Long Oak tree Poems
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Bridgett Faerie leapt from the flames with a pop and a fizzle
Delighting her elemental dad, Hellfire, wielder of the flame
Her mother gave her the power to make leaves dance
Her purpose not apparent yet, but she was magnificent.
Hair in shades of copper we did not know had been invented.
She stood on the tallest log and stared us down, Then she flew.
New faeries can hardly ever fly. We gasped.
"Forty-one years since I saw a first day flyer,"
one of the elderly brownies whispered.
Bridgett landed next to her.
"Hi!" she said. The whole council laughed.
"She is precocious," one of the faeries said.
Bridgett turned.
I saw her face for the first time;
oval with laughing caramel eyes.
Her nose was a tiny ski slope, a tiny lift at the end. She wrinkled it.
"Where are the leaves?" she demanded. "I want to get started."
Even Hellfire was astounded; he had six daughters but not this one
Until today. She would be a force to be honored and revered.
Her snotty sisters began to make fun of her,
pretending non-jealousy.
Hellfire gave them a look and there was instant silence.
"Are those my SISTERS?" Bridgett shrieked with delight.
She flew over and hugged every one of them. Then she flew away.
How could someone with such tiny feet be so assertive?
No fairy had ever started working on their birthday before today.
Oak tree leaves began floating down into the fire.
The fire popped and crackled faster and faster.
"I love this job!" Bridgett yelled from a branch forty feet up.
Hellfire looked frightened for the first time.
He had never had a daughter who was more like his wife.
His wife flew past him to help her daughter.
That rarely happens on birthing day either.
"A mini-me-of-Enthusiasm Faerie!" someone said.
Others cheered. Someone clapped Hellfire on the back.
"Now there are two of them, he said."Good luck!"
Bridgett's twin sister Brewit popped out of the flames next.
"Surprise!" She yelled. "There are two of us Daddy!"
Hellfire's mouth dropped open. He had felt outnumbered before.
But never suffered anything like this. Brewit gave him a big hug.
Then she flew up with to join her mother and her sister.
A wonderful day in the woods, one we have never forgotten
Although that was twenty-seven years ago.
The story has been told thousands of times.
And put into the imaginations of many. Their purpose: Joy.
Aurora stood at the gravesite close to Robert’s casket on the bier
“Look at her, why I’ve yet to see a tear”
The lady whispered to the other so Aurora could hear
“Her dress is disrespectful; it’s a heartless thing to wear
“My heart bleeds for her husband lying there”
This was Robert’s favorite dress and he always used to say
“Aurora, wear it for me when I ‘go away’
If you care and I know you do you’ll dare!
Aurora, promise me please no tears
We’ve known this moment was coming for almost two years.”
Aurora saw a man appear under the oak tree on the knoll
It was Robert walking in an unhurried stroll!
He used the “royal wave” he liked to imitate
Aurora repeated it in reverse, she didn’t even hesitate
She saw and felt him there emotionally reacting
Intellectually realizing “this can’t be happening!”
Staring at each other across the expanse of lawn
Sharing a last loving communication not as two but one
Robert blew her a kiss and walked out of sight
Trembling wildly, Aurora fought to stay upright.
A solitary tear fell from Aurora’s eye, she felt it descending
In slow passage down her cheek carving a groove blistering
Stories abound about this unique and mysterious solitary tear
Report it happens infrequently, only every several years
How or why the tear finds its mourner cannot be explained
The tear’s origin and source has yet to be discovered or named.
It’s said that a person’s intensity of inexpressible feelings
Make the tear appear by their profound grieving.
Aurora, like others, is disorganized and unfocused following Robert’s death
Making endless adjustments, trying to catch a breath
One day she touches the scar on her cheek made by that solitary tear
Her mind clears and it becomes an amazing day without confusion or fear
Salvation and comfort take many forms if you pray
Especially if you believe what God imparts in His way
She finally understands that Robert’s soul and spirit were not lost to her
And that living isn’t meant to be a meaningless blur
Robert rejoiced in living and in his love for her taught her to feel the same
They had priceless moments together more than she could count or name
And she starts recalling all the memories they made while husband and wife
Who’s to say what or whom finally brought Aurora back
And gifted her with a tender and loving renewal of her life.
