Long Oak tree Poems
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A gnarled lone oak tree
grew in the middle of voluminous nowhere,
amidst vast stretches of citron corm fields,
a by-product of an old man’s weird whim.
It proved quite a memorable playground,
For when I was small it was pure delight.
Oh how I loved to climb up
towards an azure sky
feeling for sturdy branches,
imbibing the smell of fresh-grown leaves.
At times I would listen to the wayward wind,
as it moaned in isolation
amidst lush green branches.
Yet when storms struck
I shied away as the winds howled
and thunder rumbled around the top twigs
of my old oak tree.
The last time I was there
I was not alone.
Handsome was tagging along.
He was not interested in the old oak tree
That's when I began to hate him.
And just to prove my point
a sudden change of weather
and heavy rain fell hard.
We ran to the car but the doors stuck.
To shelter under the tree was dangerous.
Lightening zigzagged above.
The place became cursed.
Finally Handsome opened the car
and we sped away.
I never met Handsome nor visited the oak again.
No, you are not blind, and your eyes are fine; but you can't see me. I am strong like a giant oak tree, and like a train that is hard to stop. Everybody knows me and have felt my presence one time or another. I've a name and claim to fame, but most people relate to me the same.
Lest I keep you in suspense and my words start sounding like nonsense, please just call me Mr. Pain.
No, you are not deaf and your ears are fine; but you cannot hear me, because when I come around, I often arrive without a sound. If you should fail to find out what's wrong with you, I'll just keep coming back. Yes, medicine can treat and force me to retreat, but it can never kill me.
You see, I'm just a messenger or a signal to let you know that something is wrong. No, I do not appear like an innocent little child; and I don't come with smiles nor sweet fragrances. However, I do swing enough influence to completely alter your mind and your lifestyle.
When I arrive, you can treat me but not defeat me. Like I said, I'll come back again, and if you only treat me, I'll always be and act the same. My name is Mr. Pain. So my advice to you is to attack the one who sent me. Get rid of him and I'll be gone. My name is Mr. Pain.
10252017 PS
The bitter biting wind howls around my face
I’m out on the moors: such a desolate place
Dark clouds are gathering straight ahead
Wish I was at home safe in my bed
Streaks of golden lightning fill up the sky
Vivid flashes of white flash in my eye
Thunder claps deafen me, I cover my ears
Not been in a storm like this for many many years
Lightning forks fill me with fascination
I wait for the next one with great anticipation
Lighting up the sky like a massive floodlight
Thunder and lightning such a pure delight
I shelter safely by the gnarled oak tree
Its wizened old branches shielding me
Rain teems down but I am safe and dry
I shelter safely until the storm passes by
Written for Shadow Hamilton’s Storms Contest
06-29-14
~awarded 3rd place~
Autumn steals the long days from Spring,
The dawn sunrise turns pinker in the reflection of water
And the morning air is crisper.
Was it Autumn that stole your daughter too?
The season turns, the season flees.
In the way the oak tree clings to its leaves,
You take caution in letting go of the last
Like the carefulness in letting go of your daughter,
You tried your hardest, but you never caught her
And as the new season arrives, you unpack
Your heavy coats.
You learn to get used to missing the warm sunshine
And on the days where the Autumn leaves fall harder,
You crave to listen to the sound of your daughter’s laughter
Mingle with the sound of rustling leaves.
As Autumn deepens, your loss deepens,
Your grief deepens and
The colder days creep in.
Old oak now as naked as the nursery
Without your daughter sleeping
And Autumn winds howl, weeping,
Crying for relief from Fall’s feelings
The way your daughter cried for healing.
Was it Autumn that freed her too?
The season stirs, the season goes.
In the way the oak tree regrows
You open your heart just as the clouds open
To let through the warm sunshine.
You see her in the playfulness of the world’s colours,
You see her eyes in the shape of your mother’s
Do you feel her in the Autumn too?
Tympani, thy tyranny.
Prisoner of the noise:
Soulless is this symphony!
Deepen, O my ploys!
Tangled in an oak tree s roots?
Tide rushing in fast?
Succor, sailors? Little boots!
Life preserver, cast!
Where do pining poems go?
Carrion, feed thy crow.
All lost souls to heaven go?
Hell, thy rows to hoe.
Blessed are the blasphemers?
Not entirely, sir.
How the hungry tiger purrs!
Vision, now to blur!
Old diner, thy jukebox.
Play simple tunes for folk.
O Elysian fields, thy phlox.
Dinosaur egg, yolk.
But, in times of warning?
The panic bell is best.
Sweaters wool, thy darning.
Pirate treasure, thy chest.
Sorted out? Without a doubt.
World unfriendly, be.
Cursed demons, give a shout.
