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Ballad Tree Poems | Ballad Poems About Tree

These Ballad Tree poems are examples of Ballad poems about Tree. These are the best examples of Ballad Tree poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad | |

Oak Tree

     the Oak  Tree

You were always someone special
In the midnight hours in my dream
I could really feel the tension
A tree, a limb, a friend
No matter how hard life came at me
There you stood perfectly
Letting me lean up against your stand
I will never forget the day you swayed the first hi 
I talked as if you were hearing
A tree, a piece of wood in my path
A punching bag
My Oak Tree you will always be

One day in my sorrowed life 
I stopped by just to reminisce 
Your beauty, I find so divine
Your leaves took me backwards
I fell in love with your soul all over again
With a beauty, I find so divine 
Hope you will always be there my friend
Indulging the felling you transcend 
A cold spot never found in you
Re-breathing your surround, no need to make a sound
The power you have when you make my heart mend
My Oak Tree you will always be my friend

In the lowest day of my life
I went on a secret walk to look for comfort
The beauty of you is no longer there
Walking around with an extra deep pain of hurt
Not sure how one could bare such a loss
Dropping myself to my Knees upon the dirt
An empty spot is the only thing there
My friend I thought you would always be there 
How can they take you away from this world?
A lonely field
No root, no seed
Loneliness no one to lean up against
You will no longer be there
How could they cut down, my friend?
My friend the Oak Tree.

Where are your seeds?


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Ballad | |

I'm Dreaming/ A Liberal Xmas Tale

Who was this white haired Claus 
With rabbit teeth? 
Carrying a ton of peanuts 
For all to eat.

Dragged in a sleigh pulled 
By Agnew and Nixon, 
Who ran right beside 
Donnar and Blitzen? 

He circled Camp David, 
A fast fly by; 
With lox and bagels for 
the Jewish guys. 

A carpenters’ pencil 
Was poised by his ear, 
And boxes of nails dangled, 
From the gear in the rear. 

Why! Its Jolly Ole Carter Claus 
Draped in menorahs. 
Handing out home plans to 
the Arab before us. 

Visions of world peace 
Danced in his head; 
As, he flew straight to Afghanistan
‘Fore noggin hit bed. 

When down from the sky 
In the form of deer dung, 
Fell fruit tree seeds 
Too be sown in the sun. 

And, as CarterClaus’ whip cracked 
O’er Nixon's ear, 
As Agnew blanched, 
His eyes filling with tears. 

Droplets hit sand with 
A plop and a splatter 
’Pon the fruit tree seeds with 
Nary a clatter. 

The desert grew green; 
Trees sprouted and grew; 
Hearts filled with wonder, 
Bellies with stew. 

Homes were rebuilt, 
as before the fall, 
Cook fires were lit. 
Children grew tall. 

And Ole Carter Claus 
Flew home in a daze. 
Passing out sandwiches 
That Roslyn had made.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Ballad | |

Tree House

Whenever i feel lonely,I sit up here and think,
About the things that ive done wrong,and the hearts that ive caused to sink.
I wish there were ways i could change some things that i might have said or 
But somethings said out of anger,can only hurt someone.

My mind begains to wonder of what might have been,
Had i not said those awful words that cause you so much pain.
I guess its my way of striking back ,for the pain that you caused me,
But i see now that was wrong,for here i am now on bended knees.

Your love ive lost forever, I will never feel the same,
I go through life day after day wondering whos to blame.
Was it you ?Or was it me? Or are we both at fault?
For all the things that went wrong,now dont seem its worth a grain of salt.

Now i must leave my tree house,and hurry off to bed,
For tomorrows another day and i must rest my head.
I know my little tree house will always be there,when ever i want to think,
About the things that might have been, had we only have found the right link.

Copyright © Alan Fitz

Details | Ballad | |

First day of summer

First day of summer

It’s the very early morning
The summer’s just begun
Although the weathers kind of cool
I know that soon the sun
Will be burning down on me
But me, I love it all
I really love these summer days
They’re really beautiful.

It’s lovely in the early mornings
To see the sun come up
And hear birds singing joyfully
It overflows my cup
All this love that it brings out
As it shines on down on me
I love to see those Lorikeets
That feed from bottle brush trees.

How I love the beers and barbeques
In a garden filled with flowers
As I watch the many colored parrots
I could sit there for hours
And watch the sun that burns on down
Then rises from the trees
And I love it in the afternoons
To feel that cool sea breeze.