I stopped beneath a big oak tree
and tried to catch my breath
My body it was shaking still,
he scared me half to death
I pulled my notebook to my lap,
my hand it held the pen
And started writing poetry,
my love for her again
When then I looked above my place,
the branches filled with birds
They watched as I was writing this,
they chirped at every word
“Don’t let that old crow bother you”
I heard their voices say
“He wants to be the only one,
that’s why he acts this way”
“Just keep on writing poetry,
your verses are the best
Be yourself, you’re doing fine,
to that we can attest”
“There’ll always be someone like him
that tries to pull you down
But worry not, just wear a smile
in place of that old frown”
So that I did, I wrote and wrote
and didn’t have a care
So I could always send my love
to you I long to share
I penned for you a poem of
affections written deep
Hoping that close to your heart
my words you’d always keep
When then again I heard that voice,
my day then turned to night
“I see you’re writing poetry,
I knew that I was right”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,
we’ll put it to a test
You write yours and I’ll write mine,
we’ll see who is the best”
I closed my eyes and thought of us,
my mind held such a view
I wrote some lines of perfect prose
to say that I love you
He scratched and clawed upon his pad
and with an evil grin
He tossed the page down on the ground
and said, “Let’s go, begin”
I read the words that he did write
and if I must confess
I didn’t understand a thing,
his poem was a mess
Several lines of gibberish,
hate in every breath
Calling names of everyone,
he even threatened death
And then he read my offering,
a look came on his face
His feathers black had turned to ash,
his head hung in disgrace
For love shall win out every time
in ink of gentle flow
“Go spew your hatred someplace else,
it’s time for you to go”
I watched him as he flew away,
a sulking fading bird
On silent wings he disappeared,
he uttered not a word
I often walk along that path
but now I wear a smile
For I’m still writing poetry
in my romantic style
Though I will not forget that day
as these words come to mind
“Hate will never pass the test,
it’s better to be kind”
Thank you for reading my poem.
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
Scene I: When It Began
It is a soft-lit evening, my luscious lips ready, blood…sweat… red,
As I wonder just what can excite this insanely wacko head
Much blissful scenes, sounds and songs entertain these curling toes
Smeared makeup, made up again, green mess of hair that flows
When I hear from the other room, a sound quite like a groan,
A deep voice full of chocolate wonder, like a dog…I follow the bone…
Meandering through the hallway, the sounds become ah- thunderous
Till I reach the slightly open door, my eyes search in wanderlust…
And there he is, sitting upright, like a bloom resisting the wilt of winter,
His eyes glued on sumptuous words of worlds I could only dream to enter
A hood over his sexy head, his voice rises like crazed incense,
Then I realize why this winter cannot dare to stop such resistance
He is gazing upon wondrous words, his eyes in tears, lit with glee
I beg for him to look my way…give some of this stimulation to me...
Slowly….inevitably…I make my way to his side
Gazing where his eyes are glued, anxious to be part of the ride
And what I see changes my life forever…verses for longing touch
The oak tree grows, I’m blooming…I’m salivating so much
I take a seat beside him as he utters sweet ecstasy
Swelling ever more tightly, I grow more desperate at his mercy
He guides me into this realm I have never known as long as I have breathed
Now as I wallow in these words… they moisten and arouse each sense deceived
My imagination heightens, my provoked senses he discovers,
I’m anxious to explore this realm with him which now he uncovers
Guided swiftly to his masterful breaths and intentioned exhalations
I forget all past endeavors, all pleasure-based revelations
This is all I need now…. I have exactly what I desire
Just let me rise into the skies and take my place dear sire
What is this happiness I do feel, my growth is all but beginning
Enlightening…enlivening…. Writing in painful pleasure…winning
Don’t stop those eyes from meeting with her word
Don’t let the others in with this- who cares if we’re absurd
We are flying like cocks, winning pride from growing wings
Rising voices…raising flocks… never stopping for simple things
We’re beyond happy baby… for that I am certain…
I am ready on the stage….
Just waiting for you…
To pull that curtain….
