You know… trees speak
in transparent watermark
shadows; swaying in light then dark.
In the wind branches squeak;
spiraling decades of fables turn bleak.
The chattering of gay lark
tell to turn the other cheek!
Down streams of cooling creek;
where stand towers of seasoned wood.
There’s leaves crackling on the breeze
where barefoot squirrel once stood
and weak trunks now totter with a wheeze.
It’s there my footprints faintly speak;
if only for a moment time could freeze.
Perhaps man would find what he seeks.
Playing with the nature of form.
Lately, I’ve ambled along snowy wood,
where Chick-a-Dee tremble on icy branch.
In striped feather; unlike white avalanche
audacious nobles flaunt costly goods.
I viewed spring’s early plant’s elegant hood
a musky scent in dusty plum; truly blanch
Its bitters upon the snow; warm plant stood
as insect entered in; it’s stench it withstood.
Where did such a haven emerge its cozy room?
While winter’s winds steadily spin snow;
poor fellow safe within Swamp Lantern’s loom,
as laced spider’s web in spring’s air freely grow.
While summer brings about a new retreat…
of shells and wood and sand and warmer feat.
Thinking of the seasons; remembering how different the wood can be during different times. Open Link over at dVerse today… stop in!
Who cheated the skies?
Pebbles tumbling from
recycled cosmic clutter.
Star dust whose grains
become scattered beaches.
Fabricate into mounds
of ant-hills with no sound.
Below is the original piece rewritten to capture the prompt of “Bold metaphors and images” dverse prompt
Ant-hills & Stars
Who cheated the skies?
Stars tumbled as
smooth, slick, shiny pebbles;
from unsuspecting heavens
releasing their cosmic clutter.
Her curiosity to question…
she scattered star dust,
tossed it as mere sand.
Now, it does settle in mounds;
like ant-hills with no sounds.
Original inspiration: Emily Dickenson (1830-1886) Who Robbed the Woods?
In pale moonlight,
where a chorus of
peepers no longer sing
nor slick back critter
fiddle a lonely tune.
The lime green luna
still clings on wood;
while a single bull frog
drums his final tune.
I hear solitary blues of
who, whoot, whoot,
whoot, whoot, whoooo!
Before song birds sing
cheery morning melody;
he seeks his final encore.
Let’s stand and give applause
“Who, whoot, whoot, whooo”;
knowing dVerse ‘sbeen a whoot.
What form is next as
old owl spreads his wings;
an Open Link to skies?
There’s Poetics in his song
always Meeting the Bar
from branch to branch;
he sings… chatter of wood
a Pubtalk of its own; the
sounds of poetics in the night.
This inspiration floated in my open window at 3:30 am, as an owl sang is nightly tune. Yes, I did get up after words danced in my head. I knew if I didn’t, they would have disappear at dawn. dVerse is still celebrating their 3 year anniversary. Stop by. This piece is dedicated to Sherry Blue Sky a lover of nature.
Beneath the shadow of the wood
where under log and vine do rest
rustles things we do not see nor hear;
haunting beneath sluggish moon light.
Lingering starlight stretches within the sky
settles upon verdant tree tops like mist
mingling about an extraordinary crowd;
congenial laughter elevates heavenward.
How they do the jitterbug, then slide slowly
stepping to the snail surf, the widow
waltz a witty twirl weaving with a curl;
cause everyone knows a bug can boogie!
Bugs danced poignant steps in twilight
twisting and a turning so endlessly;
effortless in inquisitive poetic form
fading on fancy wings of midnight moths.
Morning sunlight winked a dawning morn
most tiny bug’s did rest awhile…
awaken when the fireflies light the sky;
sleep little one with hopeful dreams;
of Boogie Bugs under shadows of the wood.
Over at dVerse we’re dancing up a storm… stop by!
You gave us fairy dance in the soft mist-
we wept as butterfly withered under leaf;
now knowing fragile wings do break.
Then hushed October bloomed with blush
of frost upon the leaf… fruit too lost;
as does so much in nature’s shifting season..
When wintry winds did blow…
the stars hung heavy in winter’s snow;
what did they really see- you showed us.
As the birch bends left and right-
leaves like tresses dried in the sun;
shadows dance your mind’s paths.
The thawing wind brought all…
the rain, singer, nester, and
you scattering poems upon page.
You’ve asked if there be some mistake
in the lovely, dark, deep wood?
No, we did indeed hear the harness bells.
I see the road now taken in
lines etched upon your face-
a map only a poet could wear.
Knowing the two in yellow wood…
you took the less traveled
taking us all there along with you.
“To a road I won’t remember”;
where “children, spouting in endless waves”
“combing strands of dust” from paths.
My “emotions like dark stormy sea”
I “plunge into dark water” as wind
“sweeps cobwebs off the wall”.
That is the world of a poet!
The Poet is a re-blogged piece with reference to Robert Frost’s poems: Butterfly, October, Stars, To the Thawing Wind, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and The Road Not Taken. However, quotes are new lines attributed to Brian, Claudia, Grace, Gay, and Victoria some of our modern-day poets, who I’m sure, have walked the road with Robert along with other fine poets over at dVerse.
Hold the banner for Him we seek
for His resting place is glorious.
May earth be filled even overflow
with knowledge of the Lord,
as waters of the endless sea.
Look, a child plays at cobra’s hole,
as his hand rest in vipers den!
Nursing and weaned alike shall play;
no sting, no bit, no harm
lodges in the Holy Mountain.
Wolf dwells with gentle lamb,
leopard lie and rest with young goat,
fatlings together calf and lion;
as the cow and bear graze on shoots.
Amazing as a little child leads!
Read Isaiah 8-8-11… what a cool time that will be..