Oaks Poems - Poems about Oaks

The Wife's Lament

"The Wife's Lament" or "The Wife's Complaint" is an Old English/Anglo Saxon poem found in the Exeter Book, which has been dated to 960-990 AD, making it the oldest English poetry anthology. "The Wife's Lament" may be the oldest extant English poem written by a female poet. 

The Wife's Lament
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I

The Old Oaks

steadfast, the wrinkled strong arms of the old oaks, remain
invincible in handshake -
firm grip.
the lightning, rain & gusts
cannot separate
the best of friends.

Among Ancient Oaks

How 
quickly
they scurry
each November
among ancient oaks.
Jaws holding the treasures
they hoard in domestic holes.
Flicking bushy tails while finding
acorns and cones in woodland delis.


November 7, 2022   
A November Nonet Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich

The Turning of Leaves

“The Turning of Leaves”

While walking down a 
Forest trail
I came upon
A most beautiful sight 								 

Much to my delight 
A forest floor covered
In multitudes
Of yellows, oranges, 
And crimson reds. 

Fluttering about on a chiffon breeze    
These jewels from summer’s past fell
Stitching blankets for queens
As they lie in midnight dreams
 
I stopped along

Pin Oaks In Autumn

Pin oaks unfurl golden flags in September
Until they stand starkly naked and proud
While the ground is carpeted, I remember,

Strong autumn breezes their heads bowed
Hovering over the bare limbs quivering
Until they stand starkly naked and proud.

Soon the forest is prepared for shivering
Pin oaks anticipate a woolen blanket of snow,
Hovering over the bare limbs quivering.

A woodland stripped

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

Prelude

So many preludes, yet so little time
unanswered questions, tall mountains to climb.

Basking in wisdom, oft arrogance shown; 
given scruples, we precariously own.

Life but the prelude to beautiful songs
finding its way amidst nature's vast throngs.

Old oaks and blossoms sprung from single seeds
preludes: seedlings of life's impatient needs.

Chapter upon chapter our lives peruse
good and evil choosing which

Revered By Oaks

acorn faerie
flirting with the browns and reds of autumn
oak trees appreciate her lightness
recognizing a kindred spirit
allowing her freedoms
they rarely give to brownies or elves

Miracle Soul Keeper of the Oaks

Miracle Soul Keeper of the Listening Oaks 
such a glimmer of hope 
glowing with fruition and joy

unseen by humans
always felt by empaths
feared by unscrupulous crones

Miracle Soul Keeper of the Listening Oaks 
She who nurtures the forest
replenishing her starts

An ethereal mist 
cloaks her effervescent innocence
hunters parade past unaware

Miracle Soul Keeper of the Listening Oaks
fearless and timeless
guarding

Abode

Its a home provided by two
Some from me and some from you
A serene  place ,yet often loud
A place called home , which we are proud
Many have stopped just to pass us by
Yet its this old home that we can rely
The walls are crumbling,& the floor is damp wet
No theirs not any holes atleast none

Goblins In the Oaks

I was going to a haunted house, a ghoulish affair
Advertised in town with signs noting, "BEWARE."
They were posted with this cautionary warning:
"If you enter, there will be reasons for mourning.
Zombies will haunt you; you'll shiver with fright.
Vampires will be feasting this Halloween night!"

I drove to the site, looking forward to each hoax
but stopped when I

Acorns and Oaks

Coffin dodgers and nursing home lodgers,
wrinklies, pensioners and plain old codgers.
A drain on society, archaic models of piety,
bed blockers, youth knockers, paragons of sobriety.

But is all that we see, all that it seems,
the elderly, like you, still have hopes and dreams.
Still carry the baton for tomorrow's youth,
the keepers of history, the sentinels of truth.

Though the

Canopy of Oaks

Under my Refuge
A canopy of Oaks
Sheltering from the blazing sunshine
Sheltering from the sweltering heat
That has put me to flight
To seek the solace of trees
Too much brightness, too much light
On this summers day

The trees are wilting
They have no water to drink
As on the grounds  leaves are falling
Carpeting the ground
The crow squawks for water
To quench its

Intertwined Oaks

oaks intertwined way
her bramble tree clutches the air
a maze in motion

Woods

Woods

In the green woods no path has direction
decay is a form of progress
and despite all the circumspection
'Getting there" wouldn't be understood.

It's true, ants industrialize, and squirrels very middle-class
bank on the prodigal oaks. But the fashion is baroque--tulips like venetian glass, birds ignite on every branch, each elm has Restoration sleeves, 
and the bees and flowers

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