Long Natureold Poems
Long Natureold Poems. Below are the most popular long Natureold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Natureold poems by poem length and keyword.
I have a picture of a tree,
its gnarled trunk thick and wide,
support branches reaching a hundred feet high
Once started as a seed,
has grown to become truly mighty,
generations have played under her leaves,
climbing high into her crown,
a dizzying height,
tire tubes and swings,
wore deep grooves into her lower branches,
evidence of childhood attention,
remnants of an old tree house,
still may be seen,
yet, can no longer be reached,
to high the old oak tree
I love Mary encased in a heart
carved into her bark,
hastily scratched through,
then added Sue, Lucy, and June,
all share the same fate,
carved by a young fellow
whose name is unknown
When in full regalia a majestic sight,
her leaves rustle softly in the wind,
designed to send gentle breeze,
where lunch is laid,
and children play
For eons she has pleasured many,
harmed none,
adding beauty and grace,
to the old home place
In her time,
she had weathered many a storm,
although, her limbs and leaves did shake,
she stood defiant in their wake,
she stood her ground,
refusing to be brought down
Now I know she was awfully old,
she looked terrifically strong,
as big as she was,
some of her roots, her foundation,
had cracked, been ripped apart,
deep scars that never healed,
ran throughout,
never deeply rooted from the start,
her massive weight,
kept her, from falling apart
Then came along the worst she had ever seen,
throwing at her winds over one thirty,
her powerful branches,
reaching so high,
snap like twigs, are cast aside,
her broad trunk taking full impact,
finally succumbs,
pushed over onto her back,
her foundation ripped from the ground,
stood skeletal, hovering above,
what was once her majestic crown
If you listened closely when she hit the ground,
the moan of hundreds of children
crying out, was her last sound
She lay there for weeks,
until, finally,
cut up, burned, and hauled off,
nothing remained
I have a picture of a tree,
where once stood a mighty oak,
a miniature shoot now free of the land,
reaches ever higher
Quiet save for a morning glory’s cue
Daylight decks the sky cerulean blue
Sunday and like the hues of color wheels
Old Man Dan hunts for all his fishing creels
The rye grass cradles tiny spheres of dew
Dawn fishing allures in lieu of a pew
Like osmosis, moisture fills his old boots
As the last morning owl gives a few hoots
Trout Royal Red is already awake
Waiting for Dan in the depths of the lake
Three pounds of beauty, paint on his sleek back
Royal Red knew what the old man might lack
Sharpen arsenal now, fish where it’s dim
You know he will not dare bite on a whim
And Old Man Dan has a trick up his sleeve
His light-tinted fly spent two weeks to weave
His tackle befit with two pound test line
No wet or dry flex just regular twine
No weights to be used, tossed from the jetty
The fly should track the natural eddy
From his boat he tossed his new-fangled bait
So natural the drift only to wait
Red spied his game moving at the right speed
Closer he came from behind the tall reed
He strictly examined his tasty prey
For t’was a real bug, it would have to pay
Closer he came to the well-tied disguise
Knowing full well it could be his demise
Soft and ductile he gave it a small bite
Then Old Dan jerked with all of his might
Royal Red noticed a slight scent of snuff
Then spit out the fly aware of the stuff
Old Dan fell overboard with all his gear
The only thing left – a pain in his rear
This comical scene smacked of déjà vu
He had been there before - a time or two
Red took a break aside the still water
Smiling inside providing Dan fodder
Eyeing Dan’s canoe tarry upside down
He sped swiftly to hide from his mad clown
Madder than hops Dan drug his boat home
Cussing and swearing he took on a foam
He would come back the next date of the sun
Certainly it would be his day of fun
Friends , During the month of May and June , both northern and western India are prone to
sand storms , which cools the atmosphere only temporarily ! This poem was written during
the hot summer month of May, when such a storm was raging over Delhi !
SAND STORM !
All through the sultry and humid day,
The sky had grown angry and reddish grey!
And the evening suddenly became very still,
As an eerie silence crept therein !
When suddenly from the sky came rushing out,
Making a prolonged wistling and gushing sound,
As if some beastly hounds have been let out ,
There came the raging, ravaging, sand storm!
Lashing the tree tops and smashing window
panes ,
Uprooting old trees by road side and lanes!
Ravaging and railing with its destructive force,
Blew the angry and relentless sand storm!
