Ryan Stagliano – Poetry Collection

The Maple Tree

How delightful and forceful you are. 

As your enormity 

Of the woods you are full 

Of brightness, how your 

Brilliantly shaded leaves fills my heart 

With the best substance gracious I do cherish 

All the various shades of Ruby, Emerald, Gold, Bronze, 

What’s more, ensures me. You are a glad and respectable watchman 

What’s more, loaded up with vitality like the spring 

Your dropped leaves crunch emphatically 

Underneath my feet as I walk 

Around you respecting your greatness 

Your astounding aroma is better than a rose 

On a late spring’s day when your sap 

Is made to maple syrup its incredibleness 

Melts in my mouth it is better than 

Any taste sugar could make all alone 

You are life itself for without you 

There is no oxygen without you 

Miracle and riddle, are no longer in presence.

The Old Pine Tree

Where the Sound and the Ocean stream 

In the home of the osprey, and the white-tailed deer 

I review the tune of the goldfinch in May 

It’s charming woodwind like notes are with me today 

In extravagant I hear it in a removed sky 

Over the tree line it pipes as it flies 

In extravagant the tune of the scoop I hear 

The waterway it sings in to me appears to be very close 

The light earthy colored squirrel with breasts as white as snow 

One of Nature’s tree abiding rodents that I used to know. 

That old pine tree has brought me extremely far, 

With that sweet aroma of delight 

I will always remember, even from afar.


Today around evening time I picked a way, followed to its end and it was cut off 

Continued driving not far off, to discover another way 

Night air consumed sweet as incense over the green water, 

Clear and cold snow run-off, up in the mountains 

Where otters made their play 

A hummingbird came to make proper acquaintance, singing in my hair as I 

Shook my head around to see it, withdrawing and returning 

My vehicle passed on, I simply lay in the sand 

Putting my toes in 

That stream running down, on the off chance that I could just bear it 

I’d slip into its current, develop rough blades, 

Gracious I’d never return, however for the memory 

Over the way, overwhelming with trees and a stone face 

Burned by flames of voyagers cruised by 

There are tusks, elk and such, oft in the timberland 

Their hoofprints in the sea shore I walk 

My toes trailing over the stones, fingers trailing wind 

A little stone, got up to speed from the water, shining emerald, Taken

I wish you’d come dream here with me 

For I dread everything only a fantasy inside my head

Yakima Canyon

In evening play of light and shadow 

over the gully, the light green flush 

of early grass, quieted blue 

of new developed sage, and yellow blaze 

of balsamroot are examined 

in the vigilant eye of bighorn sheep. 

Sure-footed, jumping through the scree, 

extinguish their thirst at a mountain spring. 

This scene ought to be interminable, yet it’s definitely not, 

despite the fact that its history is composed on the rocks 

in ocher, dark and gold, for anybody who cares to gain proficiency with the language. 

There’s fact if not excellence in the information 

that nothing turns out a remarkable way we thought.

The Bald Eagle

A seal of our local land; 

With unbleached front and honorable temple, 

Among the countries bound to stand; 

Pleased, similar to your relentless mountain woods; 

Like your own waterways meandering free; 

Furthermore, sending forward from slopes and floods 

The glad yell of freedom! 

Like thee, superb fledgling! like thee, 

You remain in unbought grandness, 

With spreading wings, untired and solid, 

That challenges a taking off far and long, 

You take a gander at the fish beneath pondering, 

Which of you will be supper 

The adoration of earth, 

In terrific straightforwardness you stand; 

Like thee, the tempests viewed her introduction to the world, 

Be that as it may, stuck the wild and irate war, 

To look for the safe house of  your wings. 

Relentless as Rome, all the more respectably free.

The Fish Hunting Osprey

Before long as the sun, incredible leader of the year, 

Curves to our northern clime his brilliant profession, 

Also, from the caverns of sea calls from rest 

The finny shores and hordes of the profound; 

When frigid whirlwinds back to Greenland ride, 

Furthermore, day and night the equivalent hours isolate; 

Consistent with the season, o’er our ocean beat shore, 

The cruising osprey high apparently soars, 

With expansive unmoving wing, and, revolving around moderate, 

Denotes each free stray in the far beneath; 

Ranges down like lightning! plunges with a thunder! 

Also, bears his battling casualty to the shore. 

The since quite a while ago housed angler views with delight 

The notable signs of his unpleasant utilize; 

What’s more, as he bears his nets and paddles along, 

In this manner hails the welcome season with a melody.

Ode to an Oak Tree

Structure of common excellence and effortlessness, 

I could follow the shapes of your branches 

throughout the day. 

At the point when summer comes in its brilliance, 

You welcome me outside. 

Looking as I have some good times and appreciate the day. 

Crows groom themselves and caw out to the normal world 

From your covering. 

Crows home inside your marvelous statues 

Furthermore, worms jab their heads through your fallen leaves 

After a pre-winter shower.

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