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Paul Butters Nov 2020
In bitter winds the little Pipistrelle bats
Flitter hither and thither
Into the hills,
Around tree-timber limbs
With brittle twigs.
They wing their way
In thrills
Of twists
And turns.

Meanwhile, deep down below
The cows moan,
Roaming through the range.
They moo while they chew the cud,
Ruminating their food
Grazed earlier from prairie meadows.

Through the long day
They are accompanied
By flocks of birds
Twittering and tweeting,
Much noisier than the bats.
A feather flung chorus
Singing operas and arias
Amongst the misty trees.

Word composers love these things:
Mother Nature wrapping us
In her arms
And filling the air
With sights and sounds
That sooth the soul,
Sending us soundly to sleep
While those bats
Come out to play.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\11\2020.
Musical words.
Unpolished Ink Nov 2020
Winters frozen earth my tomb below a shadowed frosty mothers face, a working boot with rusted nails that pushed me deep beyond the freeze to where I came upon another place, a womb of warmth within the soil

The fallen leaves which flew me to my doom, became a broth to speed me into verdant life.  I cannot say how long I lay within my room, growing fat among the worms which chewed my infant food and burrowing things all shiny on their backs like glass which passed and took me to the sun and light and air.

My growing place I knew not where, was ploughed and ready land where I so small could barely see above the plants which grew around me as a coat and shield from spring and summer heat.

For so it came to pass upon my second year and more when I did chance to see the floor the grass and daisies at my feet for I had grown so tall that they were hardly there at all.

A mighty oak I stand through changes to the times which seem to work though some mysterious and unknown hand. I heard the ***** of soldiers in their passing off to war and heard returning feet of some I heard before.

And when my limbs became so heavy and then thickened to  a width beyond what eyes could see, they changed the name upon my trunk and I became the famous hanging tree, it was not right, it was a man who pulled the rope and took a fearful struggling life, not me.

The seasons came and went and all around me in my view, began to build and change from what I always saw and knew to be my place, tall buildings sprang from what had been a lonely space, of solitude and wind that whipped my leaves and brought my children to the ground, as that surround which I had long held dear began to fade and slowly disappear replaced by traffic ever near.

I cast my green and shaded eyes upon grass and daisys once again, an old and fallen victim of the rain, now I with scurrying creatures lie upon my back to see the sky, so once I grew and now I die, to sink beneath the soil from whence my acorn came, I lived the life which all of us man beast or tree have only temporary claim.
Please be kind, it is a new venture. I am not known for writing long poems so there might not be another one. I just felt inspired today.
HTR Stevens Nov 2020
The wind is whispering to the trees:
"Come! Come! Do speak to me."
The trees reply, "Please send the breeze
Our leaves break loose and free!"
Faeryn Nov 2020
"its time to go" spoke the winds.
i open my eyes
ive settled into the dirt
and the roots have held to my skin.

"ive been gone too long again havent i"
the atmosphere had changed
"5 minutes go a long way"

i step away from my trap
theyve forgotten me.
trees soak time. such a beautiful life should never be trusted with something so fragile.
Anemone Nov 2020
Lumber arches guide me through
Wooden doorways old and new
So much to see in this world of fantasy
Come with me
She lives in beauty
Though she may live with it she knows not of it
Just as the fish of the sea filtering oxygen from the waters knows not that the water
its in, is consequently the air it breaths.
She lives in beauty nonetheless
amusing all who see it and cherish it
to their deaths.
Through her youth the bounty is time and possibly a gaze that she may bestow you with profoundly.
If her gaze had never fallen upon myself I would have no words to share nor reasons for care as without the sight of her eyes on my mind I wouldn't have the slightest knowledge of beauty nor time.
She lives in beauty just as the aspens trees of Colorado glowing in their bright yellow fall coats Our love is a tree which stands solemnly.
What grew from a seed took off exponentially, and flourished magnanimously creating from within its own awning of protection, providing shade and comfort to all who may pass.
Though time dwindles and autumns rough breezes and cold winter nights nears, the flurry of winds brushes debris and leaves from the tree tumultuously.
Standing prostrate and naked the timber appears to be desolate, austere and bleak. But were it not for our sun and its ultraviolet rays to send warmth and divinity assembling from within the sugars from its cache and photosynthesis taking place in its stems to muster up all the energy to grow anew. And like once before the tree stands in all its glory preened in green sharing the love between all living things absorbing the carbon dioxide we exhale and blessing us all with the very thing that enables us to survive.
From mornings first light to nights last second of twilight does her beauty shine bright as a supernova burgeoning.
Alight from the mountains she wistfully wastes no time waiting, instead she's actively demonstrating integrity and what it takes to be in solidarity with all around her.
Mirrored flame to cherish her colour
Embellishing our moments together forever my lover
Our days turn to nights filled with more than laughter and as sure as her beauty shines bright her love is pure to my delight as she lives in beauty
Daniel Nov 2020
Terrible and tall are the trunks in their ranks,
and reeling en masse
Like a timber-toothed maw guarding secrets

Where in that darkness do the rushing leaves go?
At my feet and in song!
With each bluster they usher the bedlam along

For what do they long?
For what within that writhing wood might turn them so headlong?

In little leaps and sudden swerves, they trace the winds across the turf
Such a dance on the Earth!
Such a rapturous throng!
Towards that crooked forest where my heart is darkly drawn
Julia Nov 2020
Even on cloudy days, she is beautiful.
Full of life and color
Always moving forward,
Never letting anything get in her way.
She is more beautiful on the bad days.
When the sky is dark and looming,
She can still bring light and life.
She can make you feel safe.
With her songs in the trees, in the water, and in the wind that brushes against your cheeks

She is beautiful.
Red Nov 2020
Soft footsteps echo through a starlit night
Leaves rustle underfoot, where a lone rabbit watches
Is the dark freedom born or chances few?
A cricket considers the melancholy.
Or neither? Something new?

An engine rumbles on a road a distance away,
Brittle twigs crunch under four slow wheels.
Waving goodbye, or merry greetings,
or something else, in between?
There! The golden arm of beech leaves dance in a breeze

an appreciation of the moment,
as moments, come to be.
a collection of seconds and fragments
from so many eyes
strung together,  as priceless as pearls
or an unknown prize.

will you see what the world offers in true solitude?
when it thinks you won't see what it can offer to you?
or will you pause, like the deer
to truly observe?
quiet nights, moonbeams,  and lone beech trees.
all that the universe believes we deserve.
Kerli Tulva Nov 2020
In the forest you find
the peaceful route
the quiet, one of a kind
to contemplate about.

Deep in thought seeing
the mysteries of nature
far in fantasies flying
greeting passing creatures.

In daydream you wish
that trees had the wings
hoping for their soft kiss
when love lullabies sings.
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