1 December 2013 @ 0500hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |

Ode to a Cherry Tree

Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view, In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew. Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck, By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck! By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played, Million blossoms wide open one February day. This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels, Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals. From those all around laying dormant in state, Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake. And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash, Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash. But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense, In the short time required for fresh java to dispense. Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass, The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass. Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II! 1) user name: wedge 2) choice of motif: nature

Copyright © Michael Wegman

Details | Ballad | |

Living my dream

Living my dream

I had one dream when I was young
To go to another land
In life I wasn’t satisfied
I wanted something grand
Lions, tigers. Kangaroos
And all those wild, wild beasts
Africa, South America
Or Australia at least.

Possessive Mother was my curse
How could I get away?
Every time I mentioned it
She had so much to say
And made me feel so guilty
Really cramped my style
And then one day there came along
Something to make me smile

I’d just turned my nineteenth year
When this great girl came along
She hailed from West Australia
And filled my heart with song
So we got married, had some kids
And here we are in Oz
Been here for half a century
And I came here all because

It was my fate to find this girl
She was my destiny
There’s be a whisper in the skies
That knows how things will be
It takes one’s soul, and leads it on
So growth, it might occur
And I know that west Australia
My heart, it sure does stir.

4 August 2013 @ 1440hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |

The Tree

                                            The Tree

Through the foggy mist of a new day dawning
Appears a huge tree, awaiting the birth of another winter morning.

All that remains is its bare branches stretching toward the sky
And an old abandoned nest, left by its owner who traveled south so it wouldn't die.

The tree appears lonely but somehow full of hope
As if it knows Spring will come which enables it to cope.

A few months have gone by and the faithful tree is still there
But now it's consumed with excitement from its first breath of spring air.

It seems new life has come to the tree within a blink of an eye
It now stands picturesque, full of lavish green foliage set against the baby blue sky.

It waves its branches proudly with the breeze as if to show off its features
Which also seems to serve as a welcome sign to all of God's little creatures.

It appears to be much happier, now that its friends are back once again
Cradling brand new birds' nests and providing shelter during the rain.

The little squirrels also take advantage of their most generous host
It seems they like chasing each other up and down the tree's trunk the most.

The tree is now bursting with activity
With all of God's wee ones living His promise of love and longevity.

All through the summer the tree takes pleasure as it continually strives
To serve as the best meeting place for everything that creeps, leaps or flies.

Full of contentment, I'll bet the tree lets out a happy sigh
Every time it watches a baby bird learn how to fly
Or whenever a caterpillar turns into a pretty butterfly.

I often wonder if the tree truly understands
The major part it plays in God's circle of life simply because it stands.

Fall has now arrived and the tree appears sort of saddened by the sound
Of its first leaf gently falling to the ground.

All of its friends begin packing it up as they gather for a big revival
That's when the tree wishes them a safe and happy journey as they head south for their survival.

The tree bids each one farewell and says loud and clear
"To each God's speed and have no fear
For I'll be waiting right here when you come back next year."

It is now winter and a year in the life of the tree has come full circled once more
Although lonely, it is bigger and stronger than ever before.

But I know not to feel sadness, especially for the tree's sake
For in God's plan, He makes sure even the tree gets a well-deserved break.

Copyright © mary singletary

Details | Ballad | |

The Emerald Tree

In the forest world
we came to know
There stood an Emerald Tree
Whose beauty did bestow

Tall and strong
Rich textured bark
Emerald leaves
Upon the sun shone
Soft and bright

The seed had been carried
Upon a ship
Filled with sail
Carefully stored
From Heartstone
To the Land of a Thousand Suns,
it was implored...

In such mysteries
In magick
Across the sea
Upon a ship 
Filled with sail
Was borne the Emerald Tree

The seed lay in its' box
In the magick of the Spring Queen
A gift for the Forest Queen
In the lands of richest green
The Emerald Tree had been wished
by Amethyst

The box was opened
When the moon rose high
In the glades
It found its' home
In the forest it grew
In shades
Of Emerald green

In the Forest World
A tree,like no other
Belonged to a Queen
The likes, never seen

The tree grew,
in happiness,
in sunlight,
in love,
For high above
In the canopies
In ever changing hues
It was seen
In new Emerald green

The branches grew wide
Faeries and little folk
Came to see,
to live,
to breathe,
The Emerald Tree,
that did sigh

Summer passed
Autumn too
Winter came
Yet The Emerald Trees' colours
did not change in any hue

A tree,to live forever
Amethyst,with her belief,
visited the tree, every day
Her hand ,upon the bark
In her heart
Enclosed by a Kings' Leaf
She understood
In a forest wood

A sentient tree
Connected to the Forest Queen
In whose heart,a leaf curled
magicked by a Kings' love
She ruled all
In the Forest World

The years passed
A Queen was of age
Sweeping branches
Of Emerald green

A Tree to last
Emerald green
Silver tipped leaves
That murmured
and whispered
In its' love

At the Place of the Rising Moon
The Emerald Tree shone
Above all others
So many things ,it knew
It was the wisest
To the Forest Queen,
It did belong