Two houses is what I call home, with two kitchens and a bed in 2 places I roam, I walk the streets without knowing what’s next, could it be the worst or maybe be the best, with arguments I hear and the stuff that I see, is everything hidden under an oak tree, with secrets to have and nothing to be told is something that made these places so cold, for I don’t like to argue or scream or shout, but sometimes it’s how my words get out, for I sit late at night, not a sound in reach, for the things I say in my head I will preach, for 2 of everything all of my life, I wonder what it’s like for a husband and a wife, when you get married how do you feel, do you feel as if the world has just gotten real, do u want this person for the rest of your life, or maybe you don’t want a husband or wife, for questions I ask who will answer, like diseases in the world, what causes cancer, with the things I own, and the things I share, I wonder if I get all up in peoples hair, do I bother people I know, but they just don’t let it show, do they know I’m here or just a sound in there ear, with two cars and dogs, the answer lays in the fog, something you mightn’t understand, or maybe you just cant, when you look at the sky and you ask why, you only live a bit, so ask every question with a smile, I can’t tell you this and I can’t tell you that, cause you promised this and I promised that, I miss people that are dead, but I don’t tell anyone cause it’s different in my head, I wish it was one home with one happy family, with one dad one mam and we all live happily, with my sister and my brother, we’re from the same mother, I might not know his father but i know I’m some man’s daughter, for those who choose to leave and those who choose to stay are the people I hope to see everyday, I don’t read this note, cause it’s not something I quote, I leave the thoughts in my head and put my thinking to bed, because when it’s late and night when there is no light, i think and I sit, and I watch and I blink, the more blinks I take, is the more tired I’ll be, but I can’t stop thinking for what’s best for me, do I talk to someone, do I say what I need to, but what’s in my head I don’t want to be in yours too, i cry to myself cause I find comfort all alone, but some days I wish it wasn’t 2 places I called home,
Are you ok?! Matt, asked as his eyes searched the dark. Fear gnawed at his spirit. “Yeah, I’m ok…wait!, I can’t feel my legs!”. His girlfriend cried. “I can’t feel my legs, Hon! It’s like they’re not there!” He leaned over, holding on to her, feeling for her legs. Then he breathe a sigh of relief, that they were fine. “Just lean on me, Baby”. “Where’s everybody?” she asked. One minute there were others walking, driving in cars, street and car lights lit the streeet, now they stood in pitch black darkness, confused and afraid of the unknown.
“I think we should sit right here, out of the path until we figure out what’s
happening”, he suggested. “Yeah, I guess". But what's with my legs?” “I
remember there was a bench a few feet back just alongside of the sidewalk, near
an oak tree”. He took out his cell phone, it would reflect some light and nothing
happened, it was dead. His nerves were rattled by the situation. “Look, we’re going
to have to feel our way towards that bench, Honey. Can you feel the street
beneath you now?” He asked. “No, I can’t”. She replied, her voice shaky. “Ok, here
we go.” Matt picked her up in his strong arms and with ginger steps, began to walk
in the opposite direction, using his left foot to feel alongside the concrete for the
wooden bench. With electricity this would take a few seconds, however, this
seemed like it would take forever. Finally his Nike touched the edge of the bench
and he turned to place her down gently.
Grateful that was over, his mind began to focus once more. Standing up, his eyes
searching the darkness seemingly endless, he realized that it would be
impossible to walk back home, as maneuvering the streets was something he could
do by himself, but not if he carried her in his arms. Silence ruled the darkness
with each passing moment. It felt like they were in a vacuum. None of the usual
cricket sounds you hear on warm summer night could be heard. He could tell she
was scared by her voice tone. Her whispers were hardly audible; just enough for
him to hear as he stood close to her. He sat down finally to rest. He'd lost track of
time and hours seemed to pass in dead silence, without one flicker of light.
~*~
For Matt's "Finish The Dream" Contest
Cont'd on Pg II
Ethel Hurst
1889 – 1918
I saw the town rise up
Like a single blade of grass after a spring rain.
I played a multitude of hop-scotch games
With my best friend Hannah on Penn Street.
And sipped a hundred ice cream sodas in the Mercantile at sunset.
My mother took me to Jacob’s Grocery every Monday
And it was I who picked the plump oranges
From the big rickety crate.
On Saturdays we worked the fields at Strong’s Ranch,
Harvesting the pampas in the walnut fields.
And on Halloween I was the girl in the moon-face costume for five straight years.
When Christmas brought its luminous lights to the town,
Mother dressed me in red with a bell on my bonnet.
And father sang the carols with a guitar and a tambourine.
I graduated from the big high school in 1907
And in celebration,
Rode my bicycle to Bassett
Still in my starched graduation petticoats.
Jesse Forbes,
He being five years younger than I,
Was the love of my brief stay on this earth.
But when he ventured to steal a kiss that day in Black Canyon,
I used my calloused hand to convey my stern disagreement.
But what wild regrets I’ve entertained since Jesse drowned that day.
In the wild currents by Pio Pico’s crumbling Adobe,
His body bobbing like a sea bird
In the punishing plume of that old deep river.
Beyond the muddy banks and the wild flowers,
Jesse Forbes left this life with a surprised frozen grin.
Why Jesse? Why?
You never knew the truth, my love.
You never really understood what I meant
When I said nothing.
I said No to you when I said nothing that day in Black Canyon,
But I really meant Yes.
The influenza incinerated my heart and soul
With a 106 temperature in the winter of 1918.
Twenty nine years I dare say
Is nothing in terms of eternal life!
