Short Hedgerows Poems
Short Hedgerows Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Hedgerows by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Hedgerows by length and keyword.
in the sunshine
a blackberry blossoms
winter's summer pudding
blackberries
above the nettles-
just out of reach
down leaf-strewn lanes
hedgerows of inspirations
a poet’s dreaming reveals
a poetry records it well
a day preempted
apples overhang the orchard wall,
sun-kissed drapes now about to fall.
hedgerows ablaze with succulent sweets
will-power melts in a crumble
inspired by Constance's contest
Dew
Droplet
Tapestry
Weaved silken strands
Studded diamonds
Adorn the spiders craft
Clinging to green hedgerows
Glinting. reflecting
Radiant rays
Sunlight streaks
Sparkling
Gems
the subservience of sunflowers
posed and heavy with dried yellow
spreads over fields of faded growth,
the sun stages the horizon
of sparse trees and hedgerows;
beyond the hope of lost gold.
Birds in the cherry trees twittering their song
Big fat bumblebees hum merrily along
Crickets in the hedgerows chirping all together
A perfect day in the month of May
With perfect springtime weather.
The honeysuckle,leafing green,
new arrivals,in hedgerows seen,
Spring,Spring is in the earth,
our thoughts turn to new birth.
from Friday Becomes Easter Day n/a in Spring (contest 2/27/2012 sponsor Carol Sunsine Brown)
Grey
winding
lonesome road
laments beyond
high hedgerows hiding
sun blushing rose spilling
throughout darkening day sky.
Speed teasing devils push homeward
lyrics screaming bring pent-up release
driving out sorrow lures transient peace
A stored ripening sunlight,
opens veins under wet sods.
We are conveyed on the thaw,
upon the guttering soil
through the squelching narrows
of wayside hedgerows.
Spring mops and sops,
breezes furbish,
unlock a pearly dew
to melt the frosted prints
of paws and claws.
Among ancient groves,
One summer night alone.
Secrets on the wind.
And awakening to
Mother natures symphonic
Mystery of life.
When people used to
Find a home in the hearth-light,
Owls haunt the hedgerows.
Each day an event
Every step an adventure,
To new horizons!
Midst
hedgerows
turning green-
nature's pastiche
slowly awakens from winter sleep.
NOTE:The challenge with Ray Stebbing's tetractys form is -that each line is required 'to stand on its own ' & the poem itself is to express a complete thought,within the narrow compass of 20 syllables.
Soft shadow slippers
Shuffled through the hedgerows
Aimlessly ramble
Sample the texture
Of twilights tenor
Lean against
Still warm bark
Dip their toes
In the ripple-less lea
Fill the cups
Of cooling roses
With a silent chill
Then pale
As darkness
Consumes them
Leaving
Only the scent
Of passing
There’s nowt so canny and nowt so deep
As the musings of the highland sheep
They’ll talk of this and talk of that
Of what they ate and where they shat
Or ponder on life’s mysteries
Like, is the grass beneath the trees
Much finer than the one that grows
Down beside the old hedgerows
© John W Fenn 18-09-2009
There’s nowt so canny and nowt so deep
As the musings of the highland sheep
They’ll talk of this and talk of that
Of what they ate and where they shat
Or ponder on life’s mysteries
Like, is the grass beneath the trees
Much finer than the stuff that grows
Down beside the old hedgerows
© John W Fenn 18-09-2009
The flop and flurry
of woozy wings
tromps over hedgerows.
Claws scrabble
feathers flounce.
Here a rowdy cackle
in a coddled coo,
there a hullabaloo
in a ruffled flutter.
Birdsongs pumps up,
balloon into chattering tunes.
Another teaming tussle,
another musical lurch
as sleepy birds
roll off
their nocturnal perch.
The wind has a grip on the land.
Penny Eyes, the straw man on the field cross
has broken into a crooked smile,
his hands flutter like dying crow wings.
Trees whip the sky.
Blisters appear in the iced-over field furrows.
Under the wide rooted hedgerows
the white fingers of the yet to be seen,
dream of being green.
The tent of Autumn is wet,
Nights as dark as creosote,
Days that fall like
Mother apples which bruise
With cold sweetness.
The impending conspiracy of
Frost;Laburnums stripped to
Bare frames, each fox pulled
By the neck into the
Hedgerows.Let go, curled leaf,
You are tired and dragged with sleep,
And can not look the snow away.
No one could call you spineless.
The armour takes care of that.
Getting to the heart of you is hard -
that quiet determination that lets you
get on with living...
Sight failing in half-light
we hear you in hedgerows
scavenging for slugs -
watch you curl into a defensive ball
just like you do in your hibernation
when breathing almost stops.
Spring has come at last!
Earth wakes from her winter slumber,
To live again.
Signs of resurrection are all around –
Green shoots sprouting,
Blue skies,
Twittering birds in hedgerows –
Winter clad, now in summer anticipation –
Puts by all notions of misery and dull care.
The joys of spring abound!
No cares, no worries…..
Life has begun
Again.
Mud cracks its teeth.
Roots crunch and seep
a stored sunlight.
There are open veins
under wet sods.
We are conveyed above the melt
on guttering rapids
through the narrows
of squelching hedgerows
toward the drumming
of new-sprouted stems.
Winter thaws in hollows,
pushes heat into slick droplets
for the sip and swallow
of greening throats.
Buttercup,daisy and cowslip
Together mix in fellowship;
Swaying pelts of grasses fine
Bask in Spring sunshine.
Purple vetch,ribwort plaintain
Jostle lush clover in English rain;
Scalious,burnets protude,
Butterflies gorge their pollen food.
Hawthorn dense and tough
Amidst sweet scented woodruff;
In rambled briar sprawl
Prickly and wandering tall.
She still phones, though not to me.
I imagine her small-talking,
see her walking to the local shops with a mutual friend
who sometimes phones me just to ask
if she has phoned yet?
Birds chatter on wires,
groundhogs go to bed deep under the hedgerows,
I hear them snoring
just like she remembers me snoring in her ear.
We speak often like that -
no backchat.
Mud cracks its teeth.
Roots crunch and seep.
A stored ripening sunlight,
open veins under wet sods.
We are conveyed above the melt,
on guttering rapids,
through the narrows
of squelching hedgerows.
Paws soak in a sparkle of dew.
Winter thaws in hollows,
pushes heat into slick droplets,
into the sip and tipple
of as yet untrodden stems.
Winter scatters moth bones.
For a while,
it refreshes the turgid and lax.
Then the chill legs of small dancers
pirouette over warm bodies.
Flesh recoils, lungs curl around
each breath.
Hedgerows offer their huddled masses,
to the underground and hidden.
The light is going color blind,
Wind-crones whip rabbit hair
into wickiups
for the newly dying.
We take the mornings, soft
to the graveyard,
where dew lines the hedgerows
in duplicate pearls.
Patchwork backdrops and figures
lend a faint recognition;
these are my only memories
of my only love.
Meanwhile heroes bleed
for glory and riches-
to the death,
in books I haven’t read.
And as if
without a hundredth part of pity,
ours is a nightmare
too close to home.
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