Beyond the jungle of the evergreens
Were metal points in the sky
that surpassed the highest peaks
The tones of the structure
Were of grays,
Browns,
And creams
Multi-layered with window frames,
Two outer concrete figures,
And a brown door with a pearl-like handle
That was envisioned by dreams
This mystic gingerbread-like
Fortress had no visible road to proceed
It seemed it liked its seclusion
Not even a sight of living figurines
But what kept it company were the critters
That hid among the trees and stream
Trees traced of piney, woodsy, subtle with a sweet scent
Was among the light breeze
The stream was cloud-like flowing
With its own flow-like routine
The water was so fresh it had an earthy aroma,
With natural minerals in between
After breakfast the squirrels and deer would
Watch the blue skies as they gleam
Though you may not see the fortress
While diving as it seems
You can try to find its hiding spot
Among the peaks between the trees
Inside,
the walls of a rotting
log cabin,
situated in the piney woods,
you lie situated on me, adorning my
neck with soft summer kissings.
While
I pull dandelion
fluff up and out of your
hair.
Cypselae,
that’s what the seeds
are called,
miniature fruits that grant
wishes.
As far as wishes go,
this is my greatest.
As far as fruit goes,
everyone knows what happened
to Eden.
Eve, I diminished our
love into atoms.
And the cabin lays rotting
there still.
A brook trickled easily down
As poetry running unbound
And I stood on a rock
To hear the steady stream
Of comely words gurgled.
A hazy shaft of light beamed down -
Laser-pointing through piney boughs -
And where it gently struck -
Columbine shined and teemed
The floor with emeralds.
I wish I had found the fountain of youth,
So, I could experience once again.
The happy firsts, even losing a tooth,
From the magic land of “remember when”.
My first storytelling record player,
Spinning the tale of the sad dragon, Puff,
Beautiful melodies, soft like prayers,
Songs of lonesome cowboys, brave and tough.
Helping my dad, a leaf pile, newly raked,
A piney fragrance, a new Christmas tree,
The bouquet of grandma’s bread, freshly baked,
Summer air, the smell of freedom for me.
Riding with friends on my new bright red bike
With a new puppy, making playful fun,
Jumping, running, catching, throwing a strike,
Greeted at the plate for my first home run.
Learning A-B-Cs in my school-desk seat,
Sweet memories to be later recalled -
A field trip downtown to Olvera Street,
My first opera where I was enthralled.
The thrill of the electric guitar’s sound,
The joy and comfort of holding her hand,
My heart getting lost and then found,
The moving night she made me understand.
Most of all, my grandson, I wish for you
That you will have such things, and better, too.
Maple, oak and piney TREES
Bonsai-trimmed tiny TREES
Those gigantic redwood TREES
My front yard flowering dogwood TREES.
Wetland, dry-land chestnut TREES
Prolific English walnut TREES
Mine timber TREES
Solid and limber TREES.
Hunting-stand and swarming bee TREES
Southern swamp cypress knee TREES
Damaged by hail TREES
Marking a trail TREES.
Weeping Willow TREES
Sugar maple syrup TREES
Hat-hanging foyer hall TREES
And, most important, prayer TREES.
HONORABLE MENTION
written August 6, 2021
"List Poetry Contest"
All Poetry - October 24, 2021
FRONT PAGE PICK
All Poetry
December 9, 2021
To my best recollection, I was four:
when I built a fort from pine slabs Dad bought;
I recall I somehow forgot a door.
I found myself sitting there, feeling caught
in a trap I inadvertently sprung;
eating the sap oozing from every knot.
It's hard to believe I was once that young,
and yet, I still taste that piney, sweet taste,
time indelibly inked upon my tongue.
In my innocence, the whole world seemed chaste
and I felt free to simply be a boy:
a feeling that the years could not erase.
Whenever the pressures of life annoy,
I think of those days, and it brings me joy.
