New Oak Poetry
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The following poetry titles are on this page,
in order of appearance:
Oak Trees and Candlelight
Songstress - Anne-Marie Walker, Website
Twilight falls, soft velvet blue
I light my lamp and dream of you
You're safe at home, son in your care
Whilst I run wild, night wind in my hair.
Oak trees and candlelight
Old gods and new.
With harp and green velvet
Elm, ash and yew.
Sing to the night birds, and sing to the fox.
In the field of cut corn, on a bed of fresh moss.
Moon drifts, sails 'cross night sky
I dreamed I was here, and now I know why.
Dream dances real, as the wind through his strings,
Calls to my harp and Uriel sings.
Oak trees and candlelight,
Old gods and new
With harp and blue muslin
Elm, ash and yew.
Sing to the badgers, sing to the owl
'Neath the arch of the oak, near no human soul.
Time past, morning draws nigh
Sky painted violet, I leave with a sigh.
Harp on my back, and joy in my heart
Return to my love, each day a new start.
Oak trees and candlelight
Old gods and new
With harp and white linen
Elm, ash and yew.
Sing to my husband, sing to my son,
Loves of my life, and a day new begun.
Paso Robles: Oak Tree
Courtesy of poet Ed Stephan, Website
Thirty feet out our front door
was an enormous Oak
well, for me it was enormous:
three stories high and
it would have taken
four or five kids to reach around it.
It housed screech owls
whose babies drove everyone nuts
nights
and whom my father
ordered the grounds crew
to try to drown out with hoses
several summers running.
Then someone advised him
the Oak was rotten
and if it wasn’t taken down
it would fall down
and hurt somebody.
Men worked at it all day,
dropping parts of limbs
the thumps of which
we could feel through our bare feet.
It was exciting, actually, until we realized
our tree was no more than a bare two-story trunk.
Now we wished they could stop
or put it back somehow
but they told us to get back.
After sawing here and there
they put chains around the top
and tried to pull it down precisely
(between the corners of two backyard fences
few feet to spare on either side).
The trunk groaned and whined
and gave us one last victory to cheer:
suddenly snapping upright
it tore the bumper from their pickup
and flung it fifty feet across the street.
They swore and hooked up more chains
(to the axle this time)
and after long, piercing, agonizing screams
(from the tree
we
were awestruck)
everything but the three-foot stump
thumped
down
just where they wanted it.
From then on
the hollowed stump was full of geraniums
which never made a peep
nights.
The Oak
Courtesy of poet Angel, (c)1999, Mail
As she walks amongst the flowers and trees,
she thinks of all that could have been.
she ponders the choices and mistakes she has made,
and wonders about her life.
As her thoughts take her deep within herself,
she sits before a large Oak tree and leans against it.
she feels the roughness of its bark against her,
and she wonders why it feels so good.
As she thinks about the texture of the tree,
she finds that its roughness makes her feel safe.
she feels secure below the larger Oak,
and wonders why she feels that way.
As she ponders these new feelings within herself,
she thinks about the knowledge the Oak possesses.
she focuses on all that it must have seen,
and wonders what mysteries it could unfold.
As she wonders at all that it must hold within itself,
she finds herself in awe of the Oak and its offerings.
she feels humility and wonder beneath it,
and wonders if it can sense it.
New World Oaks
Courtesy of poet Margaret Little, (c)1997,Website
Here oaks bear no sacred crowns of mistletoe,
Even by the oldest teller of tales
Ceridwyn has not been seen in
this deep-shaded grove.
Never heard the red-eared hounds of Hell
along the old mill trail.
There may not be a white-robed Druid in
this wood;
a snake a snake is,
a toad a toad.
And yet, in the green caverns of tall trees
inside a silence where the wind’s withheld and
sun only touches where the great oaks will;
if Druids be not here in secret met beside
some magic set of unhewn stone,
what passes that is not a breeze?
What stirs here on the dim,
flickering edge of
remembering?
My love is an Oak
Courtesy of poet Christopher G. Browne,
and dedicated to Grainne
(I)
My love is an oak standing strong and proud
With a view from the hilltop, towering the crowd
Distant lights close nearer with seasons
Passers-by stop, for a number of reasons
(II)
Twisted branches, moss covered bark
Friends of nature make their mark
Fallen leaves signal end for the strong
Hidden strength some day will song
(III)
Winter's cold rains wild with anger
But the might oak stands tall, all the louder
Shelter from the freeze, protection to the needy
The tree from all ages breathes life to be free
(IV)
Slowly still, a rebirth is beginning
Through changing times, more life for the living
While all around, wild ardour takes over
The oak's green and still, for more ages over
(V)
In the glinting warm sun, amidst of the madness
Standing steadfast, a pillar, so far from the sadness
If you listen - still - laughter and chatter
Love all around to all who matter
(VI)
Forth a season, brings back Autumn
Acorns torn, and lovers scorn
In the quiet, the tree rests mighty
My love is an oak, remaining almighty
**EXPLANATION**
My love for you is stronger, much stronger that those around…
II (Autumn)
I may have twisted branches (have my faults),
but I have hidden strength (love)…
III (Winter)
In the cold (worst) times, I will be strong,
help and protect you, and loved ones…
IV (Spring)
As spring brings a big change from winter,
I will remain passionate for you as life changes…
V (Summer)
Joy and happiness are akin to summer sun,
and just as you can be sure that the sun will shine,
you can be sure of our laughter together…
VI
My love is forever…
Do you know of any oak-related poetry
that you would like to see on this page?
If so, please email me!
