Rustic Poems

Evermore

While wending my way one sunny day
in no particular direction
on stopping for reflection
I took a look at flowers by the rustic fence
beside a gnarled old tree
and was amused to see
beautiful colours and textures
which it seemed to me could only be
a painting picturesque
packed with pinks and reds yellows too
while beyond there lay
a field of green beneath a sky of blue
an avid artist if not gardener
it must have been
to have created
such as the sight I had seen
tho' my words won't describe
don't do justice to the sight I saw
it is etched in my memory
and will remain so evermore

Rustic cave

Energized by the rustic cave 
it's cold moist nature calling 
echoes gurgling from within its depth 
dark algae clinging to its walls 
the water slowly trinkling into pools 
shimmering like gold specks 
a delight for any adventurist 
diving into its depth

Rustic Feeling

Gentle sea breeze
Beautiful trees
Feels life with ease.

The Dance of Illusion and Truth

In a world of synthetic dreams, 
Where nothing is quite as it seems, 
Emotions emanate and rise, 
Painting stories across the skies.

Swirling thoughts in a misty haze, 
Drift through memory's rustic maze. 
A timeless dance of then and now, 
Where past and present somehow bow.

Illusions play their tricky game, 
Reality's not quite the same. 
Yet hope continues to blossom, 
In gardens of heartfelt wisdom.

Silence falls like gentle snow, 
Whispering truths we've yet to know. 
In quiet moments, clear and bright, 
We find our way from dark to light.

One For Mulder and Scully

Dazzling, synthetic lights emanate from polished silver,
Penetrating my deep, chemically induced sleep. 
Blinking sensitive eyes, I raise my swirling head.
 I sit up and walk into a corridor of glass display cases.
  

Rustic farm tools, mannequins wearing clothing from the past and present fashions, pottery from long ago…
A collection of some kind, featuring timeless treasures and ordinary items of little to no monetary value. 

A discombobulated hoard of flea market finds? 
I came to another display difficult to make sense of…another display of mannequins except these wore no clothing and floated in some viscous liquid. 

A chill went up my spine and I knew not why until…one opened their eyes and looked at me!
I awaken. Bright sunlight streams into my bedroom windows. I recall everything in a moment of time. 

Sitting up, pain and horror, a poisonous flower blossom opening red petals in my mind…
 A nightmare or mad illusion? I see nothing but my   room, and hear nothing now but… 
… silence.

Rustic Fall Woods

Browns and oranges scattered 
Free Spirit wind 
whistles through naked shuttering trees 
the ground covered 
in scarlet and harvest yellow

Rustic Renaissance

We are beautifully made
Our Father has given us
Another New Day
He did this for us
Died on a rugged old wooden cross
We who are not worthy
He kept us saved us from being lost
At this cost
Gave His life for us
Hallelujah, blessed beloved woman of God I thank God
We thank our Daddy Jehovah-jireh
Thanking Him for now
A new page in our life story
For His giving us
 A new day in His glory
We two after our divine purposed journey shall be
Awakened in His hands in our Father’s Holy Glorious glory Amen
~
The battle not about man
Her seed against her seed
The battle a woman more orderly
Eve came from Adam
Part of man
Eve gave birth to sons
Cain and Able
One was killed
Blood cries out from the ground
His flesh was gone
Murder in the garden not
I am not my brother’s keeper

07/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©

A Rustic Leaf Fell To the Ground

There was a dear November long ago
Tucked on the top shelf with my good stuff
Along with the other fond sentiments
Good books and pictures go hand in hand
But that first Fall in college was a keepsake 
Now and then, I open that box
I see graying skies over a football field
And our losing season in the mud
And a student juggling school, practice, and work
I can say I bobbled that ball infamously bad
Which mirrored the Portland weather
I fished for nirvana, and the line snapped
But I enjoyed that maiden voyage nonetheless 
The bonding with fellow students 
The first parties, dances, and romances
That first Thanksgiving with my roomies family 
Yet for some reason, I remember less of school work
And more of a pumpkin patch
...  and a rustic leaf falling to the ground

11/07/22

November Poetry Contest

Sponsor-Regina Mcintosh

N/A

Rustic Woods

reflecting off 
purple hazed sky
as white pillows float

harvested trees
full of brown, burnt orange,
yellow and scarlet leaves

the ground turning into 
a play field for leaf fights
for young and old

Rustic Beacons

RUSTIC BEACONS
overgrown
  crowded busy
shrouded in mist
understated
    austere
stark subtle
     undulating
stripping away
to
near abstraction

a motif
an echo

pitched
   touches
the tonal unity
  until
 disposed
unseen
  interrupts
the minimal mood
     in the shadows
closely
 exploring
  this moment

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

God's Peace Eased Rustic Grief

Strains are carefully prevented with a tangle.
Were you eager for me to return to my angle?
It restored its fiery vigor due to the treble hook.
As a result, I wiggle akin a fish in the hope of a look.

In this yet another piece, rusty tones overrule.
On a grimy patio, a rusted-out rock bewails. 
Your deft touch lashed a pale face balky.
Worries that don't seem to act away quickly.

Your anile escape boots are no longer active.
There was a recent rise of a rich perspective.
A pair of delicate slippers were subtly conveyed.
It's two sizes vaster and boasts a range-wide.

The earthy angst of your cramped spine. 
Waning whine faded by a support divine.


Written: October 21, 2021

The Charm of Rusticity

The Rusticity

Greeted by a cool morning breeze,
I'm unfolded to a place so serene
With a scented fragrance around, and
The vastness of blue canopy so exalting

Pleasing chirping and twittering
Replace the  maddening modern melody
Patterned dew peeks at me with smile
 Emanating fragrant air, just right.

The glorified sun creeps in majestically
Summoning me in whisper, to my daily toils
My spontaneous whistling attunes the oxen
Pulling the plough to furrow, energetically.

As the sun farewells through mountains yonder,
The birds nestle home gaily, tweeting
With the evening breeze sweeping my brow,
I gladly retreat to my straw hut, satisfied.

The night crawls in with its greatest gift
Brilliance, the stars canopy my world
As I lay on the porch, I mumble gratification
To my king and country - Bhutan for this peace.

The Rustic Crusts of Manna

The Rustic Crusts of Manna
Davie J Walker 

I am the one who stripped the 
Sponsor from my jersey 

And the number meaning nothing 
But an identity recorded in a dry book

Making me invisible to the 
Odd gods of your reality

You speak my own language 
In ways that defy life or death
Or the direction of the Sun's path

In the aftermath of its 
Examination with the
Illusions of reality strewn in the
Branches of Stone Pine on the
Appian Way to Rome 

Here we may pick our own 
Venders of the streets 

And eat the sweet ideal on 
The rustic crusts of manna 

It is here that we should speak freely
For who will interpret our intentions
From separate graves

Locomotive West

Straight moves the locomotive train miles
Traveling over desert flatland forging ahead,
Coal steam engine Number 9 chug, chug, chug,
Sound waves rolls through, satisfying sensation is said.
Locomotive whistle sounds station steam rolling in,
Little one hears repeats ‘choo-choo’ rolls to stop,
All aboard!  Rolls locomotion moving, snack on tasty
Peanut brittle, readying for dining car delicious hop.

Mom holds little son on her lap, with sounds
Cowboys and Indians along the train,
Surprise action wonder, heard of Hereford
Beef cattle is west trademark railroad vein.
Character western attitude locomotive fun
How the west was won whistle-stop rustic town,
Gold payload brought on of family and cousin
Forge ahead, chug along, Heaven brings us together joyous sound.

Autumn's Auburn Rustic Dust

AUTUMN'S AUBURN RUSTIC DUST

When with closed eyes in Autumn's eves of gold,
She breathes in the blades of orange-yellow,
Looking for that 'something' called auburn rust,
Halting mid suntanned trees hundred years old..

Who is like her, amiable yet bold?
Tenderly she walks on slivers of brown,
Silently searching through caramel paths,
Out there with the rustling leaves hundredfold..

What in the crimson world does she behold?
Slowly, she slows her slow sleepy saunter,
Carbuncle foliage unveils her face - 
Jocund with an extra mile smile unrolled..

Wherefore does it shower russet-brown mould?
See, she has found her Autumn dust mellow,
Yippee! How she jumps now with joy untold!



03/16/2020
Lines to Awaken Your Muse 2 Contest 
Sponsor: Joseph May

Line 4: When with closed eyes in autumn's eves of gold

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