Veiled in the mysteries of light
black cutting off white
masked
a cottonwood whirl
of life
no debutanted call
you said left, I thought right
patience holding
frightless on an eerie starless night
your oceans brushing
about my tree
a sequoia rising high
above the waters edge
your wake ~ delicate
a soundless melody
that plays on for hours
and hours
in the breeze,
the gentle tease
the tide
washing in
and out
to the wims of night
the rustled leaves
a bed of kings
I, with you
in grave and height
stripping shrouds
shearing fears
climbing up the endless stares
abreast
a woodpecker pecks
an undressed nest
in piney wood
I know
and
I should
visions spy
her spotted eyes
true wonder
where halos go to glow
amid a moonlight high
there's laughter in that sky
air fills our lungs
creating a thousand soulful songs
we lay
contented with the coming
of the day
gorgeous as that may be
As a kid, I loved to find any unusual shells and rocks; I do to this day. I used to walk the piney woods of Georgia, with my favorite uncle. He made up the neatest stories to tell me about each stone or arrowhead that I found; visiting him was always loads of fun. Like him, I’m a story teller, entertaining others. I loved those woods and the great finds there; so many great woodland memories.
piney woods
shed upon sacred ground-
bedding
nature’s trinkets
abound in the woodlands-
arrowheads
4-20-2021
ALL YOURS (Apr 20) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Sometimes life can seem like quicksand.
Without the band.
It is a journey unplanned.
Uncharted the road
Struggling without direction.
Loses all protection.
It plummets one in deep reflection.
Down to the bottom.
From decades ago a hand reaches out.
Help is there no doubt.
Hope inspires your joy to shout.
Love rescues!
Tail-Rythme poetry contest
Sponsored by Emile Piney
8/15/20:$
Remote within the piney wood
so far away from nearest ear,
and out of reach for one to hear
a tree lies still where it once stood.
As it came down there was no sound
cuz none to hear would e’er be wise,
and know of this tall pine’s demise
as it came tumbling to the ground.
You say my words are shining bright
through poetry my thoughts consign;
to give up writing wouldn’t be right,
and hide these thoughts, to share, decline.
But like the pine tree’s silent plight,
the words unheard will never shine.
August 2, 2020
Does the tree falling in a forest make a sound
if no one is around to hear it?
Do the words of a poet shine if his poetry is not read?
Smith-Gilbert trails — trellises of Georgia roses, the piney scent of conifers, plentiful perennials, the shady pond with splashing koi, the mulberry bowl, hand in hand — my grandson and I.
amid faerie garden
and bonsai forest —
buzz of coneflowers
7/19/2020
HAIBUN - pick your theme Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier - Sponsor
Oh she fell in love in Georgia
when she was but passing through
He was young and he was handsome
Like a cowboy she once knew
He was sittin' on a barstool
In the Come Back Soon Saloon
While she was singin' on the stage
A sad and a mournful tune
Then she sang,"Tell me your troubles,
"And pour me out your sorrows
"We'll bury what you left behind
"Then talk of our tomorrows"
She said,"I'll forget the cowboy
"If you'll forget your broken heart"
He said, "I love it that your eyes are blue
"And that's the place to start!"
Oh, that was thirty years or more
Down in Georgia's piney trees
And they'll make another thirty
God be willin' as He sees
2-20-20
Contest: Strand W
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Orange and reds - the vibrant shmooze of Fall.
The social froth of maple shapes, and oak.
The chatty leaves infringe upon us all,
As piney-green hangs back for Winter folk.
A cocktail mixed with children’s play and gaffs.
Their brooms and sheets do trick and treat through streets
Of cold — the harbinger stirs Jack Frost’s laugh.
Mean parents thieve their children’s soulful sweets.
Yet, warmth of hearth, the logs aflame with blue,
And cinnamon aromatherapy.
Good-hearted ‘rents brew up a hearty stew.
As kids do leap into the leaves with glee.
The whirligig of Autumn wind wins hearts.
The reveille of Winter soon will start.
10/26/2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Note: ’rents - slang for parents
In the piney woods
are many nests with hatchlings
crying with hunger
awaiting delivery
the music ends with full beaks.
5-27-19
For contest: MAY PREMIER 8 any 4 or 5 line form,on any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
The southern joy, I see it; a majestic piney wood; its fresh aromatic pine scent climbing my nostrils; membranes absorb its woodsy essence as I breathe deeply, it becomes part of me.
Pine needle carpeting, soft upon the sandy clay, makes silent my footsteps. Above, sits an old hoot owl, framed by branches and a cloud matte. I trespass upon his world; awakening him and he hoots an order to leave him be. I spread a smile and mentally apologize as he closes his eyes again. A morning wood walk begins an inspiring day.
Written 4-15-19
For:"APRIL 2019 CONTEST 5,ANY THEME,ANY FORM,UPTO A MAX OF 12 (T W E L V E ) LINES Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Brian Strand
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