Long Woody Poems
Long Woody Poems. Below are the most popular long Woody by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woody poems by poem length and keyword.
[Poet’s Note : the fourth verse of this cinquain was written for ‘Scents of Autumn’ contest sponsored by JCB Brul, already posted on this pg.]
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shiver
woollen scarf black
earth in cold dreamland sleeps
brooding we strengthen barriers
wild winds
awake !
yolk bursts a beak
faint gardenia sweet
freshly cut grass, lips open wide
buds sleek
bright blue
cool linen new
litchi ice-cream dripping down throat
sun laughs loud
hot lot
mellow
maturation
cinnamon floats woody
musky flesh loamy depths spice-wise
mushrooms
cycles
forever turn
seasons speak singularly
winter spring summer autumn rings
bring zings
Blackbrush -- Coleogyne ramosissima
the dominant understory shrub
in the pinyon-juniper canyons.
Mountain-mahogany -- Cercocarpus montanus and ledifolia.
Single-leaf ash -- Fraxinus anomalus
and possibly a western hophornbeam
by the small birch-like leaves
and the shredding bark
in a moist stretch of joint trail.
The joint-fir, green ephedra
looks like an ocean plant.
Could the wind or white water rivers alone
have shaped these sandstone, red rock forms?
Network of canyons, inverse of mountains.
It had to be ocean
ebbing and flowing, emotionally, like wind,
moving atmosphere, thicker
shaving, scraping, polishing, gouging, digging
fish canyons
then, shallower, dinosaur swamps
now, dry, rock gardens.
Explain the human history with water:
did the Anasazi visit neighbors
along the canyon rims and deep within,
combination caves and red-rock houses
small windows, doorways, just crawlways,
with corn gifts on summer evenings
when the canyon bottoms held permanent, not intermittent,
streams? After them
came the Ute and Navajo, Spanish and English.
Ravens dine on road kill.
A few long red roads connect some canyons.
The unprotected flats are overgrazed, rabbitbrush.
It is interesting
that as I learn the woody and herbaceous plants,
walk the desert foothills, I too could stay.
Smelling
Woody, sweet, aroma
Christmas pine tree,
Weaved with Bright blinking lights,
Topped with a starlit top.
Feeling
The Brrr ... chill of the night air
Brrr ... freezing cold of the North Pole.
Listening
To the sounds of the wind
For the Ring a ling, jingling,
Ringing of the sleigh bells.
Watching
Moonlight shadows dancing
On the walls as they take
Different fantasy shapes
Waiting
Jolly, rolly, “Ho, Ho, Ho”
White beard Santa
In a white fur trim, red velvet suit.
Seeing
Santa’s sleigh just went zooming by
Fading off to nighttime dreams
Making every minute count.
12/16/2024
Entry for ...I choose to dwell in the clouds poetry contest
Tom Woody
The Storm Clears
I have been hit with trauma that has stormed into my life many times
Lightening bolts hitting my mind, burning away positivity
Wind howling, as I whirled around in a dwelling of pain
I have been lowered to places where only thunder booms
as darkness surrounded me from morning to night
These times left me questioning many things in life
I was often weakened with doubt if anything could get better
It is my belief that I have a purpose to complete that kept me going
The support from loving people who truly care, comforted me
My drive to succeed kept me fighting what felt like the devil attacking my soul
My creativity guided me through the worries, grief and stress
As different experiences occurred, I learned that things do change
Things can get better with trust, that I can survive
There are sunny days beyond storms and open doors after those that close
As hard as things can be, it is possible to reach easier times
Peace can return like a kind visitor to heal a broken heart
- To proceed from there takes gratitude -
Heidi Sands
3/8/25
Placed 7th in 10.
In the middle of the moonlit valley,
there stood an old haunted house, all alone.
Weeds and woody vines weaving up its frame,
pulling the old house down with endless groan.
There stood an old haunted house, all alone,
windows broken, and midst of roof caved in
pulling the old house down with endless groan.
Hollow groan gets deeper its tainted sin.
Windows broken and midst of roof caved in,
weeds and woody vines weaving up its frame.
Hollow groan gets deeper its tainted sin.
In the middle of the moonlit valley.
10/3/2019
Poetry Contest: Poet's October Pantoum'
Sponsored By: William Kekaula
How Many Syllables
An abandoned cottage holds
remnants of secrets unexplored.
the past ~ whispers ~ through
a creaky wooden floor.
Vestiges in gossamer, drape
window frames and doors
through tainted panes of glass
the scent of meadow soars.
Woody stems and vines
cling to crumbling walls
shadows peeling back
memories I recall:
the oracle Sycamore
a hostel to a swinging rope,
like a pendulum
timed in perpetual stroke.
