Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love -
released to serve another destiny -
in turn, will be the better than above.
Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.
Copyright © Tracy Decker | Year Posted 2007
The rivers run with tears
As oceans bear the rain
Sailors sail through fears
With no promise of terrain
Only to dwell and reach this land
That moans with sorrow and grief
Only to hold on to a lonely hand
The way a tree holds its last leaf
Don’t praise the moments of joy
Because they hardly ever last
Summers are memories to enjoy
When the Autumns come too fast
Copyright © Abdullatif Kanafani | Year Posted 2016
Havn't you heard?
Life isn't fair.
and covers them with smiles.
Always in denial.
We all feel pain.
Life is a tree.
Beneath the bark.
You can laugh all you want,
but soon you'll see.
When they're the tree.
Copyright © Catherine Adams | Year Posted 2009
Like every other day,the man came with the axe to cut a tree,one tree a day,7 days a week.This time the trees criticized the axe,telling him;don't you see that your handle is from wood?the stem of your life was a tree which died to give you birth.
The axe started to mourn,saying;my handle is from wood but my handle is in the man's hand,which imigates you.Don't you see you are raised to benefit the man,the water you drink,getting your branches repaired is for benefit.
As soon as understanding who really the man is,the trees said;cut our body and break our branches let the blossoms fall on the ground get us rid of the pain of living to benefit liars.
Copyright © bahram sediqi | Year Posted 2016
There is a chant,
Sung by the bees, the trees
And the humming bird.
There is a place
Open only to those who can fly,
A kingdom granted to those
Who do their best and try
To cast off their earthly yoke.
There is a chant,
Sung by the bees, the trees
And the humming bird.
There is a path,
Between two clouds; set.
You won’t perceive it
With your eyes and I bet;
Your heart is still blind.
There is a chant,
Sung by the bees, the trees
And the humming bird.
When silence breeds
Echoes of solitude,
When the soul longs
For the high altitude
And when pain emanates
From the plentiful multitude;
I teach my back how to grow wings.
August 8, 2016
Copyright © Bouille Rochdi | Year Posted 2016
I know its the summer time because of how naturally
Your beauty compliments the caress of a summer breeze
As I watch the world from beneath a shady tree
I take in the delightful comfort of everything I see
But in the same breath I am holding up my hands
Lord will you please give me back the things I no longer have
They are even more a part of me now that they are gone
As the sun falls below where the horizon is still holding on
Somewhere between the falling light and a star lit night
Is a dream that last forever and will never say goodbye
As the wind gently blows through the brush and shakes the leaves
It begins to hum a melody that I want to sing
At that very moment I smile for all the joy I have
Its so uplifting for me to see melancholy dance
Soon the morning sun will rise and capture my eyes
As I watch the hand of God paint a brand new sky
With every stroke of color I swallow all my pride
And I find a new place to dream of endless times
If I should ever get to the place I left my broken heart
Only then will I believe this brand new day will start
Again Im reminded of why my heart beats so restlessly
Only the speed of thought and my soul beneath this tree
Copyright © Jesse James Forster | Year Posted 2013
The day they fell
He stands before the great woods
Arms stretched, bracing the storm of machines
They roar and bark, trying to break his wall
But he stays put, Save the Forests he screams
The tress stand tall, lush and green
Seedlings sprout, Flowers bloom
Animals frolic in their wonderland
Is the forest really meeting it's doom?
He stands before the great woods
Protecting everything it confides
Many plants and animals are within
Away from the human eye they hide
Even if you have never seen them
Just take a step inside
The feeling of life the smell of grass
Do u really want them all to die?
The machines don't care
Around the forest they continue to surround
They have never seen the wind
And never heard the sounds
They never felt the wind against their faces
Never heard the rustling of leaves
Never seen the life in the forest
Never understood that it brings relief
Fire shoots up as the forest screams
Roars and crackles follow too
Animals run, plants sink to the floor
As the machine consumes the forests full
The trees spend decades growing up
The animals spend years moving in
But it only takes seconds to burn it down
To burn the forest into the size of a pin
What has the forest done he wonders
As He stands in front of the orange blaze
To deserve this kind of torturous pain
With Heat and sorrow right in his face
Copyright © Sapphire Williams | Year Posted 2013
In high definition...
There is an old oak tree in our backyard.
This old oak limbs weep like a willow.
It branches out to the stars.
The moon effervescent shines above.
During the winter, the moss hangs low.
I see the wind blow through its leaves in autumn.
There is an old oak in our backyard
Where a widow sits beneath weeping over love lost.
The dawn has broken.
The dew is high.
This old oak is well defined.
She has limbs that reach high in the sky.
The sun photosynthesis makes each leaf shine.
Her depth is sublime.
This old oak is part of home.
Many visitors she knows as a widower rests before he moves on.