Sunken in the sea.
Hope, be with the poet!
Grant shelter to the bard!
Otherwise, you know it!
Fry deeply, O my lard...
Summer speaks to me by waking me up early
Playing tunes of beautiful song bird melodies
Blowing cool breezes in early mornings
Creating chimes of rustling tree leaves
She speaks to me through marvels of elaborate spider webs
Through various trees’ dazzling green shades
Through fascinating designs on butterfly wings
Through flutters of humming birds and dances of dragonflies
She speaks to me by offering plums, peaches and numerous berries
And various melons, figs and delicious cherries
Growing scrumptious tomatoes in the garden for my luxury
Exhibiting vivacious blooms on rose bushes and crape myrtle trees
She speaks to me shining bright through brilliance of sunlight
Warming the afternoons and dehydrating grasses on hillsides
Crafting radiant sunsets and captivating afterglows of twilight skies
Generating buzzing mosquitoes in stillness of evenings’ dim lights
She speaks to me through an astonishing sight of a skunk mama and her adorable babies
Showing a watchful face of a raccoon sitting in an oak tree
Displaying an occasional slithering of a rattler or a snake native
Birthing numerous insects and active lizard progenies
Through magnificence of marvelous starry nights
Through frog croaks and cricket lullabies
Through precious waters of the lake
Summer speaks to me and I listen with gratitude in my heart……
The once was a Pick-a-Dilly Lily,
well, she was all green, don't you see?
Though her friends ran about willy-nilly,
she sat on the ground 'neath a tree.
Dumpty-Down rolled on by shilly-shally,
never stopping to spark, or play,
even acorns would not dilly-dally,
it seems they had nothing to say.
Lily's head bowed in sadness, she whimpered,
"Am I jealous, that could not be!"
Then an ant walking by said "It's simpler!"
if you could get up, then you'd see.
Fair Lily prayed all the day long, "Oh, please."
she wanted to run, to move 'round!
She prayed to the birds, she prayed to the bees,
she prayed to the thunders loud sound.
The next morn Lily spied Roly-Poly,
a fat man who said, "come with me,"
Now, she sit in a vase holy-moley,
not under that fine acorn tree.
The moral right here is really quite clear,
green with envy, you should not be,
be happy where God plants you, my dear,
and enjoy the shade of oak tree.
*See About the Poem
Whirling leaves of gold and rust travel past me in an ethereal way
Enjoying the float of a gentle glide of morning autumn air.
Squirrel tails chase each other around an oak tree
Ends of toothy fat mouths that are excitedly chattering.
My soft sweater protects me from the brisk air of October.
A carload of young lads slows down to watch a pretty co-ed.
An unaware beauty clothed in a plaid skirt with a matching tam.
Homecoming is around the corner; I imagine her at a bonfire.
Flames kicking and popping, enticing romantic confessions.
Her embers turning gray and black in eager anticipation
The strength of this season oozing out of every corner
Shadows snickering, hoping for the smell of s’mores.
Who and what would I be if I could not see?
How would I know what was in front of me?
And could I sense what was really there?
Or would I think it was not fair?
Who and what would I be if I could not feel?
How would I know if love was real?
If I could use that inner voice...
Would I realize I had a choice?
Who and what would I be if I could not hear?
How would I know what not fear?
If I could remember who I was...
Or would I trade it for that little buzz?
Who and what would I be if I could not smell?
How would I know or even tell?
If I could be happy once more...
Or would I choose to shut that door?
Who and what would I be if I could not taste
My lifes feels like such a waste
Just want to fly like a dove
Unable to be with my one true love
Who and what would I be if I could not speak
against the poison I am weak
I've been so lonely, crying like a fallen child
The sadness inside is growing more wild
Who and what will I become if I keep on this path?
How would I handle Hells great wrath?
If I don't stop my lifes at stake
'Cause the addictions waiting for my soul to take.
Who and what would remember me
Perhaps only the heart we carved on that big oak tree
Cant live this way, I'd rather die
So when Im gone ....Please dont ask why
Brandy Franklin
Red breasted, slightly dismal.
Chirping softly beneath the old oak tree.
Worried I approached slowly but
It showed agitation as if afraid of me.
I saw a hawk hovering above.
Bet it thought it was her day
To get a free meal but
Not if I could help it, it was not her prey
I found a stone and aimed high.
Bulls eye, the hawk flew far away in fear.
Slowly I approached and gathered
The poor bird kindly in a clean woollen wear.
My house was not far from the oak
I luckily found help near by
A wild life rehabilitator
Who knew what to do. Never say die.
Days passed and suddenly
A robin flew up on my window sill.
Was it the bird I had saved?
I dream it was, for that’s why dreams are a thrill.