Mosses Poems

does everyone else understand bird speak

the birds’ conversation is lively and fast
do the trees understand?
what about the long grasses and the violets?
Is everyone in the know?
the mosses? the dandelions? the ivy?
Does everybody understand bird speak except me?

Flower Chide VI, Stemrise

Toward Scent fold’s vale they cleaved the green,
Where wind runs thick with things unseen.
“Is it justice you seek or just her place?”
Lotus said, his voice low, draped in grace.
The blossoms paused, their vows unsealed,
Each plucked petal quaking in truth revealed.
For in his oblique gaze, the mirror lay.
Become the wound or forge the way.

The wound was raw and the way unknown
And from that break, a voice was thrown
"Let's all go to Netherbloom and trace,
a flare to rise and claim our place".

Azure was still, but knew the storm would rise.
So, he nurtured the mosses and lichens wise.

Netherbloom was far and path was fire
still, they trudged through thorn and mire.
They reached the brink where wild roots twine,
A voice uncoiled from the Caelith's shine
“You crossed the flame; you bore the haunt
Now speak your vow, what is it you want?"

“We want equality,” they said, “in beauty.”
"Not bowed by rank but crowned in mutiny.”
said Lily with her grief filled voice.
“Let beauty be truth, not any mortal's choice.”
spoke waning Tulip, holding her poise.

jennifers magic garden kingdom

Jennifer’s adoring husband built her a castle greenhouse
surrounded by a gorgeous brick wall with round banisters.
she spent spring and summer out there, planting flowers
poppies, lilies, tulips, and roses were her favorites.

She also nurtured wild flowers like woodland sunflowers
Queen Anne’s lace, mosses, violets, and wild strawberries
Her husband rarely ventured out into the wilds of her garden world
Those who did were amazed at her quintessential green thumb

She would dig up plants that looked like they were not going to make it.
Do magic things to them, and not only would they survive. They thrived.
Jennifer, the gardener, am amazing woman with a magic garden kingdom.
Whose beautiful garden brought life back to her neighbors.

loving the feel of nature

I must have been an Indian in another life
for I see the Great Father
in the clouds

I hear him in the trees, loving the way
he makes the cottonwood leaves twinkle
and flutter in silver and gray prettiness

I give thanks to him staring into a cumulus cloud
fluffy as a cotton ball, unmoving and serious
it makes me laugh

if my feet worked like they used to, I would twirl
around and around staring into the sky
loving the feel of nature as it silently watches

there is so much to appreciate and adore in the world
yellow daffodils, aromatic lilacs, fuzzy mosses,
big juicy red tomatoes

I spin a tiny bit
for I cannot
not spin….

Wild

WILD

At the foot of my garden,
Where nobody  goes
There are foxgloves and brambles,
And a pink rambling rose.

There are nettles so tall,
They strive for the sky,
Ivies and grasses,
Sprawling near by.

Buttercups and daisies,
A scattering of clover,
Mosses and meadow sweet,
Trying to take over.

Willow herb, lady’s mantle,
A riot of greens,
Sweet smelling honeysuckle,
A desire to be seen.

Their aim is survival,
So they turn to the sun,
Or seek the damp shade,
Where deep shadows run.

They fight for the light,
And for freedom to roam,
To find their own space,
A place to call home.

Next door is a garden,
So different from mine,
Neat rows of dahlias,
In a straight line.

Fixed to the spot,
No freedom to move,
To find their own joy,
In a place that they love.

A chance to explore,
And play like a child,
To follow our dreams,
And live free and wild.

Loch Ba

With clouds dispersing above Loch Ba,
to where would we go? And just how far?
We followed the track for more than two hours
listening to birds enjoying the flowers:
meadow pippit, willow warbler 
curlew, lapwing and skylarks,
bog asphodel and milkwort, 
ragged robin and lousewort,
plenty of pignut and wild thyme.
The remembrance has more value
than contriving a rhyme!
Around us the trees alder and oak
contorted old rowan and birch
all covered in lichen and mosses. 
After lunch we returned along the shore 
with grebes, geese a raptor and so much more.

Isle of Mull, 14th June 2024

Her Mushroom Hat

Her mushroom hat gave us pause, made us stop.
We saw beautiful monarchs nearing the top.
Mosses and violets surrounded the edge.
In the middle of the back was a woodland ledge.

Her mushroom hat was designed with love.
Inherited from her grandmother’s talents from above.
We were in awe of the gorgeous concoction she made.
There were tiny toadstools down in the grass shade.

Mosses

Green leaves blocking the sky
  under the tree branches,
Between the triangular and square
  pebbles of the softest curve,
Water of unknown origin flows
  white streams of water and bubbles
Appear and then disappear,
  and at some point,
Pass by the big rock right in front of you
  become one with your poor friends
Then it hits the edge
  of the computer monitor.

pink moon

when the ducks return
	pink mosses utter volumes ~
		Lakota listen

(April Full Moon – Lakota)

Spring Congratulates Herself

contemplative, reflective, thoughtful, pensive, introspective spring
surveying her meadows and woodlands, encouraging the daffodils,
lilacs, violets and fresh mosses.
She encourages and enthuses her verdent greens to do their best.
Buds are starting on limbs, tiny leaves are beginning to appear.
She congratulates herself, again a success, loving her occupation.

Myrtles In the Mist

Myrtles in the mist
Sunlight streaming in
An ethereal presence
A rainbow of tapestry
Little light purple star flowers
In the ink green darkness
At the heels of the eucalyptus woods

A lavender lullaby, wordless
Bluebonnet faces shady with sleep
A hum of a psalm that is all life throbbing
Earth in constant motion
An ocean cradle rocking for centuries
Apocalypse forever renewed
When dew becomes jewel
And frost sews its lace

A crochet of vines
Embroidery of mosses and flora
Scent and sound
Fragrant rustling of the eucalyptus
On the salt-sea breeze
Swept off from the dunes
The last twinkle in the dusk

Quiet flower heads lie in wait
Of some ancient memory
That may never exist
For some long-forgotten harmony
And heartbreak
Washed in on some far-off shore

When the mist of the morning
And the mist of the dusk
Are indistinguishable
When both command and instill
A hush and halt
A mind-clouding gas
Mesmerize and harmonize

Some mists are eternal
Some a passing glance
Emotions and myrtles go hand in hand
The mists are the spirits of the earth
Myrtles are a lullaby
The evening prayer that glows within.

Winter Coller

Winter Coolers

The air of Delhi,
Giving the pure air bely,
One-time visit to our Suraj valley,
Where even stone mosses give pure air.
Where the discussion on the Chinaberry,
Giving Great Green Back Order,
To  Cloud Computing cloudiness ( pollutants ) Maker,
Giving Originally order to Organized Oregon,
When Cloud bawls and fallen teardrop,
Telling The Kohinoor salvation,
Where on winter flour Dive from Sky,
The rind of the Seville Soar Orange tells the Winter Cooler Current.

Woodland Elf Plays Flute

male woodland elf with your handsome smile 
frolicking between oaks and maples
shimmering green and silver leaves with pride
hugging willow trees around their middles 
leaving the purple violets wanting more
as fey as gnomes, faeries, and brownies 
i sense you slipping in and out of the forest in silence
delighting in the mushrooms and the mosses
intriguing the innocence of the woods
playing your mesmerizing melodic flute

A Quiet Place

A quiet place, to rest one’s bones 
by the stream of stepping stones 
Water trickles wild mosses grow 
and rushes on edge, gently blow

A quiet place, to forget about work 
Close ones eyes, escape life’s murk
Feel cooling winds caress our face 
and soft moments filling headspace 

A quiet place, where time sits still 
Lost are troubles amongst the hills 
At one with nature, no more cares
and if the world ends, be unaware 

A quiet place, has no need for hope 
everything fits nicely, here we cope
Seize these minutes to take a break 
and enjoy the dream, whilst awake

By David Kavanagh

Forest Antler Ghost of the Oaks

Upon arrival Forest Antler Ghost of the Oaks shook the leaves
She tweaked some of the mosses, so they were a bit springier
She gave love to the woodland violets and mushrooms
The north wind and the oaks always sensed her arrival.
They spruced themselves up a bit; the faeries were unsure
They felt something but were not able to fully see her.
The elves brownies and forest imps figured it out first,
mayhap due to their close affinity with woods.

• Short Mosses Poems
• Famous Mosses Poems
• Best Mosses Poems
• Read Mosses Poems
• Long Mosses Poems
• Mosses Quotes