This old oak tree stands tall
As a City's landmark.
Penned on November 22, 2014!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Sprawled across the track
it lay like some stranded whale,
the dead tree,
centuries old, finally fallen.
No more summer breeze or winter winds,
Just so much wood to be dismembered,
gross, dead, silent and rotten.
Copyright © barbara cameron | Year Posted 2009
Years ago near New Orleans
There lived people who were not free
So every night they would gather
To leave their worries at the Trouble Tree
The Trouble Tree was a giant magnoila
With fragrant blossoms snowy white
As the sweet perfume filled the air
They would sing and dance in the pale moonlight
Every day they worked for the master
Picking cotton or planting corn
Late at night they would gather
And sing and dance 'til early morn
The Trouble Tree grew deep in the bayou
Hidden away from you and me
The only ones who knew it's power
Were those people who were not free
Many years have come and gone
And all the people should be free
But I'm sure there are many of us
Who wish we had a Trouble Tree
Copyright © Vernette Hutcherson | Year Posted 2006
death of a forest
blatant rape of sacred land
the green olympics!
A forest in S. Korea, consisting of 500 year old wangsasre trees,
is being cut down to make way for Olympic ski facilities that will
be used for a four day competition in 2018.
The IOC has mandated these games as the “Green Olympics”!!
Pls, you may join the campaign to save this forest by signing on:
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
Sitting under a tree, old and grey
No flowers to bloom, leaves falling down
Birds desert the nests, no one to play around
The clouds are around, they hold no charm
Gave shade to many, no one to shade us
Waiting to fall one day, are we made for each other?
Copyright © Suresh Iyer | Year Posted 2010
In our quiet senario,
I saw a tree stare
At me, it told me it
Was going to die
I asked why and it
"I doth Love but
I asked why.
It replied in tears,
"My hours has come,
soon it Would be thine.
I too wept.
Copyright © Chukwuemeka Anyikwa | Year Posted 2013
There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home
Copyright © Jesse James Forster | Year Posted 2013
Yesterday while on my way to a supermarket I saw a little girl of perhaps five leaning at
a tree close to the road and watching a blue plastic bag which was drifting in the wind.
She looked very sad with her light blue eyes and her blond hair streamed out behind her.
The bag was lifted by a strong blast and I ran after it, crossing the road. A car came and
stopped, waiting for me to cross the road. A younger man on the other side of the road saw
that I wanted to catch the bag and he was also running after it, but the wind drifted the
bag far over the lawn up hills. After some unsuccessful attempts to get hold of the bag he
finally could grab it. I went to him and he gave me the bag and smiled. I then told him
that a little girl was sad about losing that bag. He wished me a nice weekend and I
returned to that little girl still standing near the tree but this time smiling. She shyly
whispered "Thank you", took the bag and ran to her little playmates waiting for her
anxiously in the background.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2011
Filled cavity on my mind
Christmas ain't yet come
Sight flickering glare
Alternately trap my eyes
But shines ain't for me
Christmas, dear Christmas
Be the present of my tears
Tiny hug in missed
A tree full of lights
Shimmered warm, deep on my cries
Sad memories blinked
Pretty past inhaled
When time puts togetherness
Now just three of us
New family tree
The Santa's gift as mercy
God truly blessed me
Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012
two hits and i’m hanging off cliffs, listening to water
watching moss fall like snowflakes.
nothing holding my heels down but gravity, irrelevant to me.
the little girl exploring the ocean floor, the caves that once held entrancing treasures.
even tactile pain drives me into a gust of euphoria.
my heart beats (slower than it should), but the trees don’t mind.
the four shades of green blend to create a forest-
with each exhale, branches move in tandem.
and a salty tear falls from my eye,
reminiscent of what once was here.
Copyright © Morgan Tate | Year Posted 2013
Dark and shaky
So dull, black and gray
Airy and lacking in youth
A little pink flower stands beside you
Unaware, but is there to remind you of your posture and use
Do you have one?
Do you fall apart?
If you fall
You cry at midnight
You shy from sunlight
But, you're so refreshing, so clean and green
A reminder that you were alive once
Now all you do is wrap yourself in leafs and make miserable grunts
Was it me?
I won't cry!
Was it an emptiness that simply died when you were a child?
Don't marry it, it doesn't want you!
Stay away from that picture
Copyright © Silent Poet Sarah | Year Posted 2012
I'm locking up my house, because it's that time for thieves.
I need to Santa proof my place, because It's Christmas Eve.
If he does get in, I'm going to run and hide.
I left out some milk and cookies with rat pellets inside.
While he's eating the cookies and he's starting to sweat.
The reindeer will be caught in security nets.
"I'm sorry boys and girls, but Santa has to retire!"
I'm going to tie him to the tree and set poor Santa on fire.
