"treed" poems
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
traffic backup,
roadwork signs.
drive down road,
little houses
treed yards.
brown leaves,
first sign of fall.
kids about to go back to
school\parents
return to work. rolling
on the seconds go,
ticking by faster
each year so it
seems.
cars piled up,
to slow, won't go.
tiny dancers in the
wind blow on to car
windows,
another sign of coming
Harvest Season.
people resist the clear
trademarks
enjoying the fall,
but resenting the
winter.
I can't understand
New England birds,
you're housed in
cocoons like caterpillars
that guard against the
elements,
not freezer coldness
that animals call home.
I'm not sure the memo
reached you,
but this isn't the
South.
trees like snakes,
shed their
rainbow skins, as
"Old Man Winter"
kicks in. the sound of
leaves crunching, cold
on the floor under foot.
Autumn's death has
no memorial,
birds flying South
a eulogy.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Pine treed mountains
mid winters grip
Frigid blast
blankets all
Victuals scarcity,
wildlife hungers
Wolves scavenge
aimlessly
Eerie silence settles,
storm passed
Quiescent solitude
seemingly abandoned
Vicious temps split
frozen tree bark
Sounds, sudden
percussion
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
From this island
water and more tiny islands
heavily treed with Douglas fir
landing ground for ocean otters
while orca whales glide by
spout and spray
the beach, broken shelled
puddled wells of tide pools
filling, spilling over again
brown bauble seaweed mingles
round algae rocks, barnacle shingled
here where the air breathes salt scented
water running wild with salmon.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I put the dream catcher at the head of my bed
Where bad dreams dare not treed.
It captures just my good dreams and hopes and prayers
And with the angels it is shared.
What better carrier than an angel with wings
Who can handle most anything.
Your prayers and dreams have been seen and heard
Every dream and every word.
The dream catcher must start again
Because your dreams may never end.
© L. RAMS 020415
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Princely treed blue jay . . .
Hopping up boughs of old spruce,
. . . Both have crested heads.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
One has to speak their language - Cats
a snotty, snooty breed
Don't try to tell them what to do
Don't get them down when they are treed
They'll come down when they want to
when they hear the opening whirr
where can opener meets cat food
they'll walk out of that tree as if it wasn't there
and swish their tail as if to say
"it's nothing"
But, Oh, the softest love they have
when on your lap they softly purr
or stroking all that silky fur
and all the stress of passing days
so soon becomes a milky haze
and flys away, forgotten now
She loves you dear, there is no doubt
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
There are days I wish I could remember
what is was I said in a state of stupor
and haze. The times I tipped bottles
back and poured them into my soul
releasing demons and their lovers
into the air around me like smoke
rising. Stumbling in and out of sentences,
incoherant thoughts, and blurry vision.
There are nights I wish I could recall
what you felt like, a bare treed forest,
wet with morning dew, and the sound
of echoing geese. We awoke
to the distant whines of lonely dogs,
and the knowledge that it would be hours
before we could meld into each other again.
The memories I have, a muffled question
to dance, an honest eyed I Love You marked
by bloodied hands, chewed puzzle pieces,
and freezing to death watching men chase
pig skin down damp turf. I lift my hands
and chase them like fireflies in the dark.
Hoping to catch them and keep them
in tiny boxes beneath my pillows.
But as butterflies do with nets, they slip
slowly through aching fingers,
like the waves tease the beach, washing
against it and then disappearing again
into murky depths. I would have let you
band me, keep me wrapped up in your
tattoos and scars. I would have fed
hungry mouthes and slipped into
secret moments stolen between sheets.
There are days I wish I could remember
what it was I said. And there are nights
I wish I could forget, what it was you told me.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
water as calm as the night that consumes it.
a dock, to never land and away farther again.
wooden water bed atop singing-in-the-wind reeds.
there are family lights here.
near and dear, but pleasant on the pier.
the ducks sit like loon silhouettes on the water.
I found you by accident, but I think I'll stay awhile.
drizzle drops drip-drop-trickle around me, falling on a warm breeze.
bats fly in a sky, full of gray rain clouds.
perhaps they will war elsewhere tonight.
I sit on docks and enjoy night spring before the mosquito summer.
in this is a treed water cove.
the water is like glass ripples:
warm city lights wafting lazily on the water.
and noises of roads too far away to care about.
and I do look back as I leave for it is that I will return.
not soon enough will this place always be calling upon me.
I flee as rain floats on the wind.
with rain clouds crying, and fire trucks screaming, and the flashing lights breaking, midst the thunder booms and lightning flashes.
tomorrow comes crashing down.
good night to you, the still watery pond.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
So much **** in my head/ this exact feelin' i dread/ if it ain't one thing it's another/ can you hear the faint sounds of thunder/ betta run fo' cover/ cuz when it rains it pours/ so betta be prepared for more/ stack up your sandbags, reinforce your levy's/ cuz all the payn, can get so heavy/ don't let the water, rush ya/ it has the strength 2 crush ya/ i know you feel the pressure/ don't let it stress ya/ if the water starts 2 rize/ don't be surprised/ just be aware, the current might take waves/ don't be fooled by the size/ it's the force beneath/ that can pull you off your feet/ and take you 2 see all life in the sea/ if you lose your balance don't panic/ relax and treed water if you can manage/ try 2 stay afloat/ hopefully you'll see a boat/ and you can climb aboard/ it may be over now, but stay prepared for more/ there may be a leak in the floor/ and once again, fightin' the force/ bail out the water and find a plug 2 stop the faucet, thats pourin'/ try 2 see what caused it, though it may not matta/ it might help save you from diasta'/ then in your last moment of dispair/ you look and land is near/ try 2 make it there/ jump ship or try 2 make a repair/ paddles or not/ sometimes the boat you must rock/ pull up your anchor, don't jus sit in the same spot/ once you've reached shore/ your not done, be prepared for more/ different obstacles are awaiting'/ don't spend so much time debating/ make a decision, either way consequences are waitin'/ which way 2 go/ we don't always know/ look 2 the stars/ yeah their far/ but they can help show, which way 2 go/ North, South, East, West, i truly don't know who knows best/ Storms will come and go, and some will be harder then the rest, but just remember always live your best.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:38 PM UTC
Who will create tomorrow?
Is it the leaders of today?
The ones who reach, posses
Overachieve?
Is it the dreamers
For whom the beauty of imagination
Is what springs hope for the future.
Is it the followers?
The ones who believe in
Others ambitions and dreams?
Is it the pessimists?
Those who treed on
The hopes, dreams and
achievements of others?
Who do you think it is?
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC
As we travel through the mountains--
our vessel snaking round each mound--
I wonder how we seem to them,
merely ants marching on the ground.
Two by two threading the treed lea.
Man's existence becomes irrelevant.
A leaf on the ground is unique,
yet a forest before decent.
We each are a puzzle piece here
to a jigsaw never complete.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
an intimately vast space
spread out in small pockets
where once a treed horizon
dared to peek out into view
now walls enclose the square feet
so precious to the privileged few
real estate, though nothing real
about it at all, built on dreams
and promises unfulfilled
you can plan your OXO lifestyle
advertised on billboards
of temptation on the roadside
that passes what looks
like a battlefield, nature making
one last stand of liquid mud
to repel all boarders, but to no avail
tarmac veins snake and harden
making new arteries to a future
braver infantile world
of possession and greed
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 7:12 PM UTC
~
I am lost…
wandering aimlessly
among towering pines,
sweeping branches
of shaded bliss
leaving pine cone markers
along a soft needled path
The breeze is cool,
fragrant wisps through
clinging vines braided
in abstract patterns
as I try to gather
my bearings
I can see the sun
through the forest
falling lower in the sky
reflecting on the
calm flowing waters
of this small stream
I have been following
for what seems to be hours
Carp and minnows,
orange, black and gray
swim happily
with little care though
I am becoming worried now,
my body aches from the walking
but it feels good
the air is still sweet
as I hear an owl
in the darkness
of the treed canopy
greeting me
I come to a clearing,
tall grasses sway
and I see the sunset
blooming like a prized rose,
petals awash in bright pastels
on the horizon
I sit for a spell
gazing upon the
wonders of nature,
thinking back on
what I have seen,
what I have experienced
and what I am witnessing
right now and finally realize
I am not lost at all…
I am found
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
.
1
Venus
Beauty of true love
Apparition in the sun
No need for dreaming
2
Eucharist
Lost chalice is found
Blood whines of creation cupped
Deep in the flower
3
Weighty Chill
Scales of love seasons
When autumn leaves start to fall
Bereavement rises
4
Treed
Upstart crows landing
Always go for highest branch
Till eagles arrive
5
Life
Eyes and lips with her
My whole life flashed before me
The longest moment
6
Heavenly Bodies
Eyes first greeting light
Out of void universe born
Infant stars crying
7
Regrettings
Mountains of memory
In the distance all is haze
Only blue beyond
8
Aroused
Lovers dipping toes
Salt legs before diving deep
In scent of ocean
9
Iridescence
After making love
Her body glowed like dawning
Such heavenly light
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Ringed by a tall, told wood,
A meadow pond dearly stood,
Deep and dark, the branched lands
Of childhood reaching to forever,
Throughout the growing seasons,
Rich in pines, bane ivy, hemlocks,
Naked columns of the freed bark,
To shelter the treed imaginations
Of running youth, where creatures
Became fabled to the wide open
Eyes tearing into the overgrowths,
Heading by the shudders of caul,
In the shades of the woody owl,
Greatly horned was the sly song,
The never present wails of cold, lost
Nightingale nor snout of woodcock,
Camouflaged in the browned leaves,
The gracing sun smoked in the morn,
And flamed forgotten in leafy eves,
In the needled myths of the roaming
Creatures, the dandy pheasant struts,
The brawned hind in the foraging doe,
Painted turtles, helmeted above ripples
Of parapet stone in soft water breached,
Sparking stars reigned with swirling fireflies
And glow of moon, as ever appeared, shook
The playful fear within, without, belongings
Of the child who spun his own tales, so held,
This, then was begun paradise in a sleepy waterlog
Of vale, outward from the shadowlands of creep age,
Kept, for daze, won, dreamed, in the torrid torching
Stalks, sunlit hold, the flash of painted face, knotty
Brilliance set free, the unmatched strike in reeds.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
When you plant a good seed watch out for weeds. They will try to supersede and ***** out all good deeds.
Because weeds only grow to impede and to do misdeeds. Once freed the weeds will procede to take the lead and will have you treed, indeed.
So take heed when you plant your seed don't feed the weeds or they will breed and can make you concede.
Proof read then proceed with Godspeed.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 7:37 PM UTC
This mannequin is freer than me
I’m treed to taxes and age
She stands beautiful and pale beyond the beautician’s windowdoor
Glass cannot hinder one’s sight
A primrose crown my daughter made for her naked head now wilts
Still she is unaffected by life, the stoic Apolinaria
~ A.M, F.H.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 6:51 PM UTC
Ringed by a tall, told wood,
A meadow pond dearly stood,
Deep and dark, the branched lands
Of childhood reaching to forever,
Throughout the growing seasons,
Rich in pines, bane ivy, hemlocks,
Naked columns of the freed bark,
To shelter the treed imaginations
Of running youth, where creatures
Became fabled to the wide open
Eyes tearing into the overgrowths,
Heading by the shudders of caul,
In the shades of the woody owl,
Greatly horned was the sly song,
The never present wails of cold, lost
Nightingale nor snout of woodcock,
Camouflaged in the browned leaves,
The gracing sun smoked in the morn,
And flamed forgotten in leafy eves,
In the needled myths of the roaming
Creatures, the dandy pheasant struts,
The brawned hind in the foraging doe,
Painted turtles, helmeted above ripples
Of parapet stone in soft water breached,
Sparking stars reigned with swirling fireflies
And glow of moon, as ever appeared, shook
The playful fear within, without, belongings
Of the child who spun his own tales, so held,
This, then was begun paradise in a sleepy waterlog
Of vale, outward from the shadowlands of creep age,
Kept, for daze, won, dreamed, in the torrid torching
Stalks, sunlit hold, the flash of painted face, knotty
Brilliance set free, the unmatched strike in reeds.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
.
Ringed by a tall, told wood,
A meadow pond dearly stood,
Deep and dark, the branched lands
Of childhood reaching to forever,
Throughout the growing seasons,
Rich in pines, bane ivy, hemlocks,
Naked columns of the freed bark,
To shelter the treed imaginations
Of running youth, where creatures
Became fabled to the wide open
Eyes tearing into the overgrowths,
Heading by the shudders of caul,
In the shades of the woody owl,
Greatly horned was the sly song,
The never present wails of cold, lost
Nightingale nor snout of woodcock,
Camouflaged in the browned leaves,
The gracing sun smoked in the morn,
And flamed forgotten in leafy eves,
In the needled myths of the roaming
Creatures, the dandy pheasant struts,
The brawned hind in the foraging doe,
Painted turtles, helmeted above ripples
Of parapet stone in soft water breached,
Sparking stars reigned with swirling fireflies
And glow of moon, as ever appeared, shook
The playful fear within, without, belongings
Of the child who spun his own tales, so held,
This, then was begun paradise in a sleepy waterlog
Of vale, outward from the shadowlands of creep age,
Kept, for daze, won, dreamed, in the torrid torching
Stalks, sunlit hold, the flash of painted face, knotty
Brilliance set free, the unmatched strike in reeds.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
As the light dies
I pace the field edge
to the square pond
enclosed, hedged and treed.
The water,
once revealed,
lies cold
in the still air.
At its bank,
solitary,
I let my thoughts of you
float on the surface.
And like two boats
moored abreast
at the season’s end,
our reflections merge
in one dark form.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC