Long Woods Poems
Long Woods Poems. Below are the most popular long Woods by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woods poems by poem length and keyword.
Duncan was a young British soldier,
new recruit at fifteen years of age,
a good lad who followed his orders,
he was a fifer who liked to play,
his tunes directed men in the field,
the Blackwatch soldiers who didn’t yield,
deployed in 1758
to America, to wilds great.
Sent to take the fight there to the French,
in New York’s rugged northern mountains,
from long Lake George the march would begin,
a desire for vengeance to quench,
after what happened the year before
at William Henry, the blood and gore…
Abercrombie was put in command,
but left many duties to George Howe,
a young officer, and steadfast man,
lots of leeway to chap was allowed.
So out would row 18, 000 men,
excited Duncan plunked amongst them,
largest force seen on Yankee shores,
compared to the French, near five times more.
All of the men’s spirits running high,
highlanders, militia, native scouts,
the outcome didn’t seem much in doubt
when the lake’s northern end they espied,
the French had all fled that patch of earth,
Howe’s forward columns got to their work.
Duncan was not part of this advance,
his unit was unloading behind,
ahead Howe encountered men from France
trying to retreat behind their lines.
Loud gunshots echoed back through the woods,
young Duncan, then, did not feel so good,
went about unloading with frayed nerves,
after some hours, then men returned.
They spoke of a skirmish amongst trees,
how the noble Lord Howe was shot dead
in the fighting, before the French fled,
after suffering casualties.
Now Abercrombie alone took charge,
which didn’t help to lift people’s hearts.
The next day Colonel John Bradstreet went
with men to reconnoiter the scene,
up Rattlesnake hill his troop was sent,
saw the fort, information was gleaned;
Fort Carillon looked in bad repair,
and they could see no forward lines there,
with a charge they thought the French would break,
but they didn’t see their great mistake:
Trees and shrubs shielded breastworks from view,
and branches formed into abatis,
through which no marching line could persist,
none of these things Abercrombie knew,
and fearing reinforcements in time,
he chose to strike, left big guns behind.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Our hands and our feet were warmed from the cold,
while the campfire burned into embers and coal
The song that he whispered combined with the sparks,
and drifted away, to be lost in the dark
Splinters of light outlined his shape,
and hollowed the lines in his face.
With fingertips calloused, he strummed his guitar
into the solace of night.
We gathered to listen, and gathered our tears,
with smoke in our eyes and our hearts compromised.
The song told the fable of babes lost in the woods
who had wandered away on a bright amber day.
Where the robins of red, so gingerly spread
green strawberry leaves to cradle their graves
Crickets, like orphans awakened from rest,
lamented with sorrow from pine-needle nests
This legend was saved, but others were lost,
tossed to the wind, like ghost-feathers of ash.
My father is gone, but the song lingers on
remembered tonight, from a night in the past
The wind still unfolds the song to the night
whispering words that make robins cry
Drifting through the trees and taking me home
Still stoking the embers of a mid-summer's moon
________________________________________________________
The ancient wood is this way
Look there is a sign
This old house and it's grounds are open to the public
Most of the time
What's made us shut the gates
What's made us keep the public away
It's present in the dark wood
That's all I have to say
The old gates have rusted iron
Yet, they do not squeak
The track into the wood is eerie
But we'll go and take a peek
Stop, look there in the dell
There, sat on the stump
A man sat in battle dress
From centuries ago
He's eating some food
Let's go have a word
Excuse me sir I didn't know
That a battle day it is
He looks at us confused and low
Yes, battles what it is
Please sir, do tell who your commanding officer is and where he can be found
He's way over on the other field, just off the battle ground
Did your enemy come to his knees in the battle fought?
Enemy was our countrymen who disobeyed the law
One more question sir before you go back on the battlefield
What year is this and who is your King or Queen?
You fool, you see the boots I wear, the sword of steel I carry
The year is 1644, Charles is my King, I'm needed at the front
You say that you've killed your countrymen, is that where you now go?
He turns and stands and looks at us, then starts to walk back.
He stops and stares and then with a smile
He confirms his role in death
Then turns and walks into the wood
Disappearing without a trace.
Is the tangerine tranquility
of divine signature—
a chlorophyll sanctum
for kindled minds,
where identity softens
into its sovereign form.
Uniqueness glistens
like diamonds in agate woods,
flowing like a brook
through silenced seastorms,
casting resilient ripples
of peace in chaos.
Kaleidoscopic hues
lather liberation
in lilac breath,
woven through rose-glazed silk,
layering thy self
beyond binary divides.
Weaving a raspberry mirage,
condensing orbits once defined,
gravity kneels to lucid silhouettes —
where polarization, veiled in vines,
drifts through phantoms of shadowed memes,
labeling itself among quiet captives.
Appearance deceives—
a haunted massacre,
gnawing at edges
of borrowed illusions,
trapped in the coffin
of jinxed confessions.
