Poems on Henry David Thoreau Seeking Honest Critique
#HenryDavidThoreau
Hepcat61
geoff cat
geoff cat
Poem Published
19th Jun 2018 3:38pm
19th Jun 2018 3:38pm
Snyder Mountain’s Crest
in still air I shout
my silent poems
resound in granite crags
echo Thoreau’s words
shift as pack-weight’s burn
through every cutback laugh
the altar’s pile stacked
steel tubes, woven cloth
snow’s taste on barren skin
I dance the peak’s dance
dervish native snake
in time to scrotum’s slap
crazy mountain man
freezing mountain wind
I sing Sky Father’s songs
my silent poems
resound in granite crags
echo Thoreau’s words
shift as pack-weight’s burn
through every cutback laugh
the altar’s pile stacked
steel tubes, woven cloth
snow’s taste on barren skin
I dance the peak’s dance
dervish native snake
in time to scrotum’s slap
crazy mountain man
freezing mountain wind
I sing Sky Father’s songs
#nature
#mountains
#spiritual #HenryDavidThoreau
#spiritual #HenryDavidThoreau
538 reads
1 Comment
drone
Poem Published
1st Feb 2018 2:37pm
1st Feb 2018 2:37pm
If we
If we believe
every implanted
Thought
that we think
without even trying
to understand
Why
these thoughts
are believed
then our reasoning
and logic
have become Diseased
With that sad belief
that we are
Intelligent
human beings
Free
from the characteristics
of Sheep
every implanted
Thought
that we think
without even trying
to understand
Why
these thoughts
are believed
then our reasoning
and logic
have become Diseased
With that sad belief
that we are
Intelligent
human beings
Free
from the characteristics
of Sheep
#SelfReflection
#SelfDiscovery
#HenryDavidThoreau
471 reads
0 Comments
dartford
Paul S...
Paul S...
Poem Published
28th Dec 2017 2:35am
28th Dec 2017 2:35am
yeah, well, that's what she said ..
there is a ghost," she said
"I heard it last night,
on my way
up to bed .."
"so what did it
sound like ?" he smiled
"oh, like the very dead,"
cried the child ..
"I heard it last night,
on my way
up to bed .."
"so what did it
sound like ?" he smiled
"oh, like the very dead,"
cried the child ..
#politics
#tobacco
#confessional
#SelfDiscovery
#HenryDavidThoreau
553 reads
1 Comment
Ruralwrite
Poem Published
24th Nov 2017 7:29pm
24th Nov 2017 7:29pm
Changing with the Land
Mindlessly looking at
dull khaki grass across
the valley below;
thinking about Thoreau,
reflections of changes in
me and the land.
Does it change;
do I change?
Khaki grasses earlier so
filled in lush green and
waltzing to summer in
breezes’ rhythms;
now November morn
standing rigid as oaks’ limbs and
brittle as old barns’ panes.
Water bubbling from a spring and
gargling into the creek
chilled even on
summer’s dog-days;
knowing without touch
water even colder in
November...
dull khaki grass across
the valley below;
thinking about Thoreau,
reflections of changes in
me and the land.
Does it change;
do I change?
Khaki grasses earlier so
filled in lush green and
waltzing to summer in
breezes’ rhythms;
now November morn
standing rigid as oaks’ limbs and
brittle as old barns’ panes.
Water bubbling from a spring and
gargling into the creek
chilled even on
summer’s dog-days;
knowing without touch
water even colder in
November...
#trees
#nature
#HenryDavidThoreau
748 reads
11 Comments
jamesvan7
Poem Published
24th Feb 2016 3:12am
24th Feb 2016 3:12am
Trained Thought
#fiction
#prose
#HenryDavidThoreau
807 reads
0 Comments
CuttingTeeth
Poem Published
31st May 2013 5:53pm
31st May 2013 5:53pm
Thoreau's Rolling Over In His Grave
Perpetually waiting
Gradually creeping normalcy
Daringly unapologetic
In the midst of certain discontent
The concrete doesn't break with the teeth
He simply breaks the teeth themselves
Cemented idle
Tormented tasting
Morbid racing
Paddling to shore in a boat
Eating itself
Scratching at its wounds
Taking in water gladly
When we do reach land
It's abandoned
Vacant
Nothing but fog and trees
Discussing loneliness
And other casualties of the world
Which they have no control over
They don't have feet...
Gradually creeping normalcy
Daringly unapologetic
In the midst of certain discontent
The concrete doesn't break with the teeth
He simply breaks the teeth themselves
Cemented idle
Tormented tasting
Morbid racing
Paddling to shore in a boat
Eating itself
Scratching at its wounds
Taking in water gladly
When we do reach land
It's abandoned
Vacant
Nothing but fog and trees
Discussing loneliness
And other casualties of the world
Which they have no control over
They don't have feet...
#HenryDavidThoreau
#nature
589 reads
0 Comments
EslieAnna
Poem Published
12th Mar 2013 4:37pm
12th Mar 2013 4:37pm
Thoreau Reflection
Would I were as steadfast be,
Arms gold puncture and envelop me,
And tender-taken breaths heat
wisps upon the air, remembering
summer's mornings there.
A whitened grey,
This day willows sigh and whispers say,
Not as the green once trampled spoke to me
but as branches heavy broken in fantasy.
Come visit here a gaze upon the sight,
Come, captured cold and rapture light,
Crunched feet and fractured footholds move me,
And natures sleeping slopes are waves that undulate to sooth me.
Arms gold puncture and envelop me,
And tender-taken breaths heat
wisps upon the air, remembering
summer's mornings there.
A whitened grey,
This day willows sigh and whispers say,
Not as the green once trampled spoke to me
but as branches heavy broken in fantasy.
Come visit here a gaze upon the sight,
Come, captured cold and rapture light,
Crunched feet and fractured footholds move me,
And natures sleeping slopes are waves that undulate to sooth me.
#trees
#nature
#HenryDavidThoreau
608 reads
0 Comments
JAZZMANOR
Poem Published
12th Jan 2013 7:32pm
12th Jan 2013 7:32pm
A nice little walk
I thought I saw Thoreau by a tree one day
no sound could be heard while he walked
I tried to present a greeting
his finger waved as if not to talk
The silence was best as I followed
to a brook that was running free
a smile lit up his face
no other place he more wanted to be
In a minute another came to attention
said quietly his name was Don
something familiar but couldn't say what
a southern accent but not too strong
We saw nest of birds all over
even an owl take to flight
at one moment the beauty overwhelmed
closed my...
no sound could be heard while he walked
I tried to present a greeting
his finger waved as if not to talk
The silence was best as I followed
to a brook that was running free
a smile lit up his face
no other place he more wanted to be
In a minute another came to attention
said quietly his name was Don
something familiar but couldn't say what
a southern accent but not too strong
We saw nest of birds all over
even an owl take to flight
at one moment the beauty overwhelmed
closed my...
#birds
#nature
#uplifting #HenryDavidThoreau
#uplifting #HenryDavidThoreau
887 reads
21 Comments
Claudia
Poem Published
4th Jan 2013 9:22am
4th Jan 2013 9:22am
To the Graceful Swans
To answer your question: “Why in the world do they join the choir I'll never know”
Henry David Thoreau said it best, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
Everyone has a unique song inside, my vestal
fidus Achates friend
But many just carol along with other carnies
to follow the latest trend
But birds of grander plume, often
sing alone
while pigeons nibble street crumbs
to elevate their throne
Contented fowl sing for themselves, and often
sing it...
Henry David Thoreau said it best, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
Everyone has a unique song inside, my vestal
fidus Achates friend
But many just carol along with other carnies
to follow the latest trend
But birds of grander plume, often
sing alone
while pigeons nibble street crumbs
to elevate their throne
Contented fowl sing for themselves, and often
sing it...
#hope
#TruthOfLife
#humankind
#HenryDavidThoreau
#birds
1511 reads
19 Comments
marcella1
Poem Published
14th Dec 2012 5:03pm
14th Dec 2012 5:03pm
Revolution
It rained all day
tuesday. On wednesday
the children left for
Nottingham. Thursday
morning I went back to
London. And on friday,
like Thoreau, I came
back. Weekends are
always hopeful: so
many revolutions. I
read Marx and Jesus.
The children are
returning today.
tuesday. On wednesday
the children left for
Nottingham. Thursday
morning I went back to
London. And on friday,
like Thoreau, I came
back. Weekends are
always hopeful: so
many revolutions. I
read Marx and Jesus.
The children are
returning today.
#love
#hope
#children #HenryDavidThoreau
#children #HenryDavidThoreau
669 reads
0 Comments
scarletvelvet
Poem Published
11th Sep 2011 7:03am
11th Sep 2011 7:03am
Possessions
Thoreau was right... so
let me make a few confessions
I yearn not to have a lot of possessions
the clothes that I like and my favorite book
picture albums and some utensils to cook
I like the idea of living on less
too many things can make such a mess
because how many things do people really need
in order to be happy and have enough to eat
robbing the earth of treasures galore
for what -- most people just want
more more more
when will it ever be enough ...
let me make a few confessions
I yearn not to have a lot of possessions
the clothes that I like and my favorite book
picture albums and some utensils to cook
I like the idea of living on less
too many things can make such a mess
because how many things do people really need
in order to be happy and have enough to eat
robbing the earth of treasures galore
for what -- most people just want
more more more
when will it ever be enough ...
#humankind
#myself
#CallToAction
#consumerism
#HenryDavidThoreau
967 reads
4 Comments
waitingforgodet
jim
jim
Poem Published
3rd Feb 2011 1:54pm
3rd Feb 2011 1:54pm
Like The Surgeon's Knife
Yes, confined in my home.
But I am not alone.
My right, Mr. Thoreau.
Rebel at some cost, though.
Philosophical, wise.
Led us through nature’s eyes
toward redemption and hope.
The tree would help us cope.
My left, Albert Camus;
on my chest, John Keats too,
who wrote of love sublime.
Still yearned for in our time.
Camus showed our fall
through our human call
for lies and subterfuge
covered by modern rouge.
As I lie in my bed,
their words live in my head.
And like the surgeon’s knife
that saved my own short life.
The...
But I am not alone.
My right, Mr. Thoreau.
Rebel at some cost, though.
Philosophical, wise.
Led us through nature’s eyes
toward redemption and hope.
The tree would help us cope.
My left, Albert Camus;
on my chest, John Keats too,
who wrote of love sublime.
Still yearned for in our time.
Camus showed our fall
through our human call
for lies and subterfuge
covered by modern rouge.
As I lie in my bed,
their words live in my head.
And like the surgeon’s knife
that saved my own short life.
The...
#books
#MyInspiration
#admiration #HenryDavidThoreau
#admiration #HenryDavidThoreau
897 reads
0 Comments
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