Long Piney Poems
Long Piney Poems. Below are the most popular long Piney by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piney poems by poem length and keyword.
Pa Honks the Horn With a Tree for Christmas Morn
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(1940s green pick up) *’ *` *’ - * ~ - `*~ ` * - *
/1l l11l l1\ ~ `’`’ * ~ * * * * * * * `’`’`’
/1l l11l_______l1\ * =*= * = * = * *= *= *-- *--
(Pa honks l @l the horn l@\________________________________`’`’`’
{when he drives up the drive with a noble fir for Christmas morn. ]
( Dressed warm all seven of us run outside as crystalline [ snow falls ]
( from heaven. Excited with anticipation to help pa bring in the [ tree indoors]
( The flavor piney scent of the tree lingers throughout the old farmhouse ====]
Decorating the tree with string popcorn garland,
dried fruit, and homemade lace
ornaments we adore
12/2/2016
The southern joy, I see it; a majestic piney wood; its fresh aromatic pine scent climbing my nostrils; membranes absorb its woodsy essence as I breathe deeply, it becomes part of me.
Pine needle carpeting, soft upon the sandy clay, makes silent my footsteps. Above, sits an old hoot owl, framed by branches and a cloud matte. I trespass upon his world; awakening him and he hoots an order to leave him be. I spread a smile and mentally apologize as he closes his eyes again. A morning wood walk begins an inspiring day.
Written 4-15-19
For:"APRIL 2019 CONTEST 5,ANY THEME,ANY FORM,UPTO A MAX OF 12 (T W E L V E ) LINES Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Veiled in the mysteries of light
black cutting off white
masked
a cottonwood whirl
of life
no debutanted call
you said left, I thought right
patience holding
frightless on an eerie starless night
your oceans brushing
about my tree
a sequoia rising high
above the waters edge
your wake ~ delicate
a soundless melody
that plays on for hours
and hours
in the breeze,
the gentle tease
the tide
washing in
and out
to the wims of night
the rustled leaves
a bed of kings
I, with you
in grave and height
stripping shrouds
shearing fears
climbing up the endless stares
abreast
a woodpecker pecks
an undressed nest
in piney wood
I know
and
I should
visions spy
her spotted eyes
true wonder
where halos go to glow
amid a moonlight high
there's laughter in that sky
air fills our lungs
creating a thousand soulful songs
we lay
contented with the coming
of the day
gorgeous as that may be
~Once upon a rhyme, many years ago~
a charm of wordsmiths gathered on an emerald mountain
took dreamy strolls on piney paths along its golden crown
dipped their wits and winsome in a pastel-painted lake
while sun and shadow played a game of enchanted charades.
The moon unchained a spray of applauding stars
from the muses' hearts, the gemstones gently flowed
like a rush of songs from a bevy of meadowlark
Shakespeare's ghost stirring just beyond the glow.
All the while the old poetess listened quietly
her novella etched in the eyes and beech bark hands
seeing things the green sprigs would never see
her cane tapping stardust into an empty hourglass...
The coals slipping silently into quiet blush
as sonnets wove seamlessly upon a sable brush.
A ruby-throated angel fanning poetic vows
sealing us to our muse in a jaded stand of boughs...
We bid farewell and made promises we'd never keep.
Carving our weighted hearts into the shag bark of memory.
Beyond the jungle of the evergreens
Were metal points in the sky
that surpassed the highest peaks
The tones of the structure
Were of grays,
Browns,
And creams
Multi-layered with window frames,
Two outer concrete figures,
And a brown door with a pearl-like handle
That was envisioned by dreams
This mystic gingerbread-like
Fortress had no visible road to proceed
It seemed it liked its seclusion
Not even a sight of living figurines
But what kept it company were the critters
That hid among the trees and stream
Trees traced of piney, woodsy, subtle with a sweet scent
Was among the light breeze
The stream was cloud-like flowing
With its own flow-like routine
The water was so fresh it had an earthy aroma,
With natural minerals in between
After breakfast the squirrels and deer would
Watch the blue skies as they gleam
Though you may not see the fortress
While diving as it seems
You can try to find its hiding spot
Among the peaks between the trees
An arrogant hare challenged a lethargic turtle to a race.
The hare ridiculed the turtle due to its lumbering pace.
"The loser", declared the hare " will be destined for the pot!"
The "hare"-brained turtle agreed knowing he didn't have a shot!
The turtle desperately tried to figure a way not to become the dupe,
And end his long and illustrious life as a repast of turtle soup!
They began the race and the hopping hare surged way ahead.
The ponderous turtle trailed behind with a growing sense of dread!
