Long Hedgerows Poems
Long Hedgerows Poems. Below are the most popular long Hedgerows by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hedgerows poems by poem length and keyword.
There are no months as beautiful as early summer months wild flowers make the headlines,
Leaning heavy on my old worn hazel wood stick walking to a wooded meadow out of breath,
Clusters of Primrose and large patches of Blue Bells chat with clumps of Spring Violets,
As I stand wheezing the wonderful smells the dampness of wood and flowers give me air.
Lesser Celandine flowers between March and May heart shaped leaves a glistening yellow,
Now feeling a little better my head lifts the top of some large trees seem so far away,
The Cuckoo flower has leaves deeply toothed with spear stems, shows off all its beauty.
The kindle under my gentle walking cracks loudly so the meadow and trees know I am here.
There is a second spring in the forest wooded meadow Snowy Mespilas with white flowers,
It reminds me of winter snow I once enjoyed these days my legs are not what they were,
The tree of heaven spreads climbing sixty feet and the Alder with soft purple catkins,
Leaning on a tree happy to be here with warm sun finding its way through high branches.
Hedgerows dress in the same vernal-looking hue and a Chipmunk darts across a small field,
The Chipmunk runs up the side of a nearby tree if he new me well he would not run away,
Thick scented heather lives on the moorlands side by side with an evergreen Bog Rosemary,
A furry little face high up on a branch is watching me in the same way I am watching him.
A Judas tree with round leaves clusters of magenta, pea like flowers greet me this day,
I wonder why it is called the Judas tree is it the one Judas hung from with silver coins,
Cornelian Cherry flowers at the end of winter, followed by richest bright orange fruits,
A Japanese Quince shows splashes of color they are so white, or salmon or very very pink.
Weigela a beautiful shrub will bell like flowers and a deep red rose brighten the woods,
Times getting on now and I am tired but standing in this beautiful meadow I feel so alive,
Doesn't matter how old or how well a person maybe that same natural beauty is seen by all,
So leaning heavily on my companion the hazel stick I walk back to my home it's a great day.
New town, new job, strapped for cash. It was her birthday and this was all I could afford.
Gifts for Elizabeth
Look into the sky tonight and travel
back in time where diamonds light forever-
up beyond the Milky Way, and if you
know the stars by name you'll never be alone.
See Lunar, queen of all the nights, a-glide
with silver smiles; lingers while the morning
mist shimmers-all with dew then hides among
the vapour-screens to watch her lover rise.
How mighty rides the Sun King, Midas of
the morn, transforming leaden-sea and sky
to sheets of dazzling gold; red-carpets lie
on cloud-scapes of plains and mountain-passes.
Purple-anvils forging hailstorms, thunder
clapping lightning flashing. Buddhas billow
then dissolve in peaceful islands floating
high... now yellow skies of driven rain-squalls.
Flooding fields send swollen rivers rushing
to the sea, where they boil and steam in the
tropic-tides then leap on the wind and flee –
to return in tears to their native hills.
Such glory is the earthly-engine, where
sylph-rainbows float on fields-of-flowers that
mirror back their subtle hues while starry-
fish flash in inky-seas of ever-night.
Deep forests whisper secrets to the fields
and jungle-hedgerows where busy insects
drone. Fisher-folk of spiders spin beauty
into webs that find jewels in the frost.
Savours of the planet are bound into
a whole by the pulsing of the hours in
the rhythm of the days that circle in
the seasons of the spiral of the years.
There's a presence and a theme in the beat
of the never-ending dancing of the
ocean on the shore – where a gypsy-wind
croons love-songs to the birds that pipe and soar.
To melt into this music is to blend
into the motion and form again the
beauty of our truth, where minds are laughing
ripples on a stream that runs for ever.
Find succour in the knowledge that all of
us are one, and the substance of all things
is the universal essence of the
stars... and see strife as but a passing phase.
Fairy Dance
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
Shall dare taunt and tiptoe on spider's web
Silvery string hang and swing amides guides
Slack-lining steps along until the ebb
Shall dare taunt and tiptoe on spider's web
From fairest creatures’ spirit free clamor
Slack-lining step along until the ebb
Tear drops of lilies stoke scent enamor
From fairest creatures’ spirit free clamor
Mice perch on grass blades cheer excited squeals
Tear drops of lilies stoke scent enamor
Butterflies wings flitting springtime wind reels
Mice perch on grass blades cheer excited squeals
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Butterflies wings flitting springtime wind reels
Dragonfly's gossamer wings weave and fades
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Contained by spring blooming emerald grass,
Dragonfly's gossamer wings weave and fades
Fairy Queen's daisies blend when beetles pass
Contained by spring blooming emerald grass,
Bloom clusters flourish tremble in the breeze
Fairy Queen's daisies blend when beetles pass
Bluebell, buttercup bring bees to their knees
Bloom clusters flourish tremble in the breeze
Far-off silent buzzes and hums sillies
Bluebell, buttercup bring bees to their knees
Of amber, wild cherry, wine, daylilies
Far-off silent buzzes and hums sillies
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
Of amber, wild cherry, wine, daylilies
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
From fairest creature’s spirit weave cobweb
Sunlight shining hedgerows rainbow shades
Fluttering wings hover on silver web
From fairest creature’s spirit weave cobweb
Silvery string hung and swing amides guides
Fluttering wings hover on silver web
Where yet forbear spider hides, fairy chides
1/6/2020
"Fairy Dancing On A Web" a Quatrain poem I've turned into a Pantoum
Rhyme
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/fairy_dancing__on_a_web_831158
Upon a whim arising on this sunny springtime morn
hearing birds perform their songs at the crack of dawn
my knapsack packed already with a tasty picnic lunch
bread with cheese and wine
oh such a scrumptious tasty brunch
so full of joie de vivre am I for the day ahead
a slow ascent upon the bus as we reach *Beachy Head
then on to Belle Tout lighthouse where I alight instead
for on this glorious sunny day
in springtime sunshine I’ll make hay
Catching the light in stripes red and white
warning all mariners of dangers at night
a beacon of hope in a cobalt blue sea
her beam shining out majestically
Meandering gently nature's gifts I espy
a host of golden cowslips as if sprinkled from the sky
perchance if Wordsworth had beheld such beauty as have I
his host of golden daffs would have a rival for to vie
wafting gently in the breeze their lemon coloured blooms
a more stunning sight is seldom seen on sunny afternoons
I wander through the woodlands approaching Birling Gap
uneven ground negotiated, avoiding a mishap
then I espy the smallest orchid I have ever seen
with purple blooms and spotty leaves
exquisite flowers I could gaze for hours
secreted for her own protection
her subliminal message for all…
‘Please do not disturb me as
you stand here to observe me
for my beauty - my shape - my hue
and please leave me in situ, for all who pass just like you
as they pause awhile admiring the view’
Written April 2019
Contest Strand any form any theme
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st PLACE
*At 152 metres Beachy Head is the highest of Britain’s chalk sea cliffs, attracting nearly half a million visitors each year. The name ‘Beachy Head’ is believed to be a corruption of the original French, meaning ‘beautiful headland’. Some of the flora and fauna to be found at Beachy Head are purple and bee orchids, bluebells, primroses, cowslips, oxslips and hedgerows crowned in white - baby lambs and wild seas and so much more - just stunning!
A fist clenched, face muscles flexed on pinched cheeks, huge sinews appeared on his neck,
The veins in his arms were like twisted lengths of blue rope and his eyes bulged in his anger,
His brother lay face down in a rancid pool, a lifeless corpse, another name in a very long book,
Ghosts in a grey dawn, moving then disappearing, then boom as mighty cannons fire into the sky.
Turning the body over, wretched wounds had ripped his face, ripped his youth, ripped away his life,
A gray morning, the same as other mornings, cold grey twilight, but this day will never be forgotten,
The strong brave man, who had seem so much, cried uncontrollably and his hot tears fell bitterly,
He knelt in filth, to cradle his younger brother and rocked backwards and forwards, unbelieving.
Once they played on long sultry hot days and when the rain fell it refreshed scents in the warm air,
They ran through fallow fields, pretty meadows scythed clear of hay, into a fine wild flower garden,
In days where the air slumbered lazily, they climbed thick leafy masses of high, ancient oak trees,
Always watching and warning his happy little brother, never climb too high nor stand on dead wood.
Laying down and looking up into autumn skies, warm, soaring winds shaping passing fluffy clouds,
Rising early as the sun once more shines, on those brilliant days, the calmest most impressive beauty,
Watching from afar in school looking after him, chasing bullies away, enriching his early days,
Beneath these warm shimmering suns, running, over to hedgerows picking sweet ripe black berries.
