I wait by the tallest green pine tree.
I wait for him to set me free.
A few scattered yellow wood cabins
a swimming pool surrounded by pines
a pier to fish from, a lake not to go in
‘cept for the stinkpots* and sailboats *i.e., motorboats
marshmallow roasts by the campfire at dusk
a ghost story or two to relate
along with the hotdogs and burgers that day
the ghosts evicted whatever we ate
Fragile pine sapling
Green rising from brittle leaves
Pure fringed refreshment
Here I grow, a handsome fir tree,
Standing upright within my wood;
An innocent, then let me be.
Where now I thrive for all to see,
Strobilus stemmed out of the bud;
Here I grow, a handsome fir tree.
Today I prosper, living free,
As streaming sap spawns my lifeblood;
An innocent, then let me be.
Forever green and wild are we,
My friends and I'd age if we could;
Here I grow, a handsome fir tree.
The gentle breeze may hear my plea
And listen to me as it should;
An innocent, then let me be.
So, man is come to sever me,
To rob me of my livelihood.
Here I grow, a handsome fir tree
An innocent, then let me be.
Alan S Jeeves
The Pining Pine Tree
The pining pine tree brings Christmas joy,
and then is discarded.
Chainsaw Poetry
David J Walker
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of the
Whirrrrrrrrrrrr into
Action
The attraction of
A curio crowd
Loud
with big gulp glops of dripping
snow cones drops melting on the summer
mountain of a westbound sun
they have all come
to see me cut
Poems out of Pine trees
And catch prose
In the breeze
Of a hot grease
Smelling salts
Tourist trap gas station
Not even
On the map
To some other destination
The chain saw whine
Drowns other sounds
As I cut
Four letter words
That rhyme
With Pine
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of a blur of
The naughtiest words
Learned on the playground
Found and impounded
Into poetry
As the parents hide the eyes
Of the kids and stop and watch in shock
At the artistry of
Chainsaw poetry
She wears a pine tree on her sweater,
her skirt is the green of the valley,
gray hair done up in long braids,
she is someone's grandma who
has seen a few miles as her wrinkles show,
a woman who has kept her glow.
She wears a pine tree on her sweater,
friends know that she enjoys the outdoors,
taking walks with her trusty old dog
along the lower trails of the mountain near,
carrying her diamond willow walking stick
helping her from tripping which is a trick.
She wears a pine tree on her sweater,
donates to environmental causes,
receiving sets of self-addressed labels
which she applies to envelopes of
recycled paper of Christmas cheer,
showing Bambi the loving and sweet deer.
She wears a pine tree on her sweater,
a symbol of wisdom and longevity,
it is a sacred one among the tribes
of the land of the Red Sunrise,
she is a proud American Native,
who displays her tree as being creative.
The contours cascading from the higher Himalayan slope
hold me, the upstanding cone of jade, a coniferous pine,
gilded in gold soaked from the swathe of glistened snow,
turning to mirror of flakes, flushed by dawn’s yellow sun.
A coat of cinnabar I get as the crimson clouds pass me by
across the gleam of twilight sky to the chromatic horizon.
As the northern winds graze over the frozen topography
my mind quivers on the tip of needles in the winter chill.
As the shroud of silence falls with the drizzle of still night
the cerulean stardusts sprinkle shine on my silken visage,
shimmering with my ardent dream to pierce the thin air,
soar up high in the satin sky and touch the twinkling stars.
The reverie comes true somewhere else, some other time
when to a far-off place in the midst of festival of joy I go
to be charming Christmas tree crowned by sapphire stars,
my desire to be among stars is fulfilled in Christmas night.
December 28, 2019
Contest : I Am A Tree
Sponsor : Delilah Ventura
A young pine has buried its needles in the wild grass,
Gradually it stands out of the thick basils in a mass.
No one realizes that it can pierce the clouds high,
And would praise its lofty goal until it reaches the sky.
(tran.)
Pine Tree Needles,
And Ladybug Beetles,
Upon The Canvas Dwell.
To A Place Beyond,
With Birds In Song.
It's An Area Of Fun!
Needles descending down
Pine tree going bare
Bluebird builds her nest
on friendly pine tree
lights diamonds or snowflakes
so pining to know
The cascading contours of the high Himalayan slopes
cradle the upright verdant cones of coniferous pine
draped in gold reflected from the sheaths of snow,
morphed to crystal mirror on the dawn’s yellow sun,
painted in cinnabar by dusk’s crimson cloud streaks,
the fleeting canopy over the twilight’s hued horizon.
The slender leaves of needle quiver in the winter chill
as the northern winds waft down the gentle gradient
bringing down the silent shroud of the shining night.
The cerulean star dusts glitter on pine’s silky visage
gleaming with the conical dream to pierce the ether
to reach the still sky and to touch the sparkling stars.
The reverie comes true somewhere else some other time
when the tree finds a festive place afloat on flickering joy
as the charming Christmas tree crowned with silver stars,
reaches with light the dark corners of firmament of mind,
flushing it with the colors of mountain’s ecstatic splendor.
Its desire to scale starry sky is fulfilled in Christmas night.
December 10, 2018
You planted that pine tree
Evergreen like the love for your sons
It did not last. Uprooted. Ripped apart.
Cut in half. Told to leave.
Like a loss of limbs you tore out the leaves.
The needles. Needless. Fruitless.
A symbol of your love
You damaged more than wood.
A reminder of what had been lost
The sap ran fast like blood.
The torn bark. Deafening. Silent.
Lifeless firs. Drowned by rain. By tears.
A picture painted violent.
Sap and blood to colour life’s canvas
The firs and feelings used as brushes.
A masterpiece in failure
Left unsigned. Left in pieces. Ruined.
Departed blood. An empty space where your tree once stood.
When duskfall glints across a lustrous arc
Deepening the green of our Yuletide pine;
My eyes capture this eternal wonder
As a ladder of bulbs surrounds the pole:
Joyful these hours , graced by a ritual
Every late October , Dad’s tradition
And I , an eve- daughter am still beguiled
By such gaiety so markedly engraved,
Adorning bright twigs with vintage décor--
Then a candle is passed , our wishes shared
While Dad tucks an angel crownng the top
Till Mom gathers us for sugarplum fare!.
Though older now this gift of ardor lives on
My family decking the Christmas tree,
Same time of the year, late October:
I hang gold baubles knowing that a presence
Lights among the sprigs, the winding branches…
For Mom and Dad are felt in this moment
By the glitter of pine, candles aflame,
A tree magic eclipsing all my seasons.
Christmas Tree Contest of Shadow Hamilton
12/13/2017
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