I had so much more to do!
I had so much more to dream about!
I walked and talked on the streets of my town,
And on the funeral-dark avenues of my innocent days.
And I planned and I schemed
And all for nothing!.
Indeed, I felt the pulse of fleeting time
And the never-ending,
Ever-turning circle of endless days.
But now I rest here in Clark Cemetery… a virgin corpse
Flirting shamelessly with the bow-tie worms,
Still wild with regrets.
And forever haunted in reverse
By the same recurring memory
Of Jesse Forbes holding a rose.
Under the old oak tree in Black Canyon..
A lonely rider traversed the sand upon his sturdy mount,
Beneath a sky so filled with stars that no man might ever count.
A dangerous dash across open land on a night without a moon,
A last ditch chance for absolution before his brother hangs at noon.
He pushed on harder than he should until his pony found a rut,
A broken leg and a bullet played it seemed fate had punched him in the gut.
He went on by foot and prayed to God “Please let a stagecoach happen by,
Or a cowboy with a horse to lend, Dear Lord don’t let my brother die.”
“It weren’t he at the house that night that poor Lizzy got herself kilt,
I knowed all too well because it were me, I alone bear up the guilt.”
“I loved her all to sweetly Lord but my affections were each one spurned,
So on that night I took her life and waited for her true love to return.”
I laid in wait to bushwhack the varmit whoever the cur might be,
Along the trail that led to her house behind a big oak tree.
“It were my intention to shoot him down and lay him at her side,
I then seen him on the dapple gray that only my brother’d ever ride.”
“It struck me like a thunder bolt to think that I broke my brother’s heart,
So I lit clean on outa Texas with my hope of making a brand new start.”
“Her pa swore to the judge that my brother deprived dear Lizzy of her life,
Because she told him the night before that she’d never be his wife.”
“It t’were me that he’d heard talkin’ the night that Lizzy passed away,
Now I got to get back to that town, Dear Lord, to have my final say.”
“It seemed that my brother was luckier at love than ever he were at dice,
But I had dashed his hopes each to the rocks and left him to pay the price.”
But as he prayed and walked along a rattler took him by surprise,
And as the poison run it’s course the murderer closed his eyes.
And in his mind he could see his kin dangling from a rope,
So as the snakebite did it’s work he took one last stab at hope.
He drew his buck knife from his boot and opened up his shirt,
To carve out his confession was his aim so with a cry he went to work.
And when they found his body in the morning just a half-mile out of town,
They found the note that he’d carved on his chest, “I shot Lizzy down.”
Standing in a foreign nation, fragrance from a fresh cremation
Lost and long forgotten by the beasts that roamed my home
Nights are dark and gloomy but the tundra’s so damn roomy
Here is where I want to be so leave me standing here alone
Here I stand a man with quill in hand is all I own
That, my crown and throne
Walking on the sandy beaches, there I saw the strangest creatures
Living in a unison together on their own
Then behind the bushy myrtle, hid the cowardly old turtle
“Don’t be hiding there old turtle, don’t be hiding all alone!”
But the turtle stayed behind the bush beneath a stone
This, he calls his throne
Night defeats the sunlights laughter once the mockingbirds cry after
Day has set so I can be the king of lands I roam
Darkness gives me all the cover, more than I could need a lover
Here is where I want to be so leave me here alone
Darkness is my friend so I can call this land my home
Here, I sit on my throne
Moonlight let the turtle scurry athwart on the beach to hurry
Into deep blue seas where he is free to swim atoned
Creatures from the deep blue ocean bow down to their king’s devotion
When the sun arose he then recoiled back in his dome
“Pity you old turtle” I said, “hiding there alone.”
That, you call a throne?
Days long gone that I remember, Spring-time joy in mid-November
Hiding in and oak tree from the creatures of my home
Now my kingdom bows before me no one stares or dares ignore me
Here I stand a king, adore me, lord of all I own
Pity all I own is barren, barren to the bone
At least, I have my throne
Then one starry twilight dreaming, where I stood there pride redeeming
Came along the turtle beaming till he saw my throne
In a flash, his neck retreated in his shell and self conceited
“Don’t be shy and self defeated!” Said I, in stern tone.
“Stick your neck out, coward, or you’ll end up all alone!”
Returning to his throne
Returning to my throne
When I woke in shock and horrid, scaly felt my morphed new forehead
Overwhelming dread and torrid shook my body to the bone
There I was a transformed turtle hiding there beneath the myrtle
All along I was the turtle standing there alone
Horrified of all the creatures rounding my new home
My shell that I had grown
A self-made, feeble throne