O'er the meadows and through the piney woods they raced.
The turtle could readily see that he was being outpaced!
"Fiddle faddle!" wheezed the hare "I'm gonna stop and take a nap!"
The turtle trundled steadily onward and quickly closed the gap!
When the hare awoke the turtle had crossed the finish line!
"Aha!" quoth the turtle, "it won't be me on which they dine!"
The bewildered hare was stewed and made a fine rarebit stew,
Making a tasty meal upon which the turtle could leisurely chew!
The moral of this tale is one that is echoed from the past:
"The last shall be first and the first shall be last!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Poet Destroyer's "Turtle Soup" Contest - August 2010
Orange and reds - the vibrant shmooze of Fall.
The social froth of maple shapes, and oak.
The chatty leaves infringe upon us all,
As piney-green hangs back for Winter folk.
A cocktail mixed with children’s play and gaffs.
Their brooms and sheets do trick and treat through streets
Of cold — the harbinger stirs Jack Frost’s laugh.
Mean parents thieve their children’s soulful sweets.
Yet, warmth of hearth, the logs aflame with blue,
And cinnamon aromatherapy.
Good-hearted ‘rents brew up a hearty stew.
As kids do leap into the leaves with glee.
The whirligig of Autumn wind wins hearts.
The reveille of Winter soon will start.
10/26/2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Note: ’rents - slang for parents
Remote within the piney wood
so far away from nearest ear,
and out of reach for one to hear
a tree lies still where it once stood.
As it came down there was no sound
cuz none to hear would e’er be wise,
and know of this tall pine’s demise
as it came tumbling to the ground.
You say my words are shining bright
through poetry my thoughts consign;
to give up writing wouldn’t be right,
and hide these thoughts, to share, decline.
But like the pine tree’s silent plight,
the words unheard will never shine.
August 2, 2020
Does the tree falling in a forest make a sound
if no one is around to hear it?
Do the words of a poet shine if his poetry is not read?
Conner woke up in his hotel
and looked to the small clock.
He’d slept through his early alarm,
it was later than he thought.
He leapt up and quickly dressed,
for he had a job to do,
so he pulled on his camo pants,
and readied his rifle too.
A problem bear wandered about
this small, Wyoming town.
A grizzly, it had killed three dogs,
twas his job to bring it down.
The bear population had thrived of late,
so this happened more and more,
Fish and Game would send him out
to do what some deplored.
Like the protesters who’s dogged him
the last two days on the trail,
making noise so any close game
would hear them and turn tail.
They said killing the bear was cruel,
they were here to protect it,
so Conner had tried to wake early
to avid them on this trip.
He expected to see all of them
when he went out to his truck,
Instead he saw nary a soul,
he cold not believe his luck!
He drove then to a patch of forest
near the town’s big campground,
sightings here had him convinced
that the grizzly was lurking ‘round.
Into evergreen woods he strode,
past boulders gray and tall,
though steep ravines and parklands
wearing the coat of early fall.
For two hours he had no luck
looking for tracks or sign.
No scat, no fur, nothing at all,
he feared he'd wasted time.
Then he saw a trail of fresh prints
straight through the piney duff,
and from a thicket to his left
came a raspy, guttural huff.
He peered deep, saw the brown head
of a massive grizzly’s bear
If fed on something, big teeth stained
with a slick, crimson veneer.
It paused then, sniffing the air,
seeing not Conner on the hunt.
He hoisted his rifle, sliding left,
carefully sighting the gun...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
We raised our sights in the autumn season,
brilliant and vivacious shades, full of life.
Vivid crimson, scarlet, rust, and yellow rife,
The maple trees in the grove praised the region.
Getting a clear grasp of the near atmosphere,
hear the stones beneath our feet squish and shift.
Consider the dust piles that our shoes drift,
Feel the brisk breeze tickling our hair, yet each spear.
The autumn leaves on the trees had fallen,
During the seasons, I am lured by the radiant sight.
The harvest was plentiful, a summer delight,
Pumpkins, squash, and yams were then sullen.
Birds expecting winter fly over a deep blue sky,
For the rest of the fall, the butterfly urges you to stay.
Bonfires and ethereal smoke swamped the air
and piney fragrance with a dash of seasonal flair.
Pause, sight, the river flanked by a large stone,
toward green and withering vetch stalks.
Stay close to increasing beating whacks,
Azure Creek has a gentle, placid tone.
Squirrels brace for fall by saving nuts and seeds,
They relish crisp fall days but dread winters.
and spread an abundance of lusty splinters.
Come jog with me, which allows clean air to renew yields.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: December 09, 2022
Still-Life Autumn Scene Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper