"softwood" poems
As far back as the middle age,
then, Europe planted for our good;
directed wisely by the sage,
that all the places these trees stood,
would be for pleasure and for food,
for friendship, love and loyalty,
that we be not misunderstood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
The others, one tree would upstage;
brought Slovenia nationhood.
All meetings there they would engage
beneath its branches, when they could,
to benefit the neighborhood
and people came from far to see
the rulers of the public good.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
The Linden tree, it will assuage
with blossom, root and bark basswood.
Cure you with a proper dosage
so take the tea just as you should.
You'll be filled with such gratitude-
drunk on flower scent heavenly.
Come circle round this fine softwood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
O prince let joy be understood:
Come see the way we live so free.
Come to our homes, come to our wood
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
*We walk through a garden in the evening sun.
We joke, we laugh, our thoughts are one
As we find a spot near a softwood tree
With bright flowers, cool shadows, alone, you and me.
We sit, we recline, your hand in mine
Your head on my shoulder, a feeling sublime.
We talk for a while and then we play,
We tease and touch in our special way.
The day surrenders to twilight then night,
The cool blue moon is now our delight.
This timeless wonder in a lovers’ sky
Compels our gaze to each other’s eyes.
Its magic transfigures your eyes into pools
Mysterious, haunting, inviting and cool
While mine are ablaze with passion’s fire.
We are trapped! Moon’s magic is now our desire.
Your hair glistens in this lovers’ light.
What was sunset gold in my earlier sight
Is a silver-sphered halo, angelic and bright.
A dark silhouette with comforting arms
I embrace you and kiss you and drink-in your charms.
Lips that smiled laughed and called
Are ambrosia, THE NECTAR, the gods are awed!
Kissing, tenderly, we kindle love’s fire,
A gentle caress heats our desire.
In our close embrace, the promise of day
We’ll fulfill this night in love’s ancient way.
Our kisses become longer and heaped with passion!
To hell with reason! To hell with ration!
We heed love’s call, love sets us free
And we unite...in splendour! To love’s ultimate degree
We blush, we smile, we sigh so deep,
We sing...love’s soft song as its joy we reap.
We rapturously explore with all we possess
To assure each other that all is expressed.
Our souls are in ecstasy! So deep, so endearing
Our kisses; so sweet, so pure our singing.
We whisper our name to each other’s ear
Softly, earnestly, so our hearts may hear.
At last, love’s longing is finally relieved,
At last, love’s dream is blissfully achieved.
We’ve paid the supreme compliment for our caring
With an act of love...the most intimate sharing.*
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
To lay my head upon the tawny cover of softwood pines once more
as I pry the manifest question of youthful travail and insecurity ,
to garner the earthen tier beside natures vested , rippling waters ..
Churning runnels lending delicate directions , whirlpool portrayals that countersink their matriarchal beginnings , only to gradually disappear ....
To wander the carpeted trail with arbitrary resolve , free of pious
intimidations .. Fixated with superb creativity .. With the eyes of an eagle .. Determined . Pithiest .. Invincible ..
As heat obscures the blacktop ahead , the shade of home is but a dot in the humid distance , tar laced Georgia roads in the month of August are quite dangerous to young , bare feet ...
Sorghum fields , hog wire boundaries , darkening skies ..The unbounded Sun dragging each step , briar patches line the road shoulder , painful reminders of lonely boots foolishly left unkept ...
Fire ant mounds hide in tall grass , Cow Killers forage alone in Summer swelter , brown scorpions , cottonmouths and the list goes on virtually
forever during Dog Days , legends of wounds refusing to heal , double headed rattlers and rabid foxes , Longhorn bulls turning wild , growing bloodthirsty , hunting down unwary farm hands .. Men turned lunatic
from tainted moonshine , waiting at the wood line for clumsy boys and girls , well water made septic from lack of rain .. Bobcats running in packs for any food easily obtained , including boys that refused to listen
to mother , leaving their cowboy boots when warned not to do so ... This will be the last time I'm caught barefooted , all alone , left to my own wit and minds reserve , Mom and Dad can be sure of it !