Then I'm going to take the toys and keep them all to myself.
Even though I've been bad, no coals will be on my shelf.
Merry Christmas to me! This year is going to be grand!
I'll get whatever I want, if Christmas goes as I planned!
Wearing Santa Claus' suite I'll get in houses without keys.
In twenty seven minutes I'll rob twenty seven trees!
So all you little brats, don't you cry and sob.
With the recession and depression, I just needed a job.
A lot of things are going to change, but you all shouldn't be sad.
Now that I'm the new Santa, It doesn't matter who's bad.
I'll use the elves as my slaves and the toys will still come.
Instead of a Nintendo, you'll get a gallon of rum.
Toy guns are for babies, how about the real thing?
A candy neckless won't impress, I'll make sure that it's bling.
You said you wanted a pony? How about a deer that can fly?
No more lousy presents, no more socks, or bad ties.
Wait... Wait a minute... Was that all just a dream?
Why do I only have coal under the tree and in my stocking?
Santa please come back! I promse I'll be better next year!
I promise I'll be good and I'll spred more Christmas cheer!
Did Santa Claus come back? Did he come like I thought he should?
No Santa didn't, but next year I'll be good!
I'll only do what is right, aleast to his satisfaction.
So he comes back to my house, and my plan goes back into action!
Copyright © Travis Flasnick | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
Crying tree, stand tall and still
limbs reach in consoling embrace
silver stars of glistening tears
smooth cobalt face above to wander.
Crying tree, hear my thoughts
listen with stoic indifference
feel my soul-enveloping sadness
and depth of acute loneliness.
Crying tree, hold me close
My love is lost to me
souls no longer bound
moon once given, returned
Crying tree, oh voiceless one
lead me to the path of right
I rest my weary head on thee
feel warmth in tears I shed.
Crying tree, my only friend
feeling solace in your arms
fleeting breeze begets rustling leaves
swaying forms gentle caress.
Crying tree, take my gratitude
warm hand upon my shoulder rests
brush away streams of tears
my love to me returns.
Crying tree, everlasting friend
we will share time again
stand before me in witness
this tree to whom I cry.
Copyright © Michael Santner | Year Posted 2005
On the hill top staring out to the bottom
Life seems so far from me
Up to the heavens I look and pray as I am on my knee
Living life like an unwatched DVD
Up on this hill I continue to stand under this broken tree
The branches are withered and falling
The leaves have gone and disappeared into the wind
No life lives in the tree for it is broken
Receiving no love not even a token
The roots can no longer grow
The cuts and bruises on the tree are finally starting to show
For life is a branch because we have those to hold us up
The leaves are that of our comfort in which blew away
No life left in us we are just taking life breath by breath barley living
No love from others is even being offered
Without love we stand on the lonely hill to die
All the pain and agony we went through we can no longer hold back as we start to cry
Cold as the wind hits our stump
Time and time again we think what’s the point I am just going to jump
As it is the only reason why I am still living because my heart continues to pump
Thunder or lightning doesn’t even phase us not even a bump
For it just leaves another mark another scar another lump
Rain hides the tears we shed in the life we are forced to live
Without receiving any love we lost all ways to even know how to give
We are forced to learn how to make it through and survive
But with so little life left in us how do they expect us to drive
For we are just on this earth waiting for God to arrive
Not only hurting on the inside but also on the out
Living life broken and full of doubt
Not counting on anyone as a small leaf can’t even seem to sprout
On this hill top where I live its now becoming a drought
Is this what life is really about?
One day this life will end
All the pain, hurt, coldness, agony, will descend
Where are those in which I called a friend
But no matter what if thou die alone I will still be forgiving
Even thou on a hill top left, I am broken but still living
© Jeremy Fennell
Copyright © jeremy fennell | Year Posted 2010
It was Christmas Eve; I was a prisoner of my own divide.
Lost in mind, clad in drunken sadness, caged up inside.
Alone and forlorn my thoughts laden with whiskey lies,
Memories seem so distant, only a week since goodbyes.
Christmas tree glistening, blurry in my vision of tears,
Flashing lights bright, neighbors Christmas party cheers.
No presents or joy in this household upon this night.
Sorrows, misguided gulps of liquor, cloud my sight.
Heartbroken, gloomy devouring the demon filled drink.
No more, no less, my eyes roamed over as I did think.
Hopelessly lost in a whirlwind of memories of no more,
No more, love by a lover, no daughter to teach the score.
Left me in a house, no longer our home that we shared,
Only I and this half-empty bottle, feeling impaired.
She left me, taking my child a thousand miles away.
While here in this house of torture, me and myself stay.
Every corner a recollection blinks by crystalline light.
Splintered and speckled by the twinkling star so bright.
Atop the now barren tree which had shined with joys.
