Long Oak Poems
Long Oak Poems. Below are the most popular long Oak by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oak poems by poem length and keyword.
I want to write dirty and convoluted,
connected and wet
And in the mess of my words
Feel the stain run down
Over the nice clean ordered objective, detached
From the structure you claim to know about
I want to write congested
And ingested,
Not divested of that
Which causes me to feel and to think
The outpouring of what will not stop
And does not want to change, as you
Try to sever my relationship with
All the things that allow me to dwell inside
What I write about
Not often objective
But captive and subjected to
And part of the unholy unwashed
I want to sleep with the dogs of night
And if fleas are the only price I pay
I welcome them home
A gracious host that they may feed off
As the wounds stay open
Bleeding with all that is still unknown
Those things that I mention
Giving birth to what was not there before
And if death is the one that truly calls
I hear her voice
But she must wait
Until I make the translation of her words sacred
And of my own resolve
And if she takes me sudden
She risks my anger
As I will drag all new beginnings
Into what she seeks to end
Pushing her further from that monocled eye
And with one foot frozen
In the world behind
Refusing to leave
I curse the new regions with my words
Knowing that death, like life
Is to be passed beyond
Not staged or romanced
But catalogued once felt as
Forgotten turnstile
As her soulless call becomes
Mere lighthouse
For those places,
—I refuse to go
(Oak Creek Canyon: November,2011)
Jesus I love you
I love you so much Jesus
You freed me from my own madness
You saved me from my own evil
I wish only to make you proud of me
I only want to be your best friend forever
I love you Jesus
I remember that you Jesus are great and always restore me
Trust in you Jesus forever
Hey I am Yours Jesus forever
I never knew you Love me so much Jesus
Cherry Blossoms and Oak side by side
Love Agape guides our hearts our friend is great and He is awesome
Thank You God for everything you have done for us all
I Thank You God for this new day and for all the ones you are with today
I know you are with us You are God With us
My Diamond of Czechia is Your best friend too I know that Jesus
Today and every day I first Give you Praise Jesus
Next I surrender myself to you Lord Jesus always every second
Oak woman and oak man stood together through crisis day by day.
For years they admired each other in a natural, normal way.
He admired her rounded curves, and her beauty, and told her so.
She admired his strong thick branches, and his inner beauty glow.
They were the king and queen of the forest, this good-looking pair.
Home to squirrels and birds who happened to land around there.
They were the royalty without bravado, without boasting, neither a snob.
Overlooking the elves, and faeries of the acorn tribe was their happy job.
The forest wanted to do something for them because they were their pride.
They encouraged the sun to shine on them first, and she did it with a glide.
The forest woke up every morning looking at the beautiful sunlit pair.
Their gorgeousness and their strength gave the forest a soulful air.
I found a dove lying broken
I knelt just as it died.
It had chosen my high window
as its own patch of blue sky.
A young dove it appeared to be,
too young to know or care
that windows are seductive
when one's flying in the air.
It was too young to wonder
where Summer's leaves had gone,
or to know there'll be new buds
along with Springtime's song.
Too young to taste wild berries
hidden by an early snow.
Too young to soar and soar someplace
where only birds must know.
Too young to choose a handsome mate
and raise its very own;
to age with grace and wondrous tales
of places it had flown.
Gently it's placed beneath an oak,
on fallen leaves to lie.
While its spirit, at last released,
will fly and fly and fly.
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I feel proud of my heritage, love being an oak.
We are majestic, but not haughty.
Nurturing, but in an aloof, comfortable way.
I am a haven for robins, squirrels, and a multitude of bugs.
They wander my trunk, enjoying their day.
My crevices keep them safe from raindrops and storms.
I feel them hunker down, and I smile, glad I can help.
My parents reside in this forest, not far from me.
Dad has a multitude of limbs that have fallen.
One came down during a lightning strike last October.
We thought we would lose him, but only a left arm.
Mom is busy listening to the songbirds; she specializes in cardinals.
When a red flash darts past, I know he is heading toward mom.
Dad has had an infestation of crows lately; after the arm incident.
Their incessant caws drove me wild until I recruited a hoot owl.
The hoot owl frightened them away in record time.
We are part of a heritage of wonderful, nurturing, loving oaks.
Guardians of the forest, not far from a gurgling moving brook.
Nestled at our feet are trusting mushrooms, violets and moss.
Our specialty is meditation; please stop by and enjoy our silence.
Jack the Squirrel made it known,
That the garden, was his own,
Perched upright on the big oak tree,
He wagged his tail for all to see !!
He held his sentry on branch three,
From there the view was all free,
He watched the Robin on the fence,
And the blue tit by the green bench!
Jinx, the Tom cat, was on the prowl,
From time to time he would yawn and roll,
But Cat was not his best of friends!
Jack was “a mouse with bushy ends!”
Little Robin eyed the wild seeds,
Bluetits fluttered at it with greed,
Jack knew too well about that device,
Would feed the birds, but not one his size!!
Jack found his grub from the ground,
There was plenty, if one looked around,
He wielded power in garden town,
Despite Cat Jinx, he held his own!
Oak in the corner was tall and strong,
It had served the garden for so long,
Several species built their nests,
But good old woody, pecked for pests.
There was harmony, and food for all,
From Spring summer up to the fall,
Just play the game and use the tools,
Watch out for Jinx and obey the rules!
Once upon an autumn eve,
faeries danced among the leaves
of a great old oak, deep in the woods,
that sits behind my neighborhood.
So delicate, these sprites, they be,
an enchanting vision’s what I see.
luminescent in the full moon’s light,
lovely little twinkling lights.
Like dancers around the maypole, they
sang and danced, in a charming way.
Their tiny voices, barely heard;
no other life there, even stirred.
Ethereal chanting, tranquilized me,
while they healed an old oak tree.
Vibrations swift, in woodfae song,
fairy medicine, it is quite strong.
Oak sprite man climbed up a piece of the bark
To get a little higher, to peer into the bowels of the forest.
They were coming; he could sense them
They had not been in this part of the forest for a long time
Spider’s webs as large as a bull’s back should have deterred them
But he knew they were determined
What is it? His wife asked.
Shh! He cautioned her. I think it is humans.
Not this far out, she assured him. They would not dare.
But they did
And they built a house there.
After bulldozing his favorite tree.
He never forgave them
Played tricks on them for years
Just to show he could.
This is a story to be told
About a man of old
He said that he would
Never rise
In the ground would he reside
Never would he face God
His remains would rot and make sod
So he a plan devised
This plan totally made by man
On his grave he would have placed
Ten inches cement fully ingraved
Never would he come out of that ground
He would have a ton of dirt all around
No way would his body come out
No way would he rise and shout
Just rot and rot and decay
Then one day a squirrel would play
Right on his grave he did stay
Chewing a nut to get to meat
He just wanted a treat to eat
Something frightened the squirrel away
Then it rained right away on that day
Leaving the acorn exposed to sprout
Then the angels all did shout
That acorn sent down a shoot
That shoot began to take root
From that a mighty oak
Large enough for hundreds of post
Sent its tendrils of roots around
Coming up from the ground
Forcing open that slab of cement
His body rose with a lament