Long Redwoods Poems
Long Redwoods Poems. Below are the most popular long Redwoods by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Redwoods poems by poem length and keyword.
What if the earth's not flat just a bit bent
Horizons but the hype of those who fled
Twisted by the weight of our cement
The creeping edge of "mindful" government.
Perhaps the bureaucrats should drop their drawers
And turn the ice cap yellow as it thaws
Mock the crumbling of the Arctic shelf
The house and senate playing with themself.
But then again the status quos a lie
for nothing stays the same, not earth, not sky
The giant redwoods fell and slowly died
Long before the crush of human pride.
And we a mutant curse upon the planet
Sit in broken shale we took for granite.
John G. Lawless
2/2/2020d
THEATRE OF THE ABSURD
Puppets, all parts, perpetually working.
Tense strings, plucked, with novice fingers.
Ruby sawdust sparkles with the warm sun.
Puppets on strings, such silly things!
A play set nearby, a seesaw, those twins –
Hansel and Gretel, balancing between life and death.
The wretched sound of falling trees, pulled
from resistant roots - ground shakes violently.
The buzzing of saws, like bees in a honey hive.
Splinters of puppet bone, praying for relief.
The lies that Pinocchio told - stubs compared to this.
The darkening of the witch’s wood, with terrible treats.
Wooden toes, stumble and tiptoe, over windswept limbs,
sending shivers through their gnawing cold bones,
as twigs fly and snap, popping of puppet props.
Leading the way, Ali Baba whispers “open sesame” -
They hide in a craven cave, whilst the forest implodes.
Perpetual motion, like watches, ticking of time-bombs.
Pinocchio cracks jokes, like he’s done this all before.
Treasures glisten in candlelight, “what have we done…”
Whispers of a forest saved, puppets clamorous in mine -
Their eyes like multicolored jewels, hideous in the gloom.
Redwoods run with stilt-like legs, banging at their door -
Begging for one last kindness, followed by sudden silence.
They arise at dawn, the parade of puppets on strings.
Silly things, characters performed by naïve children –
playing at war. They hear a cackle, as she, lures them inside.
Guard down, until the urchins ears bleed, with screams of kindling.
2/6/2017
I have soared above the Redwoods in their youth
Touched tips of frosted frigid icy peaks
Lifted weary aching migratory wings
Swept through the oily tint of present day
Enraged the sea, drove ships upon the rocks
Becalmed the mariners upon dead waves
Caressed the vibrant hope of snowbound buds
Blew north an icy chill that still resides
Crept, in fog-like cape, through darkened streets
Swallowing the darkness of the night
Lifted into sunshine the billowing of clouds
Mussed the unkempt locks of playful youth
I have cooled the tears of red-hot passions
And rocked the empty cradles of your dreams
scared, alone
broke down on dark highway
creepy willows, hover over me
waiting for a sign of headlights
but to no avail-none
i debate to walk
slowly creeping through woods
fog thicker than lard
water gushing in open-toed shoes
till i see a dim light
wooded cabin tucked away
shadowed by redwoods
i knock-no answer
i enter cautiously
sit by fireplace as i
remove my wet shoes
there's a towel hung over rocking chair
as if waiting for methen it hits me
i've been here before
locked in a closet
by some crazed maniac
i slowly step to the closet door
turn the knob
crouched in corner
scared, alone
looking into my eyes
another young soul
taken before her time
i retrace my steps
and remember when i was 16
driving down this dark highway
when my car broke down
thinking someone would help
waking to being tied and tortured
till i no longer breathed
scared and alone
karen croft
"In the echo of silence, the whispers of the Divine are heard." By Rumi
I entered the winding path into the captivating vale
Surrounded by ice-capped mountains and ancient trees
Firs, larches, redwoods, spruce, and ash, all grand
I shouted in glee: “I’m here!” All around some Echo replied.
A repetitive Echo, always vibrating and mesmerising.
What a singular sound to hear nature at its best!