But those days are gone, gone forever, replaced by fear and hate, nobody will ever be the same,
Every day staring at death's grinning sated face, trying not to be caught in its cold red eyes,
And we all know the piper must be paid on these killing fields, but his wages are far too high,
Today on this early grey morning, shadows disappearing, a young man and his brother paid in full.
Today I heard an ancient song that took me by surprise,
A song that since creation had filled our country skies.
A song that has for centuries filled mans heart with joy,
A song that brought back memories of when I was a boy.
When I could wander over fields of Clover Grass or Wheat.
Or lay beneath some shady tree to dodge the summer heat.
All throughout these halcyon days above the insects drone.
This joyous song reminded me that I was not alone.
That nature rampant, uncontrolled with vigour unconfined.
Had conquered all our countryside long before mankind.
I realised this sweet birdsong as heard in ancient past.
Was up against man’s progress, whereby it would not last.
For even at a tender age I somehow understood.
That agriculture’s chemicals would do more harm than good.
Then the tide was turning and man fought control to gain.
By removing ancient hedgerows creating one vast plain.
The Poppy and Corncockle were denuded from the Wheat.
Thus no seeds or insects thrive for any birds to eat.
Somehow the lust for progress never seemed to stop and look
at the catastrophic change in river, pond or brook.
Where are the Grass Snakes, Toads or Newts, where is the common Frog.
The flood planes now have houses on where once there was a bog.
No more do we hear Linnets sing with Blackbird Wren or Thrush.
The countryside has taken on an all pervading hush.
We have yet to realise that our inventive skill,
does not enrich diversity but only serves to kill.
Alas mankind’s eternal search for ever rich reward
has sterilised the country over which the Skylark soared.
Will our children still to come ever understand
what drove our generation to create this baron land?.
And yet, I heard a Skylark on an Industry Estate
We now must find another way before it gets too late
They too must hear this ancient song we must not let it die
and forever may they cherish this sweet music of the sky.
Form:
What did you do in the army daddy?
Did you fight in a war?
I’ve only seen a few pictures daddy,
please tell me some more.
I wore a scarlet tunic son,
and a bearskin with plume of white.
I guarded our Queen in London son,
I made sure she slept safe at night.
But did I fight in a war son?
Politicians they’ll tell you no.
But let me tell you the facts son,
the truth, as it was, just so.
I was sent to a beautiful country son,
that’s known as the Emerald Isle.
To the south of the north we young men went,
to a place so choked full of bile.
I walked the streets with a rifle son,
the enemy hiding from view,
behind hedgerows, in vans, those cowards hid,
their mission, our lives to undo.
They wouldn’t come out in the light lad,
they’d only fire from the dark.
Too timid to stand toe to toe son,
they’d fire when we walked in their arc.
But how do you define a war son?
Is it bullets and bombs and death?
Friends dying from enemy ambush son?
If it is, then my answer is yes.
Yes I fought in a war my boy.
Though my government denies it all.
They said we just had some troubles son,
behind a split Irish wall.
But didn’t they give you a medal daddy?
I know this, because I have seen.
All shiny and silver, the Queen’s on it,
with a ribbon of purple and green.
They did and it means the world son,
of a time that I fought alongside real men.
It recalls those honest true friendships son.
the likes that I’ve ne’er found again.
It reminds of those scum in the shadows son,
who now play a part in the light.
Elected to offices of power, yet
they’ve never atoned or done right.
It hurts when I think of those brave boys we lost,
to see such MP’s standing tall.
But for me they’ll never be men my boy,
no values or morals at all.
So yes I fought in a war son,
no matter what governments say.
I’d love them to pick up a rifle my lad,
and be troubled, for just one day.
