* * * * * * *
Into old comfort zones, honed from a million years before,
a reclining evening slips gently down the trees
Pensive cricket songs, uncoil from the thickets now,
and spiral upwards upon a hem of a sinking sun
A reclining evening slips gently down the trees
The stars appear, and settle into constellation memories,
and spiral upwards upon a hem of a sinking sun
The laughter of a summer day is put to rest
The stars appear, and settle into constellation memories
Pensive cricket songs uncoil from the thickets now
The laughter of a summer day is put to rest,
into old comfort zones, honed from a million years before
Oh, the air’s a little fresher
When we feel that new spring breeze;
And the sun’s a little brighter
When the dogwood paints the trees.
And the redbud comes a blushing
On those ancient Ozark hills;
As we now hunt those ghost morels
In the hollows and the dells.
Oh, the tulip trees come dancing
As squirrels commence to chatter;
Yes, old spring fever’s in our blood
And our troubles just don’t matter.
The bird’s put their hearts in singing
‘Cause just what’s a spring all for?
It’s a celebration living
As our hearts and spirits soar!
Yes, the wind’s a little cleaner
As that old gray winter flees;
And that gold sun lights up our souls
As dogwood resurrects the trees.
It stood on the other side of the wall rooted firmly
for the white bougainvillea tree did not belong to me
Wondered why it always branched this side
paving my walkway with blooms of white
While I patiently waited for my rose bush to flower
it nonchalantly continued its year-long showers
Unbothered unfettered by the gardener’s reaper, it grew
in every direction, old branches shooting off the new
Assiduously each day I tried to broom them away
but they, like a mother’s kisses were always there
Falling softly like advices from an old friend
they were fragile, paper-white, yet persistent
With gentle breeze they glide to me be it summer rain or spring
Innumerable, countless like God’s many blessings.
Have you heard of the wise old Owl
Who sits in the old oak tree
Have you wondered why the wise old Owl
Attracts the forests creatures to he
Well, what this old Owl could do
He was always prepared to listen
And for that he passed on his wisdom
Soon the forest began to glisten
Then came that terrible day
When others thought he knew nothing at all
All the creatures ran amok
In a frenzied do what you like ball
The old Owl was having none of this
And he called on the forest elders to court
If you keep carrying on this way
What you have, I shall have to abort
And behold the very next day
The forest became quiet and serene
On the old oak tree the old wise Owl declared
What you have now achieved, humans can only dream
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-14.php
The law of attraction pulls me to you
For as long as I can recall
Dreaming of the rolling hills
Beside castles I'm so small.
Romance fills the air
Everywhere is wonder
I hide my heart because its big
So it can not be plundered.
Love you land of beauty
Love you land of luck
May you keep your sweetest charm
Maybe Cupid struck.
If a leprechaun should appear
The magic show begins
Dance and let the soul renew
Get rid of heavy sins.
Shamrocks mean divinity
The green will blind your eyes
The wind blows free across the lakes
The rivers old and wise.
Inhale exhale
Breathe in divine
Taste the country
Like age old wine.
Blank page __freedom of speech
Tangerine aroma floats on the air
Off in the distance I hear the hawk screech
In my imagination I can see the pair
The tangerine taste as I had hoped
Slightly tart but yet slightly sweet
Many people are strung out on dope
Off in the distance the crow will eat meat
God has supplied food for them as treat
The tangerine is slowly consumed
The old man still lives in the moon that's concrete
This old world is surely doomed
The aroma lingers on my hands
The scent is wonderful nature's treat
Soon this earth will tremble angel stands
Jesus in the clouds Saints will meet
Praise to Him!
The Old Red Barn
I look out over the field laid out before me,
The smell of fresh cut grass and dirt fill my senses.
A white fence is running laps around the field
while the round bails of hay wait to be collected.
As I lean against the fence looking at the scene before me
I see the rolling hills like waves of green so bright I have to squint.
Trees are scattered along the landscape like spots on a Dalmatian
while creating the perfect shade for the exhausted livestock.
Off in the distance I can see a deer walking across the field
noticing each movement as it stops to feed.
The old red barn stands alone matching the beauty around it
reminding everyone that passes the beauty that comes with age.
The scene before me is a constant reminder of the changing of time
in a fast past world there will always be the memory of the old red barn to slow things down.
Hundreds of snowdrops
Flowering under old trees
Cold horses awaiting
Their food to be brought
Paint-flaking windows
Reflecting thin sunlight
Large piles of wood chopped
To warm up the freeze
Cows at the farm-gate
With milk-swollen udders
Birdsong awakening
An old hive of bees
Arthritic limbs crackle
The old cat’s awake now
One eye open
A paw stretched
Assessing the scene
Cold is the snow, under my feet
Blades are the wind, at my skin
Cane is the object, guiding me through
Beauty is the hope, I will see
Rocks I grab, along my way
Fear is evident, in unending fall
Strength fills old bones, to push on
Ice blisters convert, my face to stone
A slip, I have no breath
The voice, has pulled me to
My cane bent, I make a step
Glory, is the situation
One final leap, amazed
Every mountain ever made, shines
Light combines with air, old eyes reflect
Stars shine, no restraint exists
This is the peak, beauty
Every color unknown, hangs in a misty cradle
My blued sight illuminates, I feel not but warmth
I grip the ice, and look on at god forever
She blooms along the old stone wall,
the puissant scented Bourbon Rose,
intoxicating one and all.
Tenacious strength, green vines grown tall,
tender pink and thorns juxtapose,
she blooms, along the old stone wall.
Bountiful blush, sweet siren call
when soft summer breeze fragrant blows,
intoxicating one and all.
Upon the street pink petals fall
the path to paradise disclose,
she blooms along the old stone wall.
Delicate beauty fates enthrall,
to each a peaceful place transpose
intoxicating one and all.
Each blossom yearns, so sweet and small
where love’s magical beauty glows,
she blooms along the old stone wall
intoxicating one and all.
WHAT IS IT? (triple Tanka)
it comes over you
like nothing you’ve ever felt
then you must ponder –
are conditions different?
is it because it’s springtime?
is it the birdsong?
do they sing so much sweeter?
is it the green-rush -
how bare places are hidden?
is it because it’s springtime?
is it that old love?
I should say old love made new
is that what it is?
oh! how the body responds!
yes! it’s because it’s springtime
Grey clouds crept in like old men
White beards puffed and swollen
The wind at first came in whispers
Then cooled and fought like sisters
About the air all sharp and raw
Lashed the cheek with taloned claw
And along these tree lined halls
The clouds cough and snow it falls
And in no time all was bright
As if the artist had spilt his white
Tottering knee deep in cotton wool
On virgin ground my footsteps pull
Now eased and clouds withdrawn
From natures rage peace is born
The pitter patter of melting snow
The sun its flexing muscles show
Life proceeds amidst the glow
As nature loves all will grow
All was there then all was gone
My dogs and I we walked as one
Yet vivid thoughts still remain
When from the north the old men came
Showed their might and staked their claim
~~
In an old fashioned garden behind a stone wall
Hollyhocks and sunflowers growing so tall
Red rambling roses drape over a fence
Old fashioned flowers with colours intense.
Lupins and larkspur in lilac display
Buddleia blooming where butterflies play
Surrounding moonflower whose petals unfold
A bright splash of starburst, marsh marigold
Herbaceous borders, rosemary and rue
Columbines and clover full damp with the dew
Scents long forgotten their perfumes endow
I loved them long ago, I love them now
These old fashioned flowers, I planted them all,
In an old fashioned garden behind a stone wall
~~
I believe that all things, living or not have a spirit
Rather it be an dead tree limb or a live oak tree
If you know how to listen, it will let you know it is there
It is like the spirit that will not quit
You never know what you will see
Or what the wood spirit has to share
Early each morning, I like to carve on a piece of wood
Roll a smoke, hot cup of coffee, the sun is just getting out of bed
Not a noise being made, my thoughts are silent
Knife in hand, just me and that old piece of wood
To the spirit, like words are being said
I know that if there is a message it will be sent
Cut a little deeper here and shave a little more there
A little sand paper and a good coat of varnish
It is all very therapeutic to me
Don't need any pills, but at my watch I stare
I know it is almost to the finish
Just thinking, once this was part of an old tree
It is three in the afternoon, I missed breakfast again
I spent the whole day and was not even aware
Just like I was in another world on a visit
But it is not like that I did not win
Carving all day without a care
Knowing tomorrow, again I will spend it with THE WOOD SPIRIT
Another walk in these old woods
The air is crisp
stiff wind is good
Leaves of red and yellow gold
Another Autumn day unfolds
I think of all the stories told
By these woods in days of old
Of how man
and his cold ways
Are so much worse than Autumn days
How so many forests vanish
I am sure if we were banished
These old woods
would surely flourish
Its many species
souls to nourish
How man simply
turns away
When for progress
and for play
We simply cut down
all the trees
Out of false
necessity
I listen now
as I walk through
And hear the tears
of timbers who
Know that they
too shall disappear
If all of us
don't also hear
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