Short Acorn Poems
Short Acorn Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Acorn by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Acorn by length and keyword.
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sunlight
glistening
through maple trees
squirrels search for acorns
brightness
tiny beige acorns in the leaves
not the whole acorn
not the tasty brown part
just what the squirrels left
the lids
I smile at these hats
Before the acorn broke loose its bone
was reaped
and became this table at which I sit
a millennium of rain and sun loved it
….as I love you
Number 23
ACORN
From this tiny acorn
A mighty oak tree
Love in surge reborn
True nature set free
Leon Enriquez
10 January
Singapore
acorn in its mouth
squirrel pauses in his stride
unusually warm
still the leaves have fallen down
shrugs his shoulders, soldiers on
11/8/2022
"An acorn grows to a mighty oak" -
words, once, my grandpa spoke
when I was small.
What dear Grandpa forgot to say,
long ago, on that happy day,
is, "Every oak must fall".
Always pondering over trifles,
Ceasing to react well in time,
Our decadence is written on our faces,
Review as a critique is the need of hour,
Never place political libertine higher to humanity!
preserves some acorn
for bleak winter trying time...
squirrel foresight wise
----------------
February 2, 2022
Syllable count checked on PS Counter
Contest : Squirrel Haiku
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
An acorn is an encyclopedia
of oak language lying dormant
until water, the elixir of life,
translates potential into actual.
Find the liquid that opens your mouth;
there is infinity in this kind of communication.
A cat found a nice escape
lounging outside by a tree;
A squirrel above catches sight
and thus starts an acorn fight;
The cat is smacked in the head
not too dizzy for revenge;
Little feet run up the tree
right into a kitty frenzy.
I, the acorn, sought
To be a tall, wise tree.
I struggled and I fought,
And slowly came to me
My growth. I now perceived
Myself in stature high.
With heaving sigh, I breathed,
Stretched laden arms to sky.
The acorns shivered free,
And all of these were me. I
Neither baseball nor soccer,
Nor rod or reel would do,
For the pastime,
That would appeal to you.
Music and education,
Would be your call,
Your talent and tenacity,
Equipped you to have it all.
You were a young inquisitive acorn,
Who has blossomed into a woman self-made.
Bathing your mother and me,
In the caress of your mighty oak's shade.
Why me? Alone.
At edge
Of decimated deciduous
Sanctuary destroyed.
I long for boughs
Now taken
Ringed history
Sacrificed
On the altar
Of a paved future.
I am the hope
Of a backyard rope swing
A Robin's nest
A squirrel's sustenance.
I shall ride
The muddy flow
Of unchecked runoff
Sink deep my roots
And grow.
John G. Lawless
5/4/2020
The Last One
The last one hanging,
On the bare tree,
It’s soul slipping away,
Getting free.
~
So long have I waited,
No one came,
I am now fated,
To go to the old dame,
All brothers gone,
To those wilful,
Who skills hone,
As I am left, the last acorn,
To hang alone,
The sole acorn,
On this bare tree,
Only to see,
A death so forlorn.
04/19/2020
The Last Acorn
Luke Acorn planted oak trees in a dell
and called to his mother to see,
but Mrs Acorn had other things to do.
She had cakes to bake
and shirts to make
for Luke Acorn on the go.
She had songs to sing
and plans to make,
and constant brewing tea.
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12/17/2015
Contest - Your Choice - Light Verse
Sponsor - Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
silent oak tree sentinel guards my yard
I call him Old Mister
he drops acorns that try to grow new oak trees
they land in a cinder piles, planting themselves
In a few weeks tiny oak leaves form.
If you gently pull them out of the cinders
You will see a tiny oak tree growing out of an acorn.
I pulled twenty of them one day and took them to Sunday School
Giving them to children who were almost as amazed as I was.
An acorn plopped down from a tree
And hit the deck right next to me.
It joined some others waiting for
A stronger breeze to drop some more.
It almost bounced upon my head;
I'm glad it found the porch instead
For it came down with so much force
I'd have a bump, but it changed course.
The squirrels must be set to dash
And round these up for winter's stash.
I sit outside, relax and wait
As acorn plops reverberate.
Acorn brownie is unstoppable
Twirling and whirling in piles of leaves
Showing off for squirrel keeper fairy
Mythical dynamo coming to life
Twirling and whirling in piles of leaves
Cool breeze adding to his ambiance
Mythical dynamo coming to life
Stirring up October winds in forest
Cool breeze adding to his ambiance
Showing off for squirrel keeper fairy
Stirring up October winds in forest
Acorn brownie is unstoppable
The final springing of the year
May well decay, anon, I fear;
The sun could flaunt its dusk, for then,
I've marked my three score years and ten.
The morning's fire has lit my days
And led astray in many ways.
But twilight dun will trespass when
I glean my three score years and ten.
Yet sadness nil will ill my cheer
About the springtide of the year;
And should I pray, as e'er I sleep,
My three score years and ten to keep.
Last Acorn
the last acorn on earth
was lonely
the old oak trees
were dying
and humanity was gone
killed off by the corona virus
round two
that erupted out of China
like a bat out of hell
killing almost all humans
and without humans
well somethings just did not happen
and the oak trees were abandoned
and he was the last acorn
the last of his species alive
he wept when he realized
that he would die
all alone
Be The Acorn That Grows
By: Tom Wright
4/26/04
Of all the acorns that in the forest fall,
taking their place upon fertile ground.
Scant will emerge to be an oak tree tall,
no trace of the others will ere be found.
And
Of all the seniors that graduate this may,
seeking from life their place or calling.
Giant oaks some will grow to be one day,
while others advance not far from falling.
Written for a special senior
Hanging out with my acorn friends,
Riding wild winds on writhing limbs
As round capped surfers without boards
I laughed loud when I watched them fall.
Looking up with faces of despair
They could but see my derriere.
As a swinger without a care
I felt loved by the rushing air.
My oak looked haggard when I fell
Its arthritic limbs beseeching
Each passing cloud that drifted by:
Could this acorn be another me?
4/22/2020
As I was headed home, a squirrel
Passed me going south.
I noticed him because he had
An acorn in his mouth.
Since winter’s not approaching,
I am curious to know
If squirrels still amass a stash
For when supplies run low.
Or was that nut for dinner
From his daily market run?
Or a late addition to a meal
His family’d just begun?
I have no way to ascertain
What’s stored within his nest
So, like many other mysteries,
I’ll give this one a rest.
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A vagrant squirrel navigates his kingdom of cracked asphalt~
Sudden rain slicked the park bench's peeling green paint
as he rattled past, king of his grocery cart chariot ~
overflowing hull crammed with glossy brown treasure,
each nut a testament to frantic, twitching hoarding.
His beady eye judged a passing Labrador's indifference:
Fool! Winter's coming, and my cart's already paid for.
Ode To The Acorn
Oh
lit
tle ACORN ON the
ground, YOU ARE not
A JOKE...FOR EVERY
WHERE THAT YOU
ARE FOUND,Will
grow one mig
hty OAK!
!
Deborah Burch©12.26.16
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Form:concrete