Over ten worms then? In coats. Goggles? Flight then. Huge paper bees. Altitude 4 on curvatures rattling over the field,fauna and hedgerows. Boom boom boom beasts coming. Mooooving across the territory pulling dragging. When old then its chop chop chop. But if a falling blaster gets there first then death arrives earlier. After a squirt of mud. Nice. Lick lips then. Taste good? No? Yes? And now the ships are coming. Painting playing poker. Captain geranium. General ox. And a poxy fly-by of a boat with 8000 foot wings. But no oars. Quiet is it? For now. All are writing and writhing in formatted charts. To plan the circumference of a beach landing is to plant a cactus in a salt marsh. Humming. Sing a long a song. In either of the varied tongues located in the land masses. Bing bong in a mansion house. Centre of village. Plans are made. Fortress swept by whipping a floor. And a mop is pleasing to the eye. But only after a curfew. Can one really develop lead from that style of bread? Hurry up and bring it home. It is to be said that a fickle strawberry in a flowery dress can pick up many a uniformed prawn. And so it was. And in the a d and the b c and the ultimate balancing act between pillars. Then all fall down. Like tumbling masses of peas into a stench of brown. It is largely thought that the opinions of one are less kinder than another. To form a unison is not the plan between the iron kilted musings of rulers. Turning twisting taking touching tombs. Diving into the depths of the caverns. High viewpoints equal many pointed mountains. Justify not the wisdom stemming from an ionised tea towel. And place the trowel to rest gently. Then go play hop scotch with 15 eggs, 1 dew ball and a cake. With or without cream. Dare to jump off a mysterious marshy rock holding a leather book? 98b equals 64f in a cloud bracket. Xxxxx versatile valiant vanquis. Xxxxx pasteurization z
Form:
Azaleas with their vibrant jewelled colours mingle with
Begonias to bring beauty to my garden borders.
Calendula or Marigolds in glorious gold dazzle me like spring sunshine.
Daffodils dance delightfully on a zephyr breeze whilst
Exochorda macrantha is like a spring bride dressed in white pearls.
Forsythia with bright yellow blossom is such a sunny spring shrub
Gentiana is the queen of the alpines with its blue star like blooms.
Hyacinths with their heady scent are stunning when placed with
Irises in lovely lilac shades and grown in the same container.
Jonquil blooms are beautiful with many flowers on one stem.
Koreanspice viburnum provides colour and scent with their fragrant flowers.
Lily of the valley is sweetly scented but be wary as it is poisonous.
Magnolia’s magnificent flowers remind me of pink stars in the daytime.
Nemisia gives out superb scent and a splash of colour.
Oxlips look like large cowslips but with yellow primula flowers
Pansies remind me of smiling faces and brighten my pots
Quince trees produce pretty pink flowers in late spring
Rhododendrons provide a riot of springtime colour
Scillia or bluebells are abundant in April and May
Trillium thrive in a shady spot in your garden
Ulex or gorse gives a golden glow in the hedgerows
Violets have tiny flowers that can be sugared for pretty decorations.
Wallflowers grow anywhere in our gardens … not just by walls!!!
Xeranthemum or immortal flowers are related to sunflowers.
Yarrow has a lovely scent and can be used for medicinal purposes.
Zephyranthes robusta or rain lilies thrive in spring showers.
Spring Abecadarian Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
04~19~16
Sitting watching a June summer king establish his reign over hazy hills and dusty dales,
I could just hear a sharpened scythe's ring across green fields cutting away at the corn,
With the hustle and bustle of the annual hay-harvesters bringing home a brand new season,
Happy sunburned workers work the open fields gazing skywards smiling at the noonday sun.
Hay hangs out to dry in the trees of the narrow footpath's and down haw thorny little lanes,
Everything now prepared and Mr.Summer rolls up his sleeves working to help with harvesting,
Each person delighting in deep cool grass in the shaded part an abstract of lovely flowers,
Then paddle in a cool stream washing the chaff dust from feet thus ending a hard days work.
The shadows of leaves dance along the streams a silhouette waltzes upon the silvery water,
Lovely azure crowfoot salutes from a bank to a forget-me-not an old friend from last year,
A purple compfrey dips its leaves to sweeten the water joined by a warm and gentle breeze,
The birds sing from the trees and in the hedgerows while the nightingale tweets a sad tune.
On trees chestnuts begin to grow and acorns young and green sitting in their little cups,
The nuts from the hazel and the apples on trees in orchards promise a ripe autumn harvest,
Gooseberries for pies, currants and strawberries ripen growing in the hedges of old lanes,
June has taken his fair turn making spring shoots grow strong, ready for the later fruits.
The cuckoo departs and glow worms emerge on a summer's night and glows a tiny little glow,
Along heath and over the meadows across landscaped fields dotted with pretty wild flowers,
The June summer heat gives strength to nature making grass lime green next to red poppies,
As the summer harvest quietens the work nearly done people rest and reflect on golden mead's.