"glades" poems
~ Ode to Joy ~
White gold ambassador
canine past eight
soul seekers ascend
(from cirque to seven)
to peak
to peak
to peak
Saddlerock spearhead
ptarmigan
and flute
Christmas trees
in winter glades
over dusted crystal scape
Fissile (eiger) sanction
open shale and tusk
indiscriminate members
roll the bluffs
and ice falls
above the
north face steep
Dead silent dawn
breathless, bitter cold
the beating hearts
and brahmas
warm the spirit
of pakalolo
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.
Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.
Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.
Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!
Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.
Paul Butters
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.
We become poets once more.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
Infinitely and often nightly but very quietly
I creep into the garden shed
and make a bed among the flower pots
where those dainty blooms with purple spots
spot me
and open up their eyes to see who sits among the rakes and spades
and somewhere in those dappled glades
my eyes will rest upon a cur-ved apparition and entirely of an auto responsive
suggestion
I will greet her with a midnight smile taped on my lips
and when my heart has done its forty skips and my body settles down
I invite her to come a little close and sit beside me by the oak tree
she
smiles in a light to brighten any night and any day I know would be proud to say
go with the moment it is yours to own
but on my own trapped in a shady place
I face the fact that
this place in the garden shed is only pictures in my head
and I retreat
beat it back indoors where the thunderous snores of all my many days
come back to haze me in some juvenilish way
it's the way of it
it is the way and I have bitten off more than a piece or two
and flown too close to sit upon the heat
of the sun
burned my bridges
burned my ***
and never learnt to hold my tongue
but it is the way
and one day the way will become oh so clear
the potting shed that's in my head will disappear
and in its place
the face I look to meet
will greet me
deferentially I shall shape my tongue to fit around the words I want to say
It is and always has been
this way.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
So it came to pass at last and sad to know a Timber has fallen
It stood in strength tall and strong for over seven decades
Resplendently toned it spread an uncompromising foliage
Masterly in domain magical in reach attaining untold grades
Humble in origins yet grew with endeavour and knowledge
Distinguishably it cut sway in tundra and in lush green glades
Son of sons of the Land held roots countenancing no crawling
It reached for the stars and danced reasons with every shades
Ran with the sun and sat with owls and vipers for tutelage
Sweeping the very highs and the lows in communal trades
In the jungle of sharks and vipers it be known who's in Charge
A Timber has fallen while the rains falls and blue clouds fades
There's now a mighty hole in the earth and rivers are swollen
Leaves scatter and branches beckon hundreds of onward bridges
Leaving best Princess, flowers and saplings for love and largesse
A notable trunk laid supine free to roam without worldly cages
Odes will enter dancing in guises and tears flow without finesse
A Timber has fallen and dirges will ring out for a man of all ages
Yemessia bows and says Adieu My Senior, we will meet again.....
[email protected].
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert--and am free.
For here the fair savannas know
No barriers in the bloomy grass;
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,
Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.
In pastures, measureless as air,
The bison is my noble game;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.
Mine are the river-fowl that scream
From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
The brinded catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing, dies.
With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way,
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train
Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!
Free stray the lucid streams, and find
No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind
Where never scythe has swept the glades.
Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere
The heavy herbage of the ground,
Gathers his annual harvest here,
With roaring like the battle's sound,
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:
I meet the flames with flames again,
And at my door they cower and die.
Here, from dim woods, the aged past
Speaks solemnly; and I behold
The boundless future in the vast
And lonely river, seaward rolled.
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;
Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue
Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?
Broad are these streams--my steed obeys,
Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods--I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies
O'er woody vale and grassy height;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at night.
4.9k
On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
And see the newborn wood flowers bashful-eyed
Look through the golden tresses here and there.
On these debatable borders of the year
Spring’s foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
And through her bowers the wind’s way still is clear.
But April’s sun strikes down the glades to-day;
So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss
Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,
Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this
Is even the hour of Love’s sworn suitservice,
With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.
3.5k
It's early in the morning walking with Mollie dog
I look up and see white wispy clouds floating high above
The early morning mist has been burnt off by the sun
Me and natures beauty merge, become as one
A butterfly attracted to an open summer flower
The muted distant sound of the lowing of a cow
We walk a little further into a pleasant sunlit glade
The growing warmth of summer means that life will never fade
The spreading boughs of leaf laden trees give shelter from the heat
Here me and Mollie can sit and rest our weary feet
We walk a little further drawn by natures magic lure
All the sounds that nature makes vibrate in the air
What is the power that draws me back into this place?
It's the lure of natures charm, her fields and woodland glades
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.
3.2k
Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise
On this June day; and hand that clings in hand:—
Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann’d:—
An osier-odoured stream that draws the skies
Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes:—
Fresh hourly wonder o’er the Summer land
Of light and cloud; and two souls softly spann’d
With one o’erarching heaven of smiles and sighs:—
Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto
Each other’s visible sweetness amorously,—
Whose passionate hearts lean by Love’s high decree
Together on his heart for ever true,
As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue
Rests on the blue line of a foamless sea.
3k
Beautiful Darjeeling in West Bengal I heard you call my name.
Like a siren you have lured me to your slopes and sun filled glades.
How could I resist the urge to come and join you there.
To be assailed by your beauty, smell your perfumed air.
I sit here in your paradise, from my pen the words do flow.
I sit and write of what I see and hear and watch the poem grow.
I know now and the meanings clear. Darjeeling the abode of God.
For only from his mighty hand could such a place be forged.
And so I sit and write of the glory that I see
And as I wonder at the glories another sits with me.
I cannot leave this beauty but alas I have no choice.
I would sing of beautiful Darjeeling but I do not have the voice...
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
a calendar
lies in the corner of a table,
forgotten,
two weeks into the New Year,
its simple pencil sketch at the top
showing at an angle.
late at night
a noise can be heard from that corner,
the sound of protesting sobs,
and a little voice
can be picked out here and there,
"all the other calendars
had pretty scenes
of mountain lakes and forest glades.
now they are all gone.
someone has taken them
to hang on their wall.
and I am still lying here.
nobody wants me.
my big, clumsy letters
are clear and dark.
a child could read them.
and my large, awkward boxes
have plenty of writing space.
I am the best calendar around
and could help someone greatly
in their struggle
to remember their place in time,
if only someone would stay long enough
to see what I am
and not what I look."
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
The first shots slammed across the woods at dawn
Into my sleep, there taking down my dreams
Which can’t be slung into a pickup truck
And carried to the processors by noon
Venison is a bit gamey, of course:
That’s why they call it game, wild game, then food
Blended with pork and spices for Thanksgiving
And that’s a nice little dream in itself
Let’s not indulge sentimentality here
In forest glades or on china plates – it’s just a deer
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
Fashionable entourage
people dance in step
to the beat of hidden
native rituals
Hidden here and there
seeing a pair clad up to the hilt
with colored shades
cool as mountain glades
that never
shakes or simmers
on fire
a real deep desirous searching soul
Rapping about nothing
even though
face to face
words bounce off expressions
as cool as mountain glades
that soon melt-fade
into the distance
Rap, tap, clap
never nap
the cannibus-filled room
embellished by flashing lights
on nights
that take spatial flights
into another world that enters upon
lounging everywhere
people lost in space,
in time,
in androgynous acts
In vogue, you speak to me
about fashions
that dazzle, frazzel, razzle,
and lip curl
and eye twinkle
me to you,
in real
but unreal
cannibus-sweet-dusky-dreamy-rooms
MTV blotched, bleached
Sergio Valente dungarees,
then a real feeling child cries
in the background
and is soon hustled off to bed
And never a hurt we laugh
and smile
and smile
A frozen smile grin;
take it on the chin sport
Keep up the good front
Keep up the grinning fort sport
A sported fort fortified Disneyland
and life's forever
carousel ride
and sweep the dirt under the carpet
A speak about profits
And speak about"ME" yuppie things;
about golden rings
that wrap around ears, around wrists, and cattle noses
Seek time entwined
to search geometrically
the advertisements
that lead you
and nobody but you to you
A love ballad between
one and no one but you
You and you
and you
and you
Being good you
you being good to you,
Being good to nar-sa-see-you
you being good to only you,
to yoou
to yoou
to yoooooooooou
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
’Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth’s loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold,
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.
Inverted in the tide,
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April!—many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life’s golden fruit is shed.
2.5k
Exhausted
from feeling
reeling
peeling away my exoskeleton
of mossy vehemence
Disgusted
from festering
pestering bacteria
leeching my energy
depleting my senses
Desensitized
towards romance
no chance
for me
Sinking
in a swamp
instead of grasping
for relief
Ashamed
for allowing
disavowing
natural instincts
Crying
dying
internally invaded
by poisonous neglect
Suicide
by choking on
your spoken words
I kept
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
*
*
Spring, how gracious is your name,
full of light and life and colour.
Songbirds in their woodland nests
emerge and sing, feeding their
chicks or teaching them to fly
The coat of white has become a
soft, healthy green.
At the sound of her sweet laugh,
swallowtails, each a shade of
a rainbow, flutter around her and
into the distant glades.
Her olive skin drinks in the gentle
sunlight, her pink silks ***** around
her small ******* and hips, her
bare feet crushing the grass.
She twirls, her arms outstretched.
With the jingle of her bracelets,
a warm breeze passes.
A flick of her brown curls,
flowers burst into the bloom
from the earth, filling the air
with their sweetness.
A snap of her slender fingers,
the clouds split in two and
with her gaze from her emerald
eyes, there is no discord;
harmony in the air.
Harmony everywhere...
'Hear me, Sisters,' she chimes,
'Hear it all, hear the cheer of Spring!'
*
*
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
What dew so sweet
On the morning willow grows
And the blood runs true deep
Alas the body overthrows
Pray thee to gaze
Lay waste to the east
Upon western glades
Resounds, the bay of the beast
In mortal coil
On cracked earth resign
The body transform
Lay return to the mind
And in provincial mist
Walk thee twixt the cold
Eyes upon skin
And tattered remnants of clothes
And speaketh no name
But pray eat and sleep
And rest now anon
A fortnight defeat
For liketh the moonrise
Three days a month full
Give rise, hounds of hell
Ne're the sunrise to cull
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
Grey is the color of my eyes.
They stare past meadows and glades,
probing the blues and reds of sunset skies
to find black stone, dead and alone
where this vibrant life, may atone
and die.
I tire of these sensational tales;
these tear jerking moments of love and loss.
There are no tears left to pour from this grail
of dead wood. There are no more coins to toss
into this well of souls; tired and alone;
dead and lost.
In that well;
In those eyes;
Grey reigns king over fickle trust.
In this naked temple, on knees so tired.
I pray for an end to love and lust.
In this heart of frozen steel and wire,
I beg you. Let me rust.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
*Hint of green in amber rushing
Cold as ice in beauteous way,
Black beech towers overhead
Alpine zephyrs catch to sway.
Hint of green in boulder rapid
Morning sunshine gleans the tint
Wading forth to dangerous water
Pumping pulse in eyes that glint.
Hauling up and out with effort
Straining arms, staggered gait
Wading forth to sandy beach
With hidden prize that cannot wait.
Boulder in her amber shroud
Masking flash of emerald sheen
Pounamu in the Maori tongue
Glorious jade in turquoise green.
Treasure of high hidden mountains
Locked within exquisite glade
Birdcalls ring through wooded canyons
Reeling realisation made.
Photographs the proof of moment
Tremulous while masking pain
I caste far out this gem of Jacob
Splashing, gone, to torrent’s gain.
Tremulous I stand in wonder
Wondrous of this perfect place
I, who touched the smile of God
Now wear a happy, laughing face.*
M.
In the glorious wild river glades above Jackson Bay in the Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
several snakes spiraling
hissing a message in her ear
telephone is dialing
waiting for a call from someone dear
(on the velveteen tangerine)
roller skated through the town
laces strangle each other like constrictors
gravity is upside down
the pair of skates are like twin sisters
(on the velveteen tangerine)
ivy climbing legs and boughs
stemming into leaves and flowers
time is spinning backwards now
the clock has been gone for hours
(on the velveteen tangerine)
cream and sugar sweet
share a cup of tea with company
friends talk about their week
lounging in the leafy canopy
(on the velveteen tangerine)
eyes stare at the strange sight
unattached and independently
moonlight shines on glades of green at night
trees blend into starry scenery
(on the velveteen tangerine)
citrus spheres hang from tree limbs
peel the hard rind to make it nice
pick one or a dozen at your whim
drink sweet juice or swallow a slice
(on the velveteen tangerine)
beware of seeds and centipedes
but take a chance and you will dance
with delight around midnight
on the velveteen tangerine
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
Her eyes speak
the truest words
never uttered
They tell of the ocean
on a lonely shore
Of salt marsh days
and windswept dunes
And love among the ruins
Her habit worn
vow unbroken to the night
She smiles a wanton wish
of summer days
and a fair young boy
among the glades
She sighs
her dreams away
and polishes again
the bare stone floor.
r ~ 7/28/14
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
O lady o ,
When I first saw you ,
you’re beauty was it not plucked like a carnation Gods gardens of delight ?
Or had the snake who saw you stand there ,
so to draw blood from my very sight ?
For I have ridden in dark forests by day ,
past pine ,
and firn
for even they could never draw out the love in you’re eyes ,
or the tender way you’re White carnations flew on by .
The sunset with its colours as vast as you’re breast ,
I have awaited every hour of every day ,
and there you are ,
You’re turrets tall and fair youre battlements boast of ore and steel ,
You’re cannons lit it’s flintlock poised ,
You’re hairs as black as the Lotus flower that gives its scent unto
the night ,
and grows all around you’re turrets so rare .
I will blow a kiss to you this evening ,
for the wind may howl ,
let its spirits deceive ,
this night you’re cannons I shall disarm ,
You’re turrets dismantle ,
you’re battlements besiege.
As for you’re carnations ,
shall I hold tight to my chest ?
For this night our bodies will entwine ,
as the firn and the pine ,
the bark and the yoke ,
to chase the sun ,
past forest glades,
gallop ,
as you hold my thighs ,
together we shall ride ,
Side by side .
This night we shall call our own lost in the pine forest ,
firn and flower .
For are they not dainty ones I shall pick for you this hour .
Then as the last rays of light called it a night ,
and the vast reds in all their array ,
could not stop my tears ,
one white carnation on the ground ,
without a note ,
quite profound ,
an empty space where you once stood ,
lies now a block of wood .
And I still mount thus every night ,
Galloping hopeless in faintest light ,
as faster than any knight ,
to gaze to where you once stood ,
for with thy white carnations must lie
my forever ,
beating ....
heart .
.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
On her knee sat a pallet of paints, a blank canvas and the trees, slowly her eyes closed into the emerald depths,
Once not long ago, the splendour of winters nature witch was in silent slumber on crisp meadows, gone are blood berries of Holly’s frozen clusters, I see hedges spiked and glossy leaves,
Awake I am moving past the trees, nowever will I wonder in glades of silver and green, I am a gentle jewel entwined within trees
High pitch calls of the little owls are peeking, the woods be alive
Little Robin Ruby Red breast is showing a deep chest, serenading me,
A badger munching and crunching yonder I see,
Tiny oak trees sprouting upward, a little gift from the squirrel’s scurrying year
High above, a Raven black ink to my eyes.
A jet feather is floating free, a gift from my beloved woods in mind
Feeling the leaves dancing among big oaks trees, maples, beech and twigs are spiraling down enchanting on me,
Whispering are the leaves that move, now dark, now light
In the morn Wildwood tear drops of sliver hung on clever leaves, fairies are laughing hither tither and yon, sun catching their smiles in glitter,
Golden rays bow to the dancers in the green glens and groves
Apple and pear trees laden with blossom perfume the air,
Sweet grass is tickling my legs, and lady bird red wing sings in the passing warm breeze, gazing upon Blue bell carpets just for me
Into nights spell
A voice wind runs through my hair, come and dance by the edge of the sea, I will guild you on a moon beam a bride to be, cooling the passion you feel, Beech nut husks crunch at my feet, and acorns marbles are laughing at me
Wildwood possessed dew drop lips, majestic of night in the glades of silver green,
Summer’s evening fire warming the passion you feel, dressed in cotton, wire and silks purple be, I am who you invoke and have always been, come to the edge of the Wildwood's near the sea to dance come be thee
── Gently her eyes fluttered open, lifting her brush, smiling she began her self-portrait among the trees.
© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet T20.2014
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
The deep woods that linger on the mountain hill
With open palms that beckon and hold
As I move across its glades of gold and jade
As the hidden bridge squeaks beneath my weight
The pines beginning to close in on the space
That was the path, crumbling into mossy lace
In that moment, it was barely visible
The red steeple of the city temple
Peeking gently through the canopy of leaves
But as the wind blew and the woodlands breathed
And the fairies of the river bank sang
The warm hand against my back began to lead me away
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC