Long Naturetree Poems
Long Naturetree Poems. Below are the most popular long Naturetree by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Naturetree poems by poem length and keyword.
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Heaven
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Hell
The antique paint chipped thermometer would not give up it's cache of mercury from it's
frosted bulb even in the blinding brightness of the sun on the iced landscape.
I remember peering through ice daggers and translucent unicorn crystal horns hanging
from the eaves outside the picture window of my Vermont country home which commanded
a view of the valley below. My breath formed a vapor mist on the glass as I strained to look
down to the blurred pine tree reflections imbedded in the black ice driveway. The long drive
coarsed an impassable mirrored arc down to the ice covered dirt road at it's end.
That narrow road dropped rapidly from our drive and snaked into the valley. It was lined
on one side with numerous trees, but on this day they were transformed into a sunny iced
extravagansa of porcelain barked Maple trunks supporting heavily drooped crystaline mazes
of branches and sparkling blown glass twigs.
I remember walking through my breath and the only sound was the crunching of my
boots through the frozen crust surface of the polished platinum field. The two houses in the
valley below were releasing thin straight lines of undisturbed smoke which were calmly
claimed by the azure skies.
I remember stopping to watch with bated breath the spectacle of the sunshine crashing
into thousands of icy tinkling twigs; swirling colors flashing around in an island of tall white
Birch ice sculptures directly in front of me. The streaked paper bark was frozen into razor
feathers and rustic belle petals protruding from glassed tiffany trunks. CRACK!!! The sound
of an overloaded tree giving way under the weight of it's new load of glitter. Then I
remember ...consciously breathing again through the frozen vapor ice collected on my
mustache and beard, thinking a thanksgiving prayer, while I slowly crunched back to my
home with an arm load of firewood.
inspired by Laura McKenzie's
Winter Adornement contest.
(The Tree form)
My
Nice tree
Beautified
Decorated house
It was a nice tree
It gaves us lots of shade
Not big but in eyes perfect
It's red blossoms I did treasure
M
Y
Nice tree
Tree
Loved it
Was good tree
Truly got hurt
Protected many years
Then I have to let go
Sorry can save it no anymore
I'm so heartbroken now it's gone
T
R
E
E
Love it
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
September 20,2001
Author's Note:
"The Tree" poetry form, is a
new poetry style created by
Dorian Petersen Potter,today,
September 20,2009.
Authors Note: "The Tree" poetry form, is a new poetry
form created by Dorian Petersen Potter,today,
September 20,2009.
The Tree is a poetry form created by Dorian Peterson Potter on September 20th, 2009.
This form is done as follows: 8 lines beginning with one syllable and ending in 8 syllables
then this is followed by the first word that begins each staza. This word is written vertically
by letter then followed by the next one or two words that would appear on line two.It looks
better when it is centered, because then you can see displayed the true beauty of the tree
shape. Subject is optional and there's no rhyme.There is no stanza limit , you can write one
or numerious.
When I glanced out my window on this bleak December morn,
My eyes were drawn to the Ponderosa Pine standing so forlorn.
Gradually, as if decorated by God's own Artistic Hand,
'Twas soon bedecked with colorful ornaments so very grand!
Its boughs were adorned by garlands of snow in jeweled display.
Crystal icicles glistened as no mere artist could e'er portray.
Clusters of golden cones festooned the tree here and there.
I watched in wonder as it began to assume a festive air!
What was just moments ago a tree, brooding and austere,
Was soon alive with critters that chose to winter here.
Cheerful robins added a spritz of color with their scarlet breasts.
Haughty blue jays flitted about flaunting their bluish crests!
A couple of squirrels sprawled upon a branch lazily a-snooze.
Cardinals and bluebirds roosted there adding their delightful hues.
Flitting finches and chickadees graced the tree without cease.
At the very top perched a dove - that beautiful symbol of peace!
What a wonderful transformation I witnessed in that stalwart tree!
I'd like to think that the Creator decorated it just for me!
As I gazed upon the scene, my soul was filled with jubilation,
Marveling at the miracle of Christmas and God's wondrous Creation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Come listen my darling if you'd like to know
The very sad tale of a tree long ago
And what has become of that tree still today
For letting its vanity get in the way
Down by the river that flows deep and blue
A beautiful plant called the Willow tree grew
Beside the cool waters each bright sunny day
With the other fruit trees it would gather to play
Of all of the trees bearing fruit fresh and pure
The Willow thought it had the greatest for sure
The fruit of the Willow was tasty you see
Juicy and plump it was sweet as could be
The Willow said “My fruit is surely the best”
“It’s clearly much better than all of the rest”
It soon was filled up with such a smug spirit
Other fruit trees couldn’t stand to be near it
They told all the fairies who lived in the wood
And asked them for help with this mess if they could
The fairies then spoke to the smug Willow trees
And asked them politely if they’d stop it please
The Willows just laughed at the fairies request
Saying “You are all jealous ‘cause we are the best”
Now everyone knows fairy magic is feared
The Willow trees fruit very soon disappeared
And never again has the Willow trees root
Been able to grow even one piece of fruit
So there by the river its secret it keeps
And that, dearest child’s, why the Willow tree weeps
If Only Trees Could Talk
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
If only trees could talk there'd be so many things to learn.
Old tales we'd hear of sweethearts that beneath their shade had kissed.
Oh, lovely sights of nature that they saw before their fall.
We'd hear of nearby habitats where snakes and possums hissed.
We'd know how careless ravaging harms: Deer. Baboons. Raccoons.
The Elephants, gazelles, and mice would seek the trees’ advice.
And bears that sleep in wintertime could hear about the cold.
Listening to great wisdom from the trees would be quite nice!
And if the tree was old enough or passed along life's tales,
Perhaps we'd see another view of slaves in history.
The trees with years of wisdom could upon us shed some light.
Then, man's impact upon the earth would not be mystery.
Take Joseph serving Potiphar accused; that changed his life.
The king could ask a nearby tree and behead the lying wife.
Let's go a little further back, the serpent's words to Eve.
He, twisting truth among the leaves, Eve might not have believed.
If only trees could talk, we might protect them differently.
Replenishing along the way, learned wisdom as our mark.
Would we embrace the kindness every living thing deserves?
Or would we cut our name into its life beneath tree's bark?
A lone cottonwood tree stands on the rolling Colorado plain.
A rippling stream flows nearby, its existence to sustain.
Its lofty branches reach for the pristine Colorado sky.
Tho' badly scarred, the ravages of time it continues to defy.
I tarry 'neath its welcoming shade to muse about its past.
For a century or more it has witnessed the passage of time so vast.
Why did this sturdy sentry survive when others fell away,
Yet, shedding a blizzard of cottony snow each ensuing May?
I wonder if it was a landmark beacon for hardy pioneers,
As they traveled e'er westward seeking new frontiers.
Perhaps a patrol of cavalry paused 'neath its welcome shadow,
To take respite from their weary trek across the sere plateau.
Scars remain where buffalo scratched their hides upon its bole.
I suspect that it was a sanctuary for graceful antelope on patrol.
I could imagine a majestic eagle perched atop its aerie,
Reposing from its search for prey across the endless prairie.
Rustling leaves startled me from my nostalgic reverie.
Were phantoms of the past gathering about this very special tree?
I felt as tho' God considered this solitary tree renowned.
I respectfully withdrew, sensing I'd intruded upon sacred ground!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
THE HAWTHORN BRIDAL DRESS
Gone the winter of empty arms ,
Her fresh face is radiant with charms.
In the church garden fair,
One glorious May day near the ides -
Blossom on gown, hair,
Bosom and bouquet - the bride’s
Glowing in the warm embrace
Of her golden groom. She flowers
With bloom on her cheeks and face;
Then, in light petalled showers,
Blossom -confetti litters and turns
To white the path through her roots unseen.
Then the hawthorn tree returns
Again to her everyday working green .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
NOTE
The hawthorn tree in bloom in May is a beautiful sight, but lasts only a short time, like
a wedding celebration. Hawthorn trees are known as May trees, and they appear in the
proverb “Cast ne’er a clout till May is out.” Many people think this means you must
keep wearing winter clothers till the end of the month of May, but it really means until
the May tree’s blossom-flowers are out.
(Here endeth the lesson.)
I fell in love with a tree stump.
A quite curious stump was he.
No branches to thump.
No fall leaves to see.
But a very special stump was he.
There in the woods, other trees grew tall.
Swaying their limbs and leaves in the breeze.
But one special tree stump won my awe.
Once, tall and stately was he, before the freeze.
Now, short and sad hearted because of the saw.
I was weary, downhearted, and lonely.
When, I spotted that stump beside a pile of wood.
A perfect place to rest, it seemed to me.
I rushed right over as quickly as I could.
Then, sat right there, relaxed, and feeling so good.
While trees all around made their showy stance,
I sat and enjoyed from my comfortable stump.
He had no limbs nor leaves to wind-dance.
He had no branches to thump.
He was there for me to rest myself…by chance.
Pining alone, I fell in love with that tree stump.
A quiet refuge was he.
No longer sad, life became plump.
And my soul soared higher than one can see.
For he was there when I needed him…and he needed me.
© October 28, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
For four-thousand years and more
He’s withstood the tests of time;
Extremes of heat and cold
Haven’t cut him down in his prime;
Even now he proudly stands
As a testament of endurance,
The elements sure can’t defeat
This tree of majestic stance.
This Californian Bristlecone-Pine
Stands high up in the mountain range,
How it manages to survive there
Leaves us gasping, it seems so strange;
How it’s lived for millennia
When other trees have long since died
Is truly amazing to consider,
Such tenacity can’t be denied.
On so dry and thirsty a terrain
This tree seems but to thrive,
A resilient nature for sure
Helps to keep it so alive
And, within its tough bark,
In the very heart of the tree
Must be a durability
Of the highest degree.
Yes, the oldest living thing
On our Planet Earth
Is a magnificent tree
Of such invaluable worth.
A grand, visible display
Of what determination can do;
A symbol of a great survivor
For us all to look up to.