Gazing on orchards
of fruited trees
romanced by busy
droning bees
nomadic tribes
of wide - eyed deer
forage and drink
the creek so clear
cascading toward the river
that lies beyond the bend,
a cloistered Heron in Cattails,
a protracted pose transcends;
leaning in a mantra
of spiritual grace,
resonates the thrum
in a humble sacred place.
echoes of song birds
harmonize in the morn
endowed in devotion,
awaken the dawn.
Mother Nature’s
rhythmic beat
a faithful promise;
she will repeat.
Colonel loomed large with his lieutenant
solid chunk of life kisses death intimately
blue aura of woody smoke rise
flashing across mental screens wise
Solid chunk of life kisses death intimately
an instant adjusting lens and memory
flashing across mental screens wise
meeting with Ministers of State dies
An instant adjusting lens and memory
arriving long before appointed time
meeting with Ministers of State dies
waiting equals patience eating pies
The catching up began steady
tiny portals of Light descended
beams directed heavy bags ready
cigarettes and gaffes lit discomfort
Tiny portals of Light descended
blue aura of woody smoke rise
cigarettes and gaffes lit discomfort
Colonel loomed large with his lieutenant
Mighty proud was I
with me lumber in one hand
my brick me carried in the other
I placed the brick in the barn yard
tall side for gained height
balanced the lumber board on top
I am silent and of Scottish temperament
You see folks
my feathered pet cock
was cock a doodle do-ing all day long
yapping and yelling
ranting and raving
the other farm animals had all had enough
action demanded
I place the ol koileach
at the end of one side of the board
all while smiling at the brainless duine beag
immediately I jumped on the other end
sending that whiny ol cock mid air
into the sea
he drowned
Ah what a wonderful day ladies
I shall meander onwards
among the heather and moor
my brick magically transformed
to fine woody scotch
oh what tales I shall tell
if tomorrow ever comes
Miracles of GrandMother Tree
begin with her purgative peaceful birth.
For at this time,
so long before her cycling rings of time began,
we see her original seed
and this seed's less original composting environment,
and within this brief timeless moment,
before her benign becoming,
these each appear to decompose
into each recomposing other,
beginning GrandMother Tree's long waging of peace-filling rings,
recording recycling time's historic four fractal seasons
of perennial reproduction
Once begun with consilient fertility,
GrandMother revolves through days and nights
relentlessly deepening creolizing root systems
of nonzero co-relational recreation.
For each new ring
another year of cooperative becoming.
Cooperative thrival,
and only as necessary
competitive survival,
or healthy becoming decays to loss of living
Yet even these degenerative transitions
are not equivalent to springing back to prior springs.
She cannot go home again
because she carries her original home
within her still small skeletal seeds
reincarnating past purgations and ministrations
All while extending further rooting down
ever richer deeper cooperative
health-seeking Win/Win system sensors.
And so, at last,
GrandMother Tree begins to fade from Yangish life
toward Yin-emptying death.
Whether fast, through uprooting hurricane,
or slow, through slowing drying aging defense/offense loss of balance,
her woody organs disintegrate
creating compost perfect for her dormant seeds
and, even more richly,
for seeds of her adult children,
now become intrinsic to
her richly interdependent forested environment.
Her forest floor
each spring
producing metamorphic regenerations
of seeds and benign environmental compost
remembering each Win/Win peace fulfilling communication
GrandMother Tree winds and water
reweaving nutrients of time
in economic co-invested
political co-empathic space
Ecosystem rooting for waging peace,
ever more robustly resilient
While waging defensive war
strenuously defeats dynamic balance,
waging Win/Win peace requires root systems
repeating GrandMother's dharma balance.
One day, when I was gardening,
and putting seeds into the ground
I pushed aside a pile of sticks,
and I heard this tweeting sound
The tweet came from an injured woodpecker
That had a broken left wing
So, I took him in and to the best I could,
I made makeshift sling
I kept him in the basement,
so that I wouldn't hear his noise
And I put him in a giant cage,
with water, food and toys
I nursed him for a while,
and he was looking really great
Until one night when I came home,
from working kind of late
Each night when I'd come home,
I'd fill his bowls and check
To see if he could fly again,
or maybe try to peck
But sadly, when I walked down my steps,
there were feathers on the floor
My cat somehow got to the cage
and opened up the door
I didn't tell my daughter,
that sadly Woody died
I told her that I let him go,
a rare time that I lied
So, after cleaning up the mess,
I gave a feather to my child
And I told her Woody flew away
and he is living in the wild
I told a little white lie,
but I think it was for best
Because, my daughter, she was happy,
when I laid her head to rest