splashes of pink from the flowering Crabapple....haze through
the sturdy square of lemon yellow glass - framed in Knights's Armor
....at parade rest on my porch.
Inside on the ledge, my Christmas Cactus welcomes Spring....with
bazookas exploding triple pink perfections in every direction!
~~~ these are my favorites ~~~
~~~ rising from the soil~~~
~~~ shaped in glass ~~~
When I'm pink, sound disappears
....and comets are late for tea
Perfect prisms of lemon light my intentions....prevent my escape
Sometimes, I wonder how long it will last....before the lemon sours
....the cactus only bristles....and the crabapple is bitter, once again....
....dedicated to AG....xxxooo
Spring is the best time of the year for this old crabapple tree. Winters are too lonely and summers too hot. Autumn is nice but people prefer the lake or forest trails. But spring always brings visitors and when they come, I always share the sweet smell of my new blossoms. I play them a soft melody when the wind blows through my leaves. Sometimes, they carve their initials in my branches and profess their love to each other. They snuggle together on the grass at my roots lean against my trunk. I listen as they make their grand plans for their future. Eventually they will share that special kiss. For fifty years I’ve loved being part of this wonderful tradition.
Time comes and time fades
human nature does not change—
Only the clothes we wear
In the beautiful morning sunlight of May
A sacrificed lamb lays on his death bed
His life and limbs are in utter decay
In a few hours or days he’ll be dead
Outside the pink blossoms of the crabapple
Are softly blowing in the springtime breeze
They frame an outline of a small white chapel
Where his soon to be widow drops to her knees
There is a peaceful feeling in the air
The lovely scent of flowers brings serenity
A tranquil quiet fit for a lonely prayer
Because for him there is no remedy
When he awakens from his soothing slumber
His gaze wanders outside to see a lady in white
He muses that he has met his number
And this angel will take him through the light
She’s posing beneath the pastel trees
Her tripod is poised to capture the scene
A moment of beauty obtained to please
In a landscape curated for calm and serene
She is not an angel but she fits the vision
She seeks this image against the clear blue sky
The time has come for him to leave this prison
For it’s such a beautiful day to die
Areola of rose,
blushing,
blossoming,
promising
The thorny-stem whistles
thirsty
posthaste
vainglorious
The crabapple-peach
spurns the rakish stem
pretends to twirl
capriciously unloyal
The un-civil war
an unbecoming ghost
Tara's salvation
the groom gone with the wind
The impassioned rose
scarlet and needy
a Southern conquistador
hopeless and heartless
Vows to seek her groom
relentlessly
frankly for honor
scheming in the morrow
4/10/2019
Summer is tethered to the scent of a rose,
and bubbling brooks, where minnows nip at bare toes.
Spring urges Summer on, and indeed, it shows;
freeing the rivers and lakes that Winter froze,
while greening the dried grasses of the meadows.
A sizzling hot Summer sun shines down all day,
warming swimming pools where children splash and play.
And, bronzes with an ultraviolet ray,
as folks flock to sandy beaches, come what may.
Children launch paper kites on a rising breeze;
and eat apples picked from wild crabapple trees,
while playing outdoor games, and skinning their knees.
Dreading the thought that Winter will reappear,
I find that Summer is the best time of year.
I'll choose Summer over Winter any day!
I hate the cold, frozen feet, and runny nose;
as well as shoveling snow from the driveway,
I'd rather swelter in Summer's heat than freeze.
Fall shifts my metabolism into low gear
till I find myself wishing Summer would stay.