lofty pines
encircle
the opal pool
surreal shades
of blue
shimmer through
shining
swimmers’ inspiration
skies elevation
wind whispers through pines
carrying tales of the land~
clouds drift to the west.
On all our Christmas tree twigs
On the boughs and the sprigs
Adorned with the presence of
The Present and the Dove
Gently dancing out Their Christmas jigs
To the clouds-
a tousled crown of green,
a bump in the fabric of land.
To the deer-
a hall of silent pillars,
woven shadows,
mighty temples.
To the rain-
a fleeting flash of green and brown
then hush-
splattering on fallen needles.
frosty pine needles
sun glisten after the storm -
radiant outcome
The air is crisp with the promise of winter, but the earth hasn’t yet yielded to the frost. Bare feet press against soft, damp moss—each step grounding me in a world that feels alive despite the stillness. Pines tower above, their needles murmuring secrets to the wind. A faint scent of sap lingers, mingling with the earthy perfume of fallen leaves. My breath puffs into clouds, joining the mist that clings to the ground, curling like a shy spirit. Somewhere, a bird calls—a sound that cuts through the quiet, then dissolves. I close my eyes and let the weight of the world slip from my shoulders, surrendering to this sacred pause.
Years of storms echo in my chest, but here, beneath these ancient trees, I am reminded that chaos cannot last forever. There is beauty in the rebuilding, in the quiet rhythm of healing, in the gentle rustle of pine needles above.
needle whispers sing
branches cradle the still air—
I exhale the past
Carolina home
In the great Palmetto State
Place where I was born
Boy was free to roam
On a ninety-acre farm
Free from fear and harm
In dirt, sand or mud
We sandlappers had it all
To work, play, or brawl
Turning the dark dirt
Putting the hounds on the trail
Tussling with cousins
Having dirt clog fights
Making toys out of pine bark
Plowing fertile fields
Running through the pines
Wading through the boggy swamp
Swinging from a vine
Down in muddy swamp
Turtle is called a “cooter”
Anglicized slave word
So my cousin says
Parents were missionaries
Belgian Congo
Many days have gone
Much water under the bridge
Since I left that home
Days of yesteryear
Now, home is where I reside
But memories last
pines sigh in brisk breeze
spring-green dots the pine forest....
birds chirp at sunrise
nest being built in new houses
cardinal bathes in birdbath
He's going to court his pick for this season
Galaxy of stars supplies
signal event in dark skies.
Tall straight pines birthed as light poles
heavens hallow grown-up roles.
Mirrored in the brook below
current venue ceases flow.
Trees denuded of their leaves
while soon empty forest grieves.
Destined now to carry light
to a busy city's night;
poles' inaugurations move
into town when works approve.
Loudly speaks the jackhammer
amid much-needed clamor;
tearing up pathway's veneer
to create an urban sphere.
Rows of trees, now rows of poles
spaced apart so man controls.
Homesick still for forest fog
they learn to cope via smog.
April 17, 2023
A bit of ekphrasis inspired by a photograph of
the Milky Way highlighting a forest of pines,
Star Dreams by Dasha Kern on Deviant Art.
ice-pellets dazzling
on tall pines, jewellery
money can not buy
December 29, 2022
Ice, snow, or Frost Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
syllables (5-7-5) checked by HMS.com
silence reigns
in the forest
snowfall
blankets tree limbs
all is calm and hushed
no chirping
of birds
nor wolf howls
moonlight
casts shadows
through the pines
north winds softly hum
a soothing lullaby
stars
gleam from high above
~ December 12, 2022 ~
Writing Challenge - Yalto Form Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Pines, my native line and birth
From you I came without a dearth
Pines, I shall call you with mirth
To you I return with my vision to unearth
Returning with unearthly wealth
Simple works I offer, not burn
Honor is yours, over my urn.
Toils are not made to harden one's feelings
Or break a heart of stone that churn
Rather to soften outer peelings.
bottom of a bowel
of jagged rocks
slender bristling pines
ring a ragged sky
through which slips
slivers of warmth
hugging me like a child
on this crisp morning
life on the line
wiggling wriggling
jumping
splashing, flashing
slippery, cold, and firm
in my grasp
Coeur d'Alene, Heart of the Awl,
gem of the north,
you tamed my hatred of this desert state
and gave me sunlight sparkling on
blue lakes under scented pines.
Long needle pines
chant in a gentle breeze.
I sit motionless. Bathed
in the canorous drone,
feel the tremors
of life’s longing,
the ring of ageless wisdom,
sense the strength
of stoic serenity.
Would that I could take root
and join them
…….in their moment.
5/15/2022
Wisdom from Trees Poetry Contest
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