Long Cypress tree Poems
Long Cypress tree Poems. Below are the most popular long Cypress tree by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cypress tree poems by poem length and keyword.
He climbed to the top of a tall cypress tree
All his fertile countryside world he could see
His father’s fields, neighbor’s houses, and kin folk’s, too
For seventeen years, the only world he knew
College and military brought changes galore
Stretched his knowledge and character even more
In hindsight, realizes how far he has come
From those years on that South Carolina farm
To be localized has rewards and blessings
Gives life a simpler pace though sometimes boring
Keeping close to family, neighbors, and friends
Building memories that linger long within
Yet, far beyond those familiar childhood walls
He found healthy growth in academic halls
Taught to be a man by military aid
Great character builders that will never fade
So much was gained through seminary studies
Treasures that have guided him like a ship’s rudder
Learned to serve others with care and compassion
To be grateful to God for His redemption
This man will never know what life might have been
Had he remained in his country boyhood den
Now, he’s glad and satisfied to have found and gained
More life beyond those dirt fields and cotton gins
I sleep
to visit You
in Your dreams,
oh my Esteemed -
a gauche novitiate,
there like a Laureate
You receive me
to learn Your secrets,
there wisdom is served
like as one planted,
seeded at a last feast,
where all can plainly see
myself ceded, the bread broken
the wine poured,
finally, the body of pride, broken,
You speak to me
of what Love is,
and what Love
has always been
now falls the soft wings of a dove
over the crimson and the white
melting petals over the pure
the shrouded body,
the body of
Vitae Lux
a white peacock sleeps upon a bed
of Cypress leaves, the stories bath it
in the Light, a ghost, unclearly seen
the ghost in You,
is the ghost of Love
inside me
now the crimson and the white
awakes in me, my mind
naked and glimmering
the Ghost
in You,
now writes me
as a word, into thee
pulls me upward
forward into You,
the 1 embracing me
I exist as Love
in Your kingdom
of divine music
I am
before
Your eyes
Your mirrored poetry
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Easter
Vitae Lux
(Love-Music-Poetry)
1.
Alfred Lord Tennyson. From “The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal” (Poem)
2.
Mealor: Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal (Four Madrigals On Rose Texts) : Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal (Music)
Cypress tree. Symbolism, all.
Note: This poem is the twin poem for "She Speaks for the Dead." This one is in the mockingbird's perspective.
I perch upon the locked gate,
awaiting the deepest hour of night.
My abode is among the shadows
of the gravestones, still and weathered.
There I hear a faint sound of
bare feet along the grass,
And I see a Woman near the cypress tree.
She is frail and clad in robes—
She looks at peace with the world, and with Death.
But the Woman stops as if she is waiting for something,
listening for something in the stillness.
Could it be my own voice that She is
calmly awaiting? Some trills of
Truth to break Their silence?
I feel a change in the air
as the shadows deepen on the headstones,
the monuments, the cypresses, the gate.
I begin to speak for Them
and that Woman with the gleaming
yet respite eyes
I begin to speak for Her.
My channeled chirps are
variations of lives once lived,
and my growing audience is vastly keen.
The vivid colors of summer
Come flashing down at me
I can feel the summer sun
Penetrating through my body
As though it were trying to
Possess my very soul.
I lay on the softness of
The moist green grass
The smell of the freshly
mowed lawn is intoxicating
The sun gives the grass
A glistening hue of color.
As I read the words from
The book of poetry in hand
I feel beads of sweat dripping
Down between my breast
I see the large cypress tree.
That makes me think
I should move under it
Before I melt into the grass
I shield my eyes from the
The brightness of the hot sun.
Though I so much enjoy
The vivid colors of summer.
Form:
You know I had a lover's quarrel with God
As I sat there telling him ~
I knew the fastest way to heaven
Was straight through hell
Though He did not see it that way
Nope, not at all
God said you need to go down this one path
But as I sat out there on that enormous cypress tree
I thought and I listened and I thought some more
What I was feeling now and what I should be feeling
Where two very different things.
But as I said before ~
I had a lover's quarrel with God
But never once did he let go
Of that unconditional love for me
No ~ never once and for that, I will always love God
1 / 1/ 2006
The blue waves smack the shore
Outlined by the oaken door.
Stand beside the cypress tree
Throw your arms out to the sea
On a mossy cliffside you can spy
The wheeling curlew, hear it cry.
Smell the cedar in the grove
See grass wave where rover's rove.
Hear the sea gull, feel the wild
White sails on silver, be beguiled.
So far from madness of the city
Cell phone rings, no longer free.
You run inside the cottage door
Find your backpack on the floor
Dig the phone out, as it plays
A ringtone singing "yesterday"
Its Chase bank, with a suspect charge
Ten thousand, that's awful large.
Text message comes from your landlord
Rats with fleas came in a horde
Your boss says he's needs you back soon
Work has come like a monsoon.
You leave the cottage bitterly
But you can't eat the scenery:
Can't throw the cell phone in the sea.
At least you have the memory...
Header Note
Sponsor Name: Silent One
Painting Name: The Starry Night
Artist Name: Vincent van Gogh
Painted Year: June 1889
Submitted Date: 8 July 2026
Before the World Called It Genius
On the moon eclipse night
when everything went dark and horrified
I fell into a strange dream
Time tore open and I was in 1889
There he sat
Van Gogh in the backyard
alone with a white canvas and the night
With one stroke he dragged anxiety
with the next hope
with the third wonder and loneliness
all swirling together
Huge stars turned on the canvas
a bright crescent moon bled light
a galaxy spun like water
like fire
The sky did not hang
The sky lived
Below it a quiet sleeping village
A church steeple pointing up
silent as his sadness
silent as his grief
One small village
under an infinite sky
like a desert that grows
one Evening Primrose of hope
after years
Then the cypress tree
dark a flame touching earth to sky
His struggling life grew from the ground
and burned toward the stars
Bold colors
Thick brushstrokes
His pain his grief his loneliness
all poured onto white canvas
I watched his hands move
A masterpiece born in front of me
He could not see what we would see
After his death
the world finally looked up
They saw the swirls and called them genius
They saw the night and called it holy
They saw him
And me
I was just a witness on an eclipse night
time traveling into 1889
to feel the painting
while it was still being painted