Short Cedars Poems

Vicar of the woods,
Congregation of cedars:
Nature’s revival....

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Invisible ink flows
Into the night ghosts go
The cedars bleed once more...

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The smell of cedars
Bring back that homesick feeling
My Tennessee home...

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night sky giant canvas
shimmering stars; swirling clouds
cedars hum, pines dance...

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As golden rays preached,
Startled mist tripped over rocks:
Cedars bowed in praise....

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arrow straight cedars 
atop a flat top building..
survival doubtful 

Click on "About This Poem"...

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pine
needles
turn amber
get ready, fall
oak leaves turn red drop
cedars stay  green
some change comes
to all 
trees     ...

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Salute to the smoke!
Looming near the blue sky.. 
On this sizzling summer's afternoon.
Some saint has lit the far fire
In the forest's upper cedars' cover....

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a gnarled olive tree
  surveyed the scene --
tender saplings soaring skyward
  regal oaks basking in glory
majestic cedars 'midst the clouds
  --under her breath
                 ~ I’ll outlast you all...

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In the spring rain,
the cedars bear alien fruit:
gelatinous growth
like orange sea anemones,
slimy creatures whose
slippery tendrils quiver
sporeful 
revolting and fascinating
life
fills all niches


4/22/2018...

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Cedars line ancient Tuscan roads.
Vines reach distant hills.
Bent couple slowly walks.
Hills pose no barrier.
Pear lovingly peeled.
Cheese and figs unwrapped.
Wine poured.
Words unspoken.
Time stopped.
Sixty seven years....

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Magenta buds wait their turn on birch trees stately
    while cedars' spines soar skyward so straightly

  Barren branches of oaks sans customary green
    yet shiver while down low tulips blossom and preen

  Spring shows off her wares at varying stages
    a coloring book for adults of all ages...

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As Yggdrasil stretches into heaven
Hyperion watches a new Armageddon
As General Sherman towers above
Methuselah cradles a mourning dove

Old Tjikko refuses to bend
The baobab thwarts the wind
The Tree That Owns Itself
Will never, ever be compelled

The Cedars of God remain
Despite any flood or hurricane...

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Tires pop on gravel
as we drive up the hill.

We snake through cedars,
swallowed in darkness.

Tiny lights flash 
among the trees.

He kills the headlights,
slows the car to a crawl. 

"Look," he says,
"It's nature's light show."

A magic moment, 
evoking childhood memories,
catching fireflies in a jar....

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I've watched the isles at dusk
Cool and mysterious they lie--
Where old and deep-boughed cedars
heave, as gleaned from a cloudscape 
on earth's threadbare attic,
While lines of faded stars 
slip into gauzy white--
to appear like brushed, eerie ghosts
on howling psalms that sought 
the need to settle in the vault 
of an empty, ruined church.


 Brian's Select 4...

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Mourning the holes in my canopy
Three Catalpa now
The Maple next door
My own Cedars
And the Pine that brought the Crossbills
But then there's the little Elm on my block
It's spine entwined with the iron fence
The house burnt down last year
The big old Maple brought down
I was warmed to see the little Elm survived
His burnt bits delicately removed
I think the arborist felt so too...

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The voice of the Lord is upon the waters
The voice of the Lord is of glory and thunders
The voice of the Lord is powerful
The voice of the Lord is majesticful
The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars

The voice of the Lord divideth fire of flames
The voice of the Lord shaketh wilderness
The voice of the Lord is glorious
The voice of the Lord is gracious
Voice of the King of Kings...

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The Cedar Stand

The cedars stand, three at hand,
their limbs unwind like twine.
Closely spaced their crowns embrace
thus, framing the divine.

Trunks forlorn have been transformed
two asymmetric sides.
Their roots breach a sandy beach 
Gnarled knuckles deeply lie.

When the wind blows boldly bye
a flirting with the scene;
three dance in a wedgewood sky
like dryads in a dream....

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It is revered in the East,
while feared in the West.

It is asleep during noon,
and wide awake under the moon.

Sometimes it is carried on people's skins,
where it stays still as part of yins.

.....it is also part of yang,
giving hope to the young.

Eastern astrologers mark it in calendars,
from the lands filled with cedars.

Whether in the present or future,
it will always be a mystical creature....

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Tree of honor born from the cedars of Lebanon
No seed does it drop and it not know where
Absorbing the heat to provide a haven of shade
Seasons and storms cause no threat
No cutting words can perpetrate its bark
A sapling mirrors its sway in the daystar’s light
Majestic and true, august and firm
Friendly and kind always waving never wavering
Never can the seed of this produce anything but a Cedar of Lebanon...

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Oh! I can’t my beloved, if you would!
Fly, or clamber to the sun-lit mead
In the jade heights of there, the eastern-woods;
We’d sprint to the upper cedars
And down to the gorge is grave;
Sit by the frozen snows
Stand ‘neath the white-cloud;
Recline over the tall turf, and mutely listen to the vale;
Talk to the dwelling shepherds,
Kiss, cuddle their she-sheep;
They serve us tea,
And shall smile, and would love....

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a mocking bird sits
atop sticky holly tree..
winter day spring nest

silvery fog
wraps around pines..
mocking bird flies 

Fog creeps through the woods wrapping around the pines obstructing the view.  Gap in the cedars reveals a silvery shawl which is stopped by the bright sun on this side of the hedge or is it from a distance silvery on this side of hedge to those who view from afar?  

Unfinished...

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remember making out by the pier
I twirled your hair
you drew ever near
to touch the hand of innocence
frozen in time
the frost on the leaves pressed for closure
nearer ever nearer one hand to hold a heart will mend

the Cedars and the Oak
makes an idol and bows down to it
through days of yore,
a tug at the heart will light a spark to what we need to go
sort to inflate the common ego
your sins like the morning mist

caressed by a kiss...

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fog licks the cedars
with a lover's tongue
and a mobile of geese
hangs over the mountains
you play air-guitar
homage to a decade long gone
as your son sleeps
against my shoulder

heart of the artist
eye of the beholder

a millennium is poised
in the balance
as fireworks mock
austere and distant stars
we twine cold fingers
in frosted darkness
while one tear for past and future times
slides to oblivion

eye of the artist
heart of the beholder...

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Silence shrouds the land,
steel gray clouds 
hang low overhead,
and the air 
smells of snow.

A jay, strangely silent  
peers down from
newly naked 
branches.
To the 
west, geese fly 
in rag tag formation 
not even bothering to V.

Entering the cedars, 
I leash the dogs
as the air smells of skunk,
Our breath hanging
just shy of steam,
as a solitary crow flaps across
the red-flecked eastern horizon.

Suspended, 
waiting for 
winter to 
come....

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