I lounged beneath the shade of an old maple tree,
Where the verdant vale lay sprawled in front of me.
Balmy breezes blew through dark green trees, an Echo divine.
Tiny thrushes flitted from bush to bush.
They permeated the vale with their familiar songs.
Occasionally they rested on a dense bush,
Hush! Did I hear the song again?
Choirs of echo resounded all around the lush plateau.
Down on the majestic plain, a babbling brook meandered
Towards a clump of cottages, providing water for all.
The rivulet was a sight with fronds of ferns unfolding.
How delightful to hear the water emanating such dulcet echo
As the stream zigzagged around rocks and small waterfalls.
Every echo ended in silence profound and I was in God’s peace.
A holy hymn hummed serene: echo after echo, all divine.
Placed 1
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours- waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
Dry deserts turn into meadows
Dense forests burn into ashes
Oldest oaks and tallest Redwoods in close
May fall down with bashes
Salt lakes, sulphur springs, and sweet streams
Traced on mountains, valleys, and plains
At times, surge and overflow with extremes
Run into dry domains
Myriad breathtaking landscapes
With rich flora and fauna blessed
Evolved mystically in bizarre shapes
Go messed and unimpressed
Spring does magic and brings life back
Ferocious heat waves of the Sun
Eye-feasting harvests, and winter's cold track
They trigger everyone
Nature, a genial host to all
Always shields its pristine feature
Revamps but settles not with the downfall
She is the best teacher!
Place: 2nd
Morning fog descends
Dusky pinpricks on my skin
Veils of hidden hills arise
Shrouds obey sunrise
Redwood still stands tall
Poetry sits on a perch
Feel the morning fog recede
Clouds layered veils deep
Fog's book peels pages
Sunrise lifts up gray curtains
Opaque airs thicken distance
Lone jay takes off
Poem transpires slate
Inspiration dissipates
Male jay remains in the drab
Smoke apparitions
Distance is illusion
Loneliness a delusion
Like fog fooling perspective
Change heaven’s constant
Tomorrow shrouds come
Ashen mornings will return
Love will find rest in redwoods
Poems are renounced
Stay grounded as trees
Climb above clouds to what's blue
Wait for aspect to restore
Fog, bird, or lover
***
2 Samuel 23:4
'Is as the light of the morning when the sun rises, a morning without clouds, when the tender grass springs out of the earth, through sunshine after rain.’
“Look deep into nature and you’ll understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein
I stood on the sloped path near the waterfall.
Mesmerised by the sound of falling water.
All around grew green-leafed ferns,
While tall poplars and redwoods provided
Ample shade that covered the running stream.
Tall purple pickerel plants, scarlet cardinal plants,
Everything contributed to a sublime, picturesque sight.
A symphony of sounds emanated completely around.
Frogs croaked in great abundance, jumping in and out,
Of the clear stream where fish swam toward the sea.
And all around, busy bees fluttered over exotic flowers,
Where nectar provided them with such sweet nourishment.
Placed 1
We had—almost—an affair.
You almost ran your fingers through my hair.
I almost kissed the almonds of your toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost contemplated using Nair
and adding henna highlights to your hair,
while I considered plucking you a Rose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost found the words to say, “I care.”
We almost kissed, and yet you didn’t dare.
I heard coarse stubble grate against your hose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost called me suave and debonair
(perhaps because my chest is pale and bare?).
I almost bought you edible underclothes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost asked you where you kept your lair
and if by chance I might seduce you there.
You almost tweezed the redwoods from my nose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
We almost danced like Rogers and Astaire
on gliding feet; we almost waltzed on air ...
until I mashed your plain, unpolished toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost was strange Sonny to your Cher.
We almost sat in love’s electric chair
to be enlightninged, till our hearts unfroze.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city,
above a sea lion rookery.
She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:
“I want you animals to know, open your eyes,
a hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”
She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.
I'll take the back roads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions
savoring their deep throated funk.
I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salt of my words.