Forest Nymphs
He had read about nymphs, inland mermaids
swimming in tarns and forest lakes far from
The restless oceans, the tarn nymphs were
less aggressive and bore no grudges
He found his forest like, undressed and naked
swam around for a few minutes and sat
be the edge of the lakelet to dry off, nymphs
about and since it was late September
The day was fading, and the foliage was gently
shedding auburn leaves, he looked at the mirror
smooth tarn surface and saw a nymph
smiling at him
But knew he was unable to tell anyone, he is
And people would think he was dotty
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
We grasp pure air and feel the hills fully
We find joy walking to our desired place
By gazing, we might parse where fine sprouts face
We watch strange birds rippling wide and hardly
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
Consider swans paddling for always bass
Thank God for the path; we will not worry
We find joy walking to our desired place
And hence we step close by huffy crow place
It cannot find dwarf worms that fade quickly
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
For me; these tarns we would not sacrifice
Deft earth is a wonder of awe beauty
We find joy walking to our desired place
Such ambling in the sad years will witness
That behavior ought to yield life, held steady
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
We find joy walking to our desired place
1st place contest winner
Written: February 23, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND STRUCTURED Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
O to be in England
in the early days of spring
when the golden daffodils
steal the heart and make it sing.
Roaming the Lake District
far away from urban noise,
by cascading waterfalls
enamoured of nature’s voice.
Up the craggy mountains
or on hills in shades of green,
watch the sun as down it slides
veiling tarns with sanguine sheen.
O to be there with you
holding hands in amber light
basked in aural twilight field;
daylight melting into night.
Fireflies or fairies
My mind cannot well discern.
Feelings surge within my soul,
Nature sighs with me and yearns.
Time and breath both bated
as your lips touch mine with bliss;
stars aflutter, for they know
Love is born with your sweet kiss.
-------------------------------------
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
O to be in England
in the early days of spring
when the golden daffodils
steal the heart and make it sing.
Roaming the Lake District
far away from urban noise,
by cascading waterfalls
enamoured of nature’s voice.
Up the craggy mountains
or on hills in shades of green,
watch the sun as down it slides
veiling tarns with sanguine sheen.
O to be there with you
holding hands in amber light
basked in aural twilight field;
daylight melting into night.
Fireflies or fairies
My mind cannot well discern.
Feelings surge within my soul,
Nature sighs with me and yearns.
Time and breath both bated
as your lips touch mine with bliss;
stars aflutter, for they know
Love is born with your sweet kiss.
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
We seek out the high places,
For mountains soothe the soul.
They fill a heart with joy,
They make a spirit whole.
So let us away then,
Let us scale some dizzy heights.
Let us wonder at the majesty,
And marvel at the sights.
So let us away then,
There are secrets to be found.
Unnamed tarns, and waterfalls
Hid high above the ground.
We shall go there, you and I
And we shall find them all.
So let us away then,
For I hear the mountains call.
Deep In The Mountain Tarns
Deep in the mountains,
Beyond a lost road,
Mystical spirits
Have their wild abode.
Lonely abysses
Of primeval dread,
Forests were freely
the shy fairies tread.
The eagle hovers
In safety there,
With keen eyes watching
Nest and lair.
Green are those waters,
Dark as ancient bronze,
Harbors for the souls
Of dreaming swans.
Through mossy branches,
Through cavernous rifts,
Red-sun down
Cool fragrance drifts.
He who enters
That lost abode
Never more needs
A wandering road.
R. J. Lindley
Note:
tarn
[tahrn]
Word Origin
noun
1.
a small mountain lake or pool, especially one in a cirque.
1300-50; Middle English terne < Old Norse tjorn pond, pool
www.dictionary.com/browse/tarn
A dialectal word popularized by the Lake poets. tarn in Science Expand. tarn. (tärn) A small mountain lake, especially one formed as a glacier melts, filling a cirque with water.
Gulls and Other Birds.
As we left harbour seagulls and their mewling followed
us for a few hours, then they slowly disappeared and we
were in a world of floating iron with cargo in the ship´s
hold for some faraway destination.
We didn´t hear the sound of the engine, only when
it stopped in the middle of the ocean, we could hear
the sea slapping against the hull, an uneasy silence
till the engine came back to life.
Miles away when we neared the port of our destination
we were met by mewling seagulls, when they saw the man
or boy, with a dirty apron and a bucket of leftovers, their
shrieks intensified... the masses angry demand.
At night tarns dressed up as tarts sat in bars and charmed,
but we only knew that when they laughed too hard.
Kaleidoscope of Life.
And behind the forest sings that nothing is the way you think
and try as you might make love to one you do not love gives
a feeling of lost time, of a useless pursuit of finding happiness in
momentarily lust that leaves nothing but melancholy behind.
The coir of the forest knew this, nymphs sang about it warning
you, cheap pleasure too dear for your soul as summer dust on
asphalt road, bleak as the word of love uttered by a tart in
a nightclub of gaudy gastropods and dancing long tailed rodents.
Dew on straw and deeper into the woodland walk to find Dryads
or best of all Meliae, the sweetest aroma, but her kisses sting your
lips if she´s upset with your craving for more. Be careful of Lempo,
the Finnish archer god, he is capricious and likes honey too.
On a stone she sits, the siren of deep tarns, her smile is deadly close
your eyes and run for your life, her former suitors sleep in silt.
Nature Strives to be beautiful
Morphing myriad, earthly hues
from macrocosmic frippery.
Her perfumed zephyrean breaths
Intoxicate the atmosphere
Stirring those that breathe to wildness
That only her tempestuous
Violence ultimately tames;
Yet her yin can be most tranquil
As not to ruffle a fledglings
Feathers or ripple mountain tarns.
She favors none of her children
within her sphere of influence
sustaining only the strongest.
Sweet summer winds, hear me
Ne’er endure this bewailing daybreak
For where whether not daylight rises
Now silenced eternal under prettified blossoms
Sleeps that sweet beauty that defined me.
Under the dimly faded blanket of Gaia
In the blanched obsidian void of memory
Her slowly fading voice of once yesterdays
Never again to behold tomorrows promise
Or the faint blushing of a passionate today.
Just as with the finality of her passing
So to must I forge into the imminent
Over muted gray landscapes I must trod
Where ardors drying tarns now reflect me
Eroding under slow eyes of time…
As I linger waiting for him to claim me
She lies peaceful, only I, to grieve.
Tomorrow will be too late to pen the imminent
Hold onto the moment and sketch the future
Backdrops must be moved for change
Leads and understudies pass by or fade
Wrest the quill from the bottle, seize your moment…
Inscribe your spirits voice on the parchment
Paint the portrait of classicism and of the didactic
Purify your finiteness in the cooling tarns of risk
Capture and grasp the blinding flash of excitement
Forever on times passage do all dreams disperse…
Discover within you the voice of each tomorrow
Rend its youthful divinity upon your scattered pages
Develop the undying fervor to discover all that is new
Explore all that you fear dwelling silent within your scope
Compose on high the muse your heart cries out for…
Never recognize the qualms to enact your fantasies
For the future will become more vivid in the lens of truth
Tomorrow will be too late to pen the imminent
In each moment expired it draws ever closer to you
Enveloping even dreams before you can realize and react...