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
It is morning-time, and I walk
meandering paths pull me, a crisp breeze pushes me
the earth supports me and falls away with each passing step
it can only hold me when I'm there
softwood trees bend around the trail, and hardwood trees enrich their denouement. A glittering canopy of dewy leaves curls atop my route, the moonbeams seeming to dawn from inside each perfect ornament. but I know the finished moon floats just above them
my steps flow in a steady rhythm, regularly broken by the passage of a memory. Sometimes it is time. Sometimes it is a dance. Once it was another Being that caught my consideration; a ghostly doe, visible just through a break in the wood, a brown and white-speckled spectre crashing through the hinterland, startled by my feet, by my breath-
the breeze is stronger now, and made anxious by the din my pace quickens. memories stream by faster, woken up by the filtered moonlight, pulled out from abeyance. leaves drifting upon a whirling river, clouds being ripped into a storm.
it is morning-time, and I walk
the sky is deepening, though the moon is descending
too much has happened, too much has passed into yore
I remember just enough, and it is mourning-time
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
*Softwood seeds whirlybird to the broom sage floor
Appalachian winds awaken forest spirits just outside my
door , Fall cornfields crackle under invisible control ,
Brown Gourd birdhouses clack against each other on
the first chilly Autumn morn* ..
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
To Where Tyrolean aurochs
graze in cools of lapis prairie
, I have come,
In A Balthazar of star- led zeal,
my scarlet hunter flown from
urban zodiacs of anxious ports,
of ailing townships steaming in
their millioned yellow orders,
shackled
sick beneath the mountain's boot.
Through dim grimmiores
of softwood press
I sleeve,
In sympathies of woad to glean
the narrative of under_ storey,
bourne to earn my Eagle .
I chance to know the trip of wind
kissed, sinuous on beaufort scales
balanced on a fingers edge to
turn October
into wine.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Once again spring is here
the animals run again in fear
the grass is dead , the trees are dry
the weather is warm and the sun is up high
The firefighters gear up to roll
Protecting the land is their main goal
They study the weather and put out alerts
And pray to god no one gets hurt
The radio blares of a fire out there
Lights and sirens , no time to spare
Light grey in color , the column of smoke
the one that lit it , thinks its a joke
Back in the woods , in no mans land
Its hard to contain , in a softwood stand
the wind is high , no rain in sight
The flaming beast put up a fight
With faces of black and smelling of smoke
the beast is contained, but a long ways from out
We now have a hose line around the perimeter
Our bellies hungry with no time for dinner
Written by E.ME. M. Rushton
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
Look how open
Rings of softwood
Fresh cut
From farmed forest.
Straight tree from
Straight row,
Inability to
Look
Feel thousand
Year oak, old
Gnarled wood
Useless
Weeping amber
Through thick
Bark look
And feel
As drought years
Tighten rings
And
Wet
Fast growth of
Sunshine,
Canopy galloping to light.
Build house marry ring to
Swollen finger
Construct seat
Table
Young wood and all
The paraphenalia of pretence
Live good
Happy life
But I shall nestle,
Look, feel
Half eaten oak and
Soak my soul
In history
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
Strips of gray , alabaster and black brushstrokes streak across my confused sky .. Howling , relentless zephyrs hammer fledgling Oaks and softwood Pines ..
Curious leaves and needles clamor beneath the canopy , searching desperately , running for shelter ... Cardinals and Thrashers witness the exodus , their curious chirps drowned with each gust of late February's
Winter fury and banter ... The wind is a young child this afternoon , testing her Mothers scorn , running free throughout the yard intrigued
by the other side of the road .. Storm clouds are in juvenile mindset as well , threatening rain with their mind on Carolina , tempering my welkin today and gone by tomorrow ..
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC