Overhanging Poems

Listen for the Wind

The draft dips downward, limbs swaying in the wind;
fearless butterfly hovers over a branch.
Listening too late, one strong gust of wind
propels her towards an overhanging tree.
She grabs hold; hunching under leaves; she waits it out.
What a story she'll have for her kiddoes tonight.

Audacious bee is busily engaged
stockpiling nectar from nearby tulip blooms.
He hears the wind's howl and crawls quickly to safety
deep inside a budding tulip blossom's petals.
"Wind's too strong to risk flying back to the hive;
I might land in Timbuktu or the Sahara."

Hard-working ants set out on their quest early;
word has it that there's treasure on Ridge Rd.
Hauling crumbs twice his size, along the dusty path,
Andy has made three trips already by noon.
Wearily, he trudges along with his last load
and gets wind of a blast coming his way.
Dropping cargo, he crawls to a crack just in time.

Wallpaper

My magical Chinese garden
was small:
tiny willows
pagodas
and mulberry trees
emerging serenely
from the mist
pastelwise
like Shangri-La over and over
on the far side of
an equally diminutive stream
under a parchment sky.

Slipping unnoticed over the footbridge
at the top of the stairs
I’d wait alone under the willow
overhanging the bank
ribbonfluttering silvergreen in the breeze
where their wintry silences couldn’t reach me,
hoping that maybe
I’d meet another child
like me
escaping into the garden
through the wallpaper in her house
but we moved away
unexpectedly
before that happened.

Our Love Abiding

Wave a magic wand.
Bring me to the pond
we two slowly strolled around.
Hand in hand, our walk, 
in soft tones, our talk, 
as, new love, we surely found. 

Overhanging trees,
gentle, soothing breeze,
swans, on the water, gliding,
as we did decide
you would be my bride,
since then, our love abiding.

The Sweet Springtide

 

"And like a Spring flower be soft and beautiful, and 
never, ever lose the courage and strength to bloom."

                                             Quote by _ Constance


I love walking alone in the sweet springtide,
down forest paths overhanging with green trees;
where here and there, everywhere pretty birds glide,
oh, divine the lovely fragrant scented breeze !
I adore the fairy-like flowers swaying,
oh, gone is winter's terrible decaying;
and soon, I meet evenings purple twilight veil,
and on my path runs a rabbit cotton tail !

A Lovely October Morn

A lovely October morning!
Today I rose much earlier than usual.
I watch the night stealing away, 
Like an accused convict under cover.

Sunlight peeks through the leaves.
In the haze of overhanging mist,
Only the blurred silhouette of trees, in sight. 
The crows have begun their raucous call.

The leaves of grass are misted with dew.
A cool zephyr blows from the south.
The sky in scintillating colors adorn.
Even Sirius, the brightest star has paled.

Life is slowly beginning to unfold,
And men like shadows have begun to move.
The sun has now climbed to the Eastern hills,
In magisterial glory like a mighty king.

Shattering the mist with his lance like beams,
He exults like a victorious warrior.
His crystal rays rouse the sleeping birds,
And they begin their chorus in wondrous rhyme.

I enjoy the sweetness of this lovely morn.
In serene silence, I stand and watch,
The light that slowly fills the Earth,
Dispelling all trace of overhanging darkness!

Necessity

the air of our quiet breathing
the bower bounce on which to live
outlasting all the blooms and bells of time
sweet to inhale in fresh woods and on sunflower hills

in an ever-changing dance
come ruins of unseasonable change
from bending heat
from lightning strikes
to flame the forests
particle showers like white fire singed
twinning thin air with a polluted cling
overhanging smoke
for cities in a gray-grind swim

just an environmental blip say some
not the change that threatens human kind
this smoke field as vast as all the world's disorder
what's salvageable?
a will to cherish crystal air that skims our wings
                                           like a New Year's revel

soulful comfort
were we wiser once?
before fire choked the passing clouds
before the cauldron bubbled

the air
atmospheric anchor
vessel of our calling
imperiled necessity
once floating idealism
the changing sails of what we own

The Climb

i am on a stony peak
inches from
a ledge overhanging the sky

below me
rock ravens circle
on warm thermals
a tiny village
has dug itself
into a deeper world
than eyesight can reach

my companion
is dangling his legs
over clouds

my toes are curling
legs vibrating with
a thousand knotted chills

my fellow climber is whopping it up
waving his hands in the air
in a wild endorphin rush

god I wish I were younger than my bones
and forever
                  just this moment old.

Weekend Memory

the light breeze
   cooled the morning sun
daytrip Venice
            had begun
vantage views
       from a vaporetto
inch-by-inch
 the skyline began to  grow

St Marks cameinto view
etched       on a sky  so blue
tourist scrambled
           from the boat
sensory feelings inside     emote

ambling along piazzas   wide
campanile renaissance
                a city's pride
byzantine palaces     bridge of sighs
facias painted
           in pastel dyes
gothic churches     candles ablaze
carvings   to draw the gaze
depicted ceilings     vivant  tableau 
  golden bedecked reredos

pizza italiano     barolo red wine
relax  chat   then  dine
'neath parasoled
            courtyard shade
as gondaliers anchor
             to quayside   arcade

homward  along canal    grande
below balconies  
           overhanging   sun-tanned
houses emulsioned terracotta   bold
kaleidoscopic memories
                  made manifold

Untold

Untold are the steps I would take,
How many more will lead me to redemption?
I only go through a door,
I don’t know the mileage.

Untold is the turbulent waters I'll wade through,
Where do I meet the shore?
My feet are at their best,
Hope is my propeller.

Untold is the dark skies overhanging,
My thoughts push through the gloom,
Anticipating the radiant room,
When will I bask in a season of light?

Untold is my sojourn,
When do I get to the tranquil region?
I see signposts,
It’s an aerial view.

Untold is the seething cauldron,
When will it be pacified?
 The ambience is stifling,
I seek the serene stream.


April 18, 2023.
Writing Challenge - 'U' Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.

Withernwick - Trees

In the village where I was born
There was always lots of trees.
Especially those in the church yard,
Gently swaying in the slightest breeze.
I suppose there must have been times
When those branches were storm thrashed
And there must have been times 
When those  branches split and smashed
But, overhanging our cottage,
Those giants to my child’s eyes
Sent me to sleep 
With their whispers and sighs.
Murmured to me all night long
And woke me in the morning 
As they accompanied the chorus
Of dawn bird song.

I sheltered under those trees.
Some carried my name 
Carved with my first knife,
All boys had one then,
Just a part of country life.
I clung to those trunks as tightly 
As I would later cling to any lover
As I scrambled up to try to look over 
The village, my world spread below
I scrambled as high up as I dared go.

Most of those trees like my family 
Are now dead and gone
Those that are left shelter the graves
So I can move on.
I rarely go back now,
I feel so alone,
So I keep the village in my memories
And let the village keep the bones.
But, over the years
It keeps calling to me
My magical village of singing trees.

Lifeline

she filled her lungs with air and insanity,
her heart grappling for mercy against her chest,
growing weary from a dissociating tyrant,
her mind running laps to every nerve synapse,
fleeing from the feral monster inside her.

breathing easy was like an exhaustible task,
frail and meager, her body laid upon a bed,
her bones like steel prying into her flesh,
every living cell fixated on terror that ruined
her vitality and heralded imminent suffering.

on the monitor was a haphazard lifeline;
how does she return to life before this calamity?
how can she hush her heartbeats to a lullaby?
who can embrace her vulnerable heart with love?
who else can save her except for herself?

she solemnly sworn upon her life,
pleading for a day of being free from pain,
from sufferings that felt boundless and
like an overhanging demon that never leaves.
every moment she gave up, it became stronger.

until it weighed painstakingly with every breath,
she had an epiphany; a stroke of luck just in time.
manifesting a spear, she lunged it into her heart.
the demise of the dark entity that brooded within,
was the moment she saw the light, a new life.

Shimmering Shadows

Shimmering shadows across the meadow trail
Dancing in the afternoon sun, glancing fondly
Toward the woodland coolness so invitingly,
Beckoning me to stroll beneath the canopy
Of overhanging branches hovering protectively
Like mothering arms holding the distraught.

A place to find one’s peace midst the enfolding
Vicissitudes of complex living, such as it is,
In these difficult, compelling times we share
Unable to discern principled directions clearly
While seeking what we feel we have earned,
Our fondest endeavors often reputedly lacking.

Shimmering shadows, ephemeral, as real as light,
Which we cannot take into outstretched hands
The branches swaying in a filtered breeze
Whispering consoling sighs, while suggesting
New imaginings, new lyrics set to new tunes
Bring fresh ways of thinking to mother’s child. 

Written June 5, 2022
[Experimenting with
stream of consciousness
poetry]

submitted to "2022 Poetry Marathon Mile Eight"
sponsored by Mark Toney

Solitude

Melancholy moonbeams cascade 
over a lattice of canopies 
of the overhanging trees, 
like millions of sparkling snakes   
slithering over the surface
of the silent water of the lake.

A sense of bodeful uneasiness
flood into my solitary soul;

When love is lost
No one and nothing could hurt more,
No one and nothing pleases ever.

In how many varied places  
do I profess my love?
In how many ways 
do I proclaim my love?

A quivering blanket of mist
stealthily envelopes the grassy plain
drawing me into its rapture.


~03/30/22
~Contest: A Brian Strand Premier Choice.

Life Has Been Divine

 
an old lady walks all alone
    her legs are so tired 
          but her face so happy . . . 
for at last she has found this dreamy place
      of her long past memories
            oh, painted daisy
     she recalls gathering bouquets of them
             under a perfect blue sky 
          she listens to the cool stream babbling
    on the way to somewhere . . .
the weeping willow still hangs her head
                   over the water 
          and the blue jay is still singing
  from a overhanging tree 
      a welcome back song . . . 
so tired, she lays down on the grass 
      closing her ancient eyes, smiling 
           and whispering, life has been divine

_____________________
March 18, 2022

Poetry/Free Verse/life has been divine
Copyright Protected, ID 03- 1440-755-18
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France


Written for the Standard contest, A Brian Strand 1092
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/20/2022

First Place

Jacaranda Blue Cherry Blossom Pink Sunset Infused

Bestow on me an incorrect
3 leafed clover ephigy of 
buttercup due early spring May 

With I meandering through a maze
of cotton wool field lost
Trying best to avert the gaze of
the virile bull's with Horn's poised

Whilst listening to the joy of piercing
ringing mandolin string's and trooping
drum's in both left and right ear's on 
my head

Eminating from the Yee Grand Old
Antebellum Plantation guard house

Adorned with a lushious overhanging
archway on either side of it's giant's
causeway

If you dare imagine with Jacaranda Blue 
and Cherry blossom infused on a sunset 
pink hue nude muse

Instantaneously ushering forth a vision
of Scarlett O'Hara vivacious locks 

Gone with the wind like a kite upon a
hazy shimmering warm summer up draft

Augusta Georgia R.E.M night-swimming
aftermath

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