As papers and packets and old withered leaves,
Flew around like threadless kites on this
Summer's eve!
All my collected thoughts, desires and dreams,
Flew helter-skelter with the winds up high!
Like rudderless ships without direction,
With the wirlwind in its maddening motion,
With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth ;
As the sand storm raged all around and about!
And after some time like a spent out force,
The storm abated as night drew close!
With dust in my hair, in my eyes and mouth,
While a pleasant coolness prevailed all around!
Dust am I, and to dust I shall return,
Once I wake up from my earthly trance!
And with the raging sand storm I shall rage
one day,
To join in its maddening dance in the month
of May !
-Raj Nandy
There is a big Eucalyptus tree right behind where I live
The trunk is large, with the branches straight and long
When the Arizona Sun is blazing down, makes nice shade
Even when branches die, they still have more to give
At sunset, a breeze will blow through the leaves like a song
The day is over and dues are paid
One recent summer's eve, storm clouds boiled in the West
A quick sand storm, lighting and thunder everywhere
A hard driving rain all night, streets ran bank to bank
The old tree stood fast, passed the test
A dead twisted limb laid on the ground, like saying a prayer
For the state that it was in, had only God to thank
Out of bed at five, hot cup of coffee in my hand
Went outside to make an overall inspection
Was everything still standing, or had everything washed away?
The early morning air was fresh, rain had bathed the land
Looked up and down the street, then in a westerly direction
The old fallen branch, there it lay
It caught my eye, seemed to be the right size
From past work injuries, my knees would go out every now and then
The branch needed a friend and I needed a walking stick
Picked it up,it was around waist high, I knew I had a prize
My work was cut out, had to give a new skin
Some sand paper, couple coats of varnish would do the trick
Took off the old gray scale, down to yellow wood with brown grain
Patched the cracks, so it would not split, couple of wraps of bailing wire
By God, it was starting to show some character
We started to smile and I had a good cane
Like a miracle, saved from the fire
Now as one, we walk together
Form:
For all the Sphynx and Pyramids of their days
These that towered beyond Babel before me
Straightening the old gordian knot of our maze
Have too been swallowed by the unseen eternity
For all our might like sand dunes have stood
Satrapy of indelible caprice and wind
With force of sword we make our wisdom good
But know not the ends, since we fresh begin
To die the first hour of our birth and dream
We passed over the earth a frolicking stream.
How then this pain despite the old expectation
This fear of time that grips in a conveyor's belt
Hurrying my thoughts to conclusion, and extinction
To all the scaffolds of my certainty? I have felt
Before this same emptiness of meaning
This useless spawning and yearn for more
Light somewhere too at base is crumbling
Matter is vanity, vanity is matter, nothing more
So I'll take my farewell now of them and of dream
While clinging to the game, a pawn in the scheme
Go ole farmers, go on, where men go and none return
I'll save my heart for invisible things of faith
It's all the same to the glowing worm, the fires still burn
However pale the distant echo from the gate
I declined from academia marbled halls
Still leave a whitened bone behind the flow
Not every river into mighty cataracts falls
And some from rain, and some from snow
Yet every rill had sparkled sometime, and every mist
Unbound us from the mass and haste that so insist.
What is the wind?
The wind is a strange and fickle thing.
It's capers keep us guessing.
It loves and it hates, it gives and takes.
It's a curse, also a blessing.
The wind is a ghost that haunts the night,
And wakes me with it's sobbing.
It rattles it's chains, taps on my door,
And sets my poor heart throbbing.
The wind is a voice from long ago,
Old dreams, old vows recalling.
Again it's soft fingers touch my cheek
Like teardrops gently falling.
The wind is a beast that rides the storm
It's vicious power enjoying.
It tramples our homes, lays waste our land.
Man's future hopes destroying.
The wind is a puzzle none can solve,
It's far beyond our knowing.
God has the answer have no doubt,
Just pray it keeps on blowing.
"To hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. "
William Shakespeare," Hamlet 1601."
Long ago another planted you,
My cherished Ginkgo tree.
She tamped you in so carefully
And bequeathed you unto me.
Did she then live to see you grow
So stately and so tall?
And to see your charming bright green dress
Turn golden in the fall?
You’re clothed in pretty fan shaped leaves,
A tree beyond compare.
How many robin families,
Have nested in you, Maidenhair?
Although other trees have broken,
‘Neat the north wind’s violent gale;
You, Ginkgo pay no heed at all.
To winter’s abusive rail.
Your forebears came from China,
Where they were long revered,
And studying under their branches
An old sage with his beard.
Your kind was here as early
As the first ferns and their spores.
No tree has longer history,
Your fathers knew dinosaurs.
Strange that old Mother Nature,
Decided you should survive so long,
While we humans sometimes die before
The last verse of our song.
The answer to long life and health,
Is in the leaves of the Maidenhair tree.
If you let me pluck a few of yours,
I’ll brew up my cup of tea.
If only the one who planted you,
Had known of your power.
She could have drunk of Ginkgo tea,*
And been here for happy hour.
* Ginkgo leaves are touted as being healthful . Won a 5th place
Joyce Johnson Revised April 19, 2011
From my private files, not posted. undated.
For Constance's contest "The Tree"
PINE BLOSSOM PAVEMENT
I never left the soft sunshine,
reflected across the satin smooth pond, deep in the forest,
with flowered edges of pink ladyslippers, wild roses and daisies,
to slope old deer trails...... foraging mushrooms, wild garlic and sage,
I'm still in awe as I pass by city trees, reminded of old growth
red and white pine, towering over my humble path,
whispering wisdom.... as their crowns gently sway in the wind.
I pour myself a glass of tap water.... but am refreshed again,
as I drink from the secret spring I discovered
bursting forth, the true 'Source of the Mississippi' a stone's
throw from Lake Itasca.... on Elk Lake
sirens wail, but sleep still comforts me.... with haunted loon lullabies,
and melancholy frog symphonies,
I still eat fast food, but am nourished by line-caught fish
rising to my bait... as fog lifts with the sunrise,
I barrel down the freeway.... while still paddling silently
into sunsets filled with looming shadows of the voyageurs,
all around the city sounds.... yet I hear cheerful warblers and
the midnight bark of the doe, calling her fawns,
gasses from sewer vents confront me.... but I smile!
as the skunk marks his range,
I'm back in the city,
..... but think in the forest
back in the city....
but think in the forest
It was mid-October, several years ago
In some little town in South Dakota, can't remember the name
An hour before sun down, still some day light
I was filling the truck with fuel, getting ready to go
All of a sudden, the sky turned black as they came
Must have been a lake near by as the started their flight
I was hauling a load of horses back east somewhere
Never saw any Canadian Geese that close before
They were like fighter jets getting ready for their flight that night
I just stood there looking with a dumb stare
Starting forming a big circle, seemed like more and more
I knew that they were getting ready for their way out of sight
An old farmer told me, "They have been at the lake since yesterday"
"Resting up for the next leg of their southerly migration"
And now they were starting to form a perfect V
The leader was honking the loudest, as they made their way
So primitive, yet so precise, their natural navigation
To me it was a great sight to see
Who knows, maybe they would spend the winter in Old Mexico
Whatever Canadian Geese do when not in snow and ice
I got back in the truck and headed for North Dakota
The sight of those geese stayed with me that night until I hit Fargo
What a wonderful sight, that sure was nice
I am glad that I stopped in that little town in South Dakota
Form:
The old man, who slowly walks with the cane
Many years ago, he looked just as you do
He was handsome, virile and tall
Living then so easy, no matter the weather
Today, his bones curve; and once steady gait, slowed
He recalls that each season came bearing gifts
Spring, brought youth and delightful promises
Summer, glorious heat to warm and nourish his body
Autumn, a gift of reflection and he'd count blessings
While winter, pretentious, came empty handed
And youth fell for his clever guise each time
How he would dazzle with breathless beauty!
Coming at precise moments of vulnerability
With his pristine cloak of soft white to beguile
He would pose as a friend come for a visit
While he convinces that he'll never remain
All the time he possess your body stealthily
Then wait in silence, lurking in your bones
As he runs schemes to steal away your youth
That old man, now frail, spend days before a fire
And in solitude, reminisces about his past
He did not see winter as ancient or deceptive
Had no clue that winter is never to taste joy
Today, he still brings out his best brandy
And gladly shares with his permanent guest
The youthful years have all dissapeared
And like the magical portrait of Dorian Gray
Winter appears younger and prettier, still!
~*~
This was fun! : )