Still, I yearn for that foetal light—
a harlequin armour
on mannequin soul,
held by the thinnest threads
of clairvoyant defiance,
tethered to becoming.
Dusk drapes the horizon
in crimson hush,
penning butter-paper dreams
into the murmuring breeze,
where buried silence exhales
fractured fragments of valour.
~Once Upon A Time Snow White~
(Narrative or Free Verse)
Once upon a time
In a far away land
There was a very beautiful princess, called Snow White
And she lived in a very big castle so grand
Her father had always loved her so dear
But her step-mother was really a very bad witch,
Snow White's beauty she couldn't at all bear
And from the first moment she wanted her dead quick, the witch
Every day asked her magic mirror upon the wall
Who's today, the fairest of us all?
Snow White' is, the mirror again replied to her call,
And the wicked Queen got so mad, she started to bawl
So the evil witch decided to get rid of Snow White,
But the Princess luckily, escaped with her life
And deep into the forest she ran, filled of fright,
Trying to hide from the witch and save her own life
She came upon a little house in the woods
And there lived seven, seven funny, hard working dwarfs,
They liked her and asked her to stay and made her feel so good,
She was so happy, and took very good care of them the dwarfs
Till one day again the evil Queen
Asked the magic mirror upon the wall,
Who's today, the fairest of us all?
Snow White' still is, the Queen got so mad she turned herself so ugly n' mean
And she found out where Snow White had been hiding
And she took to her a very red, delicious, but poisonous apple to bite,
Snow White not knowing this sank into the apple a bite,
To the witch's greatest and excited delight
Snow White just dropped like dead upon the ground,
The evil Queen had cast her a most powerful spell
No, she wasn't dead, but she was only waiting asleep,
Till a Prince came and with a love kiss broke for her the evil spell.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2005
December.12.2016
I thought trees one,
time looked like ,
giant broccoli because-,
of their leafs that shoot
from their trunk after
reading Radical Mycol-
ology then I thought years ago when I was still mobile I thought trees,were related to fungi in the days,
of yore then I found fungi
helps trees grow when
looking the tallest trees
on earth,being red-
woods and giants,
sequoias finding
them to be thous-
and of years old
I started to see
trees as antenna
to the universe
receiving and
sending info
to the Cosmos,
then man be,
gan to chop
them all down,
Earth looks
bald.
The leather tethers kept loosening.
I had to pull at them until
they dug into your body
binding you to a rocking cross.
It was all for nothing
you died snapping at unseen knives,
arching up, bending time into
frozen waves.
You once said you were Irish/Scots,
Appalachian.
You called yourself: Applachan.
Sinewy girl --- wiry poppy stems
in you, and engine oil
to soften tenacious roots.
The fever racked you up.
It shook your bones loose.
It blossomed,
pouring you out
in thimbles of awareness.
In those intervals,
blue hills filled your eyes
with summer rain.
I would talk to you of Ireland.
We went there on that last night.
We made a hasty camp
in the dream felled woods,
the deep raw stumps
were already greening.
Then I watched,
and kept watching
as feeble death broke its teeth
on your blood.
Learned a new word today,
it was 'drow'
- a dark-haired, white skinned elf
often seen leaving a video game
to haunt real woods.
This is a strange multi-layered world,
what we imagine, form from our minds
and name, that becomes real
here or somewhere else.
Those beings we bring forth from our fiction,
those imagined beings
imagine us into reality also.
The mind makes heaven or hell,
what we believe most
becomes our reality
here or
in the after earth life experience.
Imagination is Creation.
"Ye Are Gods."
O and yes, 'drow' spelled backwards
spells 'Word.'
Isn't that what God spoke in the beginning
when His Mind created all things?
"Nature never did betray the heart that loved her".
William Wordsworth
Down the woods I stride my way
Deep on its portaI I see
myriads of daffodils blooming
in varied colours and shape;
Trumpets in golden hue
and pink jonquillas that radiate
in the dappled sunlight.
All of a sudden, it drizzles
and a rainbow descends
and kisses each dainty petal;
I wish to have even a single stalk
So I could bring to grandma's tomb;
But before I could find my way back home
I see white daffodils dancing
encircling my ancestors' graveyard.
15 March 2022
"A Brian Strand 1090" Poetry Contest
1st place
a few white clouds quietly look on,
cover of leaves yellow, red and green,
buried underneath berries, dry seeds,
await season, to our eyes unseen!
nature gardens its own vast meadows,
its autumn wind works the sweeping broom,
smell of ripened fruits spread in bare woods,
aura of fermenting decay loom!
decay an expression of all life,
phase so intrinsic to creation,
deep within softening core of fruit,
rest the birth of next generation!
despair not with process of decay,
either in life, in death, love in vain,
from dying embers of times gone past,
bright new flowers of hope sprout again!
4th placement
Written 24/09/2020
‘Decay’ Poetry contest
Constance La France
9 syllables each line
2nd and 4th lines rhyme
4 quatrains
syllables checked at Poetrysoup.com