Years before cluttered with wrappers, boxes and toys
I slam a big gulp down my throat, since this was my first.
Night of my debut to the evil of whiskey blinding thirst,
Never before had drunkenness been a quest or even a try,
This night she devoured my soul, not wanting ever to cry.
Intoxication was a desire, though not ever beyond joy.
My virgin body of drink has choked me unable to deploy.
Sour mash tears wash down my face, wiping my eyes.
I hear my built up agony; pour out in inhuman cries.
User Name Cecil Hickman
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
Blue or green?
The color of the sea,
Going up and down the waves,
To be my unexpected mood,
Sweet or sour the feeling of me.
The question of my mind hitting it through the divine,
The passion of art inside a deep mind,
With full of imaginations,
Hitting me through left and right.
Perspective comes along with me,
Seeing it in my mind,
Looking at the blank paper,
My emotions run down the pages,
Forgetting my visions along,
Looking down on paper,
Loosing my focus ,
Is getting hard to draw.
Speaking with my wild heart wide open,
Thinking of the world we live in today,
Standing amongst the people not knowing what to say,
Hearing the music flowing into my ears,
Beating myself inside these walls of hate,
Wanting my eyes to cry with full of tears,
Hating to be on this earth,
Seeing people fade away,
Sinking through lies in my face,
Stabbing me in the back when I need them the most,
Seeing people with unwanted faith through their eyes,
Anger comes my way,
Looking down at the world with full of questions in my head,
Going crazy with frustration and confusion of me questioning God,
Deep inside my heart is burning with poison,
Is breaking me apart like glass,
At peace without a path in mind,
Falling down somewhere here that I never belong,
I'm not perfect yet,
I like to lead not to follow others.
Life is like a tree that grows inside me,
Leafs on the tree come and go like people in my life,
Taking the road of life,
Things can change in a minute,
When I look away,
My goals would fade away,
Going back letting noting stand on my way,
Trying harder to focus on my goals,
Looking around with a smile on,
Reaching my goals slowly without a distraction.
Copyright © shirin neshat | Year Posted 2009
Timing Rhyming Chiming Scorning For whom bell tolls timing rhyming ode Filthy sport chiming scorning the road
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2011
I often visited this forest,
with a centennial maple tree;
there I conversed eloquently...
as if I were talking to a trusted friend.
I went back yesterday around nine
to admire its shimmering green foilage,
and discovered it was cut down to a stump...
before crashing and breaking the brenches of birch and pine,
as black ooze bleeded, fuxed and bubbled under its cracked bark.
And wondering what causes its fall,
I searched for a cause by examining its trunk...
leading to its rotten roots detached from loose soil;
was it too old to withstand a fierce Autumn's storm?
Or did a violent torrent add to its toil?
Unfortunately, nothing I do or say will comfort it,
its death has came too suddenly and violently,
taking down many beeches and firs beneath it;
now, a wide space above it has let in sunlight...
taking away the cool shade that sheltered me.
I grieve for the anguish and helplessness that it felt,
not having been there to embrace it...
as soon as it plunged to the untroubled ground below;
ah, if that tempest had never come,
I wouldn't be weeping and be overcome by sorrow!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Written March 26, 2013
Hey you way up there in the tree
Hiding away for none to see
No I don't know why you refuse to be
Why can't you just see what I've seen
Hey little mockingbird don't mock me
It's these mystical one-eyed dreams
Keeping me from tossing myself
Twenty thousand underneath the sea
I am what I am
I've gone too far to rescind
These wonderful twisted dreams
Where we're skipping stones by the stream
I know what I feel
Now you're even more real
All I know is how to weep
With the birds lulling me fast asleep
Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013
haiku 8: fire and mud
fires burned down our trees;
so we prayed for rain to come:
mud stole our homes.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
Jeenay ko bhi dil nahi karta .
marna bhi asaan nahi
Kehne ko hum zinda hain
per jism me rooh o jaa'n nahi
Dafn karoo'n armaanoan ki
in zinda laashoa'n ko mein kahaa'n
Hasrat kee maari rahoa'N mein
Koi Qabr nahi Shamshaan nahi
Copyright © mazhar butt | Year Posted 2014
shady weeping willow tree
grace brushes the canopy
sullen branches seek comfort
from lovers below
yester year echoes sweetly
through the branches hanging low
each leaflet holds my sorrow
dew drops are my tears
my father's tree weeps for me
sweeping branches touch my heart
once, you held a young man's dreams
now, you bring solace
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
dedicated to my dad, John F. Johnson, Jr (1949-2002)
The Weeping Willow was his favorite tree
First place in No Name/Any Form 14 Max contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012
Like the willow tree,
I'm of narrow, slender twigs.
Thin and sad- we are.
Copyright © Richard- Olivier Marius | Year Posted 2007