Long Trees Poems
Long Trees Poems. Below are the most popular long Trees by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trees poems by poem length and keyword.
Vivaldi’s Violin
The sound begins vague as a thought from perhaps
a misted remembrance made more distant more soft
in the surrounding sunset not trusting eyes only ears.
I sit up and listen indeed stretch all hearing as music
surely music more than the wind’s whistling moves
ever closer alerting me to a whole physical smiling
through the opened backdoor I cast my sight past
the silhouetted trees of early December past
yellow-glowing windows of neighboring homes and on
past the twinkling white low-altitude warning lights set
like many a Venus on the horizon I notice I am
not frozen from weather but rather awaiting a sign as
a startling soloist continues Vivaldi’s allegro non motto
violin in a love affair with nature a secret in splendor
a flying to heights just beyond human
ears or prayers in this courting of my soul and its
further reaching in Winter III Allegro that could lift
the twilight ever more than experienced in dreams.
***********. ***********. ***********
(c) sally Young eslinger 12/3/2020
Thanks be to God
Long ago I lived like a Gypsy
moving to the sights and sounds
of my desires and illusions
as I painted my shared heart in red passion
which held me captive in a realm of my own making
Like that of a chilly Valentine night in 1986
when the North winds
blew hard enough to bend palm trees
like tall grass dancing in the dark
I came to her door with a single rose
hurried expectations and a dreamer's wish
She answered with a quiet smile of warmth
as she reached for my hand and my gift
of a single rose
before leading me to a long curved staircase
that led up to a dim-lit hallway
my eyes were captivated by her hair
bouncing upon her shoulders
and the rendered shadows that clung to her back
as she rushed us to her room of webs and scents
where candles were already lit and melting
Gato Barberi's Europa was playing in the background
in a continuous loop...
Could that this memory invite me
whenever I hear "Happy Valentine"
I hold onto this memory
yet, wonder if she held onto the rose
1/1/22
contest Be Mine
sponsor Regina McIntosh
Many a day has passed
Since she entered my world
And since then my mind has been clouded
By the image of this girl
If my mind were a garden
She would be the perfect flower
At the peak of its bloom
In its most fertile hour
If my mind were a hot Summer day
She would be the cool breeze
As it glides through the shade
Of the tallest of oak trees
If my mind were the Winter
She would be the Christmas snow
Covering flowers, trees, cars and houses
So only white would show
If my mind were the ocean
She would be the sunset over the horizon
Possibly the greatest natural beauty
And finally, I’m realizing
That it takes neither money nor possessions
To reach the greatest happiness of the heart
Because a woman as beautiful as nature
Can touch a man and create such a spark
“Natural Beauty”
by: Eric L. Boddie
Late mid-life street woman she is...
I grew up with her under
mango trees now softly drooping
their shoulders much like hers.. but she,
still shaped like a Boticelli urn, wrapped
in arms diaphanous in flesh and heat,
fanned banana leaves swaying to
latin notes while cooking fried bamboo
shoots, her fragrance buzzing along
summer's exotic fly: how she pinched
my cheek with her tapered fingers still
wrinkled pink in grasses floating
on her quivering body.. .
somehow, she gave me this
epiphany of riding with my own instinct,
the slow wave of breaths gently drifting
through a young rosiness of my adolescent
stems... if i knew how to swirl in the wakening
glides of inner flow , it was her circling baked hips
winding and bellying in nights and morns
of her own natural sashays...
How i long to climb her mango tree,
her waxing then waning shape still
blazing among plucked banana leaves
of female revelry or finery… I tell myself,
there is no age when her contour sways
in places where her eyes dazzle
with her near floating, tanning limbs,
of how she made me feel unashamed
being just who I am without much caution
or youthful pride; humbled so by her inherent
moon-full grace…
©
... ..............
Skat's Contest---Any Old Poem #4
Were not men strong
and women beautiful
Children adorable
and old men wise
Were not tyrants evil
and angels good
Dogs faithful
and prophets misunderstood
Were not the stars named
and world divided
Hearts claimed
as God decided
Were not the races proud
and thunder loud
Hearts broken
and the valued stolen
Was not the world wicked
and entrance, a ticket
Hopes shatered
and time a barrier
Were not words wasted
and defeat tasted
Dreams untrue
and offers with drew
Are not ledgends taken in time
and hero's made slaves to wine
Certian disasters
and life no longer mattered
Are not moments made
and powers magnificently displayed
Salvations delayed
while the guilty repaid
Were not inventions made so fast
and made obsolete in recent past
Invention oblivion
they were newly made but didn't last
And did not time travel slow
measured by faces that turned old
Death decays
as the trees of our generation sway
Were not we all given a choice
to listen to that still small voice
Discision made
ignorant or proud all that you
allowed
I find solace among the trees
It's a very quiet place to be
Away from human interaction
buried in the heart and soul of the convention
Boulders scattered underneath the trees
spanning over many centuries
I wonder how they got there
The ice age must have deposited them there
Rotten logs lay flat between them
repeating a favorite bible verse
Where the tree falls there it lies
until judgement takes it to the sky
Dead trees tell no tales and the boulders
are witness of the age
I stood on top of a giant boulder
and view the place all over
someone must have been hanging out there
because I saw an empty beer can
bearing the slogan "born in the Rockies"
and a gigantic bird feather laying close by
suggesting that something might be cooking in the sky
The Indians were at peace before the bulldozer came
And drive them out into open shame
The mountains could not hold them and the
trees could not contain them
The trees the rocks the ocean and the river
put them together and you will get the answer
The story has been told over and over
until it is spilling all over
Mystics come and go
showing you which way to go
Whether you go right or left
you will experience the same death
King Solomon was a wise man
But he corrupted the entire land
with evil Gods and beautiful women
He thought that was the best path
to make his Kingship last
Strange Gods start pouring in
left right and center
Speechless God without hands and ears
bearing a wicked Karma
Wooden Gods, stone Gods
and all types of evil Gods in the cosmic
whom they believe will make them prosper
But they are aiming for a terrible disaster
The churches are bear and empty
And false Gods surround the pulpits
Driving a wedge in the congregation
Causing much desolation
Solomon and his foreign concubines
Created a new bloodline
setting the world on fire
stirring up a real hell-fire
and provoking people to conspire
What purple back- lit song is this?
What Larkin Swift upon the white tossed cloud and light?
What yellow dawn awash in corn sweetness?
………………….. are your lips upon mine
And still I turn away
….more human than human
The softest glow of silvered night is quick within
The dampness of dewed forest dirt wafts and wanders in my nostrils
caresses my cheeks
and crystal-ed light …the ever crystal light that falls
for the “only” me
from the gray heather-ed sky
between trees and lifting…lilting leaves
....greener than it is possible for them to be
Over and over ………………….to pick oneself up after ALL the falls
Pain of body, bone and the everlasting melancholy
Our bones…my bones…the bones of it
A cavern of shell… structure of dust…gift of God…searing wonder of one’s own
to have to leave on a journey so unknowable it merges moments
…….in our flaxen seas
single seconds evolve into massive planets with Quazarian landscapes
Gladiator galaxies swirling in Titan Universes
Implode again
becoming a single blooming fuchsia flower
…in which we are inexplicably, acutely, astoundingly
alive and alone again in our singular perfection
gentle as a summer rain,
never doubting, trusting each whisper
as the faded echoes fall soft
to the ground, where they vanish,
leaving only filthy mud, like rust
who curses metal’s glistening…
are these quiet lives,
bright and vibrant,
in hues of graceful sapphire,
rich gold and a scarlet who sighs …
as their wistful wings soar higher and higher.
peaceful as an autumn sun,
erasing the night, wittier than starlight,
she hesitates in the past, yesterday,
rising beneath her luminous smile,
so, after a while…
light heals the earth,
restoring her shadows with a new worth,
will she ever know the music of these blessings,
who silence the worst fear,
bring the soul a tender tear,
remind that tomorrow may never come…
while we are sometimes undone,
by the music of their soft crooning,
the beauty of their wings leaving.
quiet as that moment,
when snowflakes bless the land,
avenging winter’s repulsiveness,
with a friendly wonderful,
falling softly,
whispering praise and dancing,
crumbles of frozen laughter,
hastening through the milky skies,
reminding us all, how they fly…
soaring over the hills, the meadows,
revealing faith’s hidden treasures,
stirring up dreams,
silencing the night’s breath,
with a trembling hello,
expressing the joy inside the soul.
in the winds, in the trees,
on oak branches and in pine’s needles,
they sing and soar, enchanting,
like the moment, once sought –
soon gone, they fly on, fly on and on…
singing their song, chuckling to themselves,
because they know,
oh, yes they know… we are shocked
by the gift of their graceful praise,
praise of the One who created this day,
the One who gave them wings to escape,
the One who silenced all the fear in their heart,
with the knowing that, even as the wind’s blowing…
life continues on and they keep on singing their song,
with joy and hope, grace and love…
music sent down to us by God above!
I found her on the edge of a cliff,
Waiting for someone who promised to show up.
She watched the birds, watched the clouds,
And felt the breath of a freedom
She once dreamed of.
Some time passed.
She kept visiting the cliff for her man,
Counting trees, counting stars,
While her days quietly passed.
Then, one day, he showed up on the same cliff,
Carrying a bunch of excuses
For why he couldn't make it on time.
But she was happy to see him—
Until he fumbled,
Searching for reasons why it couldn't work.
She put on the armor
And became her own savior,
For herself and for him.
And before he could confess,
She had already changed her mind.
She left the cliff
And never looked back.
Moved to another city,
And began her journey
From scratch.
A repaired planet looks like the moon.
Where humans would die
Where war would lose
With a deep black sky
And a hindering light
The lids of your eyes
And the sun, unviewably bright.
I’m sad like a crater.
I made a crater on the moon.
I’m bad because I made a crater.
Forever, it shall loom.
Even in a healed Earth, even on the moon.
The remains, craters of tears, remind us why we departed so soon.
I heard there was a mountain, I heard there was a peak
Where trees used to grow
That purified the air which we speak
I heard there was a mountain
I heard it had a name
But that’s all that I heard
Before I made what I made.
A tree full of flowers
Watered with honey
A tree full of smiles
Shriveled as Earth watered it with money
And hatred and crime and pain and tears
And kids kicked out of homes for their loves and fears
And wars and bombs and guns and fire
And a blazing explosion of souls, like a discordant choir
I killed that poor tree
Killed it with an ax
I killed the air I breathe
It practically asked.
I’m empty
Like the dark sky of the moon
My eyelids are heavy
Like the gravity of my gloom
I sit and I wonder
I wonder what if?
If we didn’t repair it with a sonic boom
If our Earth weren’t so broken
If it wasn’t the moon