As a little girl
She had climbed up high
In its' branches
Sensed its' heart
Cloaked in Emerald green
Wind rustle
Wind high
A sentient tree
Did sigh

In the moonlight
There it stood
Above all others
Above all wood
In soft green bright

Amethyst ,gathered the seeds
leaves too
All of the tree was precious
For its' colour did not fade
Leaves can fall
Leaves can turn
Never The Emerald Tree
Never a changing hue

The Emerald Tree had but one mark
The tiny hand print
Upon its' bark
From a young girl
Who connected with everything

When the moon passed by
Amethyst,Forest Queen
Planted the seeds
In a whispering wood
Wind rustle
Wind high
Sentient trees
Did sigh


Copyright © Matthew Brackley

Details | Ballad | |

The Poem Tree

The poem tree is a very safe haven, 
for birds and fowl, a hawk, a raven, or
a little barn owl.The tree could be a
silhouette, or the finest place to raise
your pet.The poem tree could bear
the fruit of life.Such as apples and 
pears, with morning dew.A wonderful
place to play the flute.The poem tree
could have a nest.Giving birds with 
eggs, a place to rest.It could capture
a kite who someone lost, or be bitten
by the morning frost.It could capture
a balloon, which went astray, or drop
all its leaflets by the bay.The poem
tree could have a lollipop, or maybe
a candycane, umbrella branches, to
stop the rain.The tree could protect
all animals, from an oncoming flood, 
and keep all the tree bugs out of the
mud.Above the tree the sun will shine.
Home for a raccoon, or a porcupine..

The Poem Tree by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011,2014.All rights reserved.

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards

Details | Ballad | |

Silent times

Silent times

Sometimes, I really do not care
About anything at all
My mind goes kind of quiet then
My mode is kind of cool
And all I really want to do
Is sit here looking in
Forgetting all the world outside
Forgetting all the din

There’s a time to send ones energy
And circle it around
But then there comes a sacred time
When the harmony is found
Waiting there within the dark
To hold one cozily
A time to be in her soft clutch
And bask there happily.

Then when the muse has been recharged
It’s time to wander back
And let the words come pouring out
Cause just along the track
The wind, the flowers and dancing trees
Have replaced the mystery
So now the words they may flow free
With much more energy.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |


       not yet a poet laureate?

Myrtle! I say, (she's a tree of lowly lineage,)
unwind your limbs from the lordly pine.  I saved
him from the builder's saw, the gaping yaw
of someone's fire.  I claim this stalwart symbol mine 
as traveling mate, our tandem destiny of 
the arbor-trary kind absolved from ordinary fate.
Yet, if I, or my soldier tree should fall, I call 
on the power of St. Michael's sword, his purple
yew, which downed the devil in a few.  We, 
who are to the lavender born, unlike the myrtle
of low born scorn -- Prince of angels, mighty 
tree, I take my holding power from thee. One eye 
cocked toward immortality, I remain to make 
the odd, little poem, or narratives a' la Uncle 
Remus, forever hoping to be famous.
                        for Ron

Copyright © Nola Perez

Details | Ballad | |



I love to see you o tempting tree
How i wish you are still seen and free
Flourishing with juicy fruit; lovely
Now you are all alone and lonely

O Eden fruit cherished from the tree
I so much admire your feel
And want to devote my time to your peel
So soft like pomegranate with fleshy skin

What a rare thing not well known
A tree filled fruit of wise and great policies
The skin remind me of the evening moon
But it’s jealously protected from doom 


Details | Ballad | |

The Tiny Box Under The Tree

I could see the snow falling outside the window
As we cuddled on Christmas right near the tree
Drinking egg nog and watching our favorite shows on tv
Anxiously I couldn't help but wonder
What my sweetheart had wrapped up for me
He must have read my thoughts
Because suddenly he gave me a surprise gift
And immediately got on his knees

To see what my expression would be
Nervously I stood in shock
But couldn't wait to unwrap the gift
That was a very tiny box
To my amazement it immediately caught my eye
Sparkling and shining from the opened box
Stood a very large diamond ring
Just as beautiful as it could be

At that very same moment he then stood up
And said,  " Will you marry me?"
Without a doubt thrilled and excited
I immediately answered back with a yes
We then smiled and intimately embraced one another
Finally ending the night on Christmas was even more special
And one of my best Christmas holidays ever
Because I became newly engaged which was a gift like no other

By:  Donielle Smith

Copyright © Donielle Smith

Details | Ballad | |

Those blessed wetland trails

Those blessed wetland trails.

The sun is shining lazily
The sky is azure blue
As green leaves dance with the morning breeze
The birds be singing too
They sing a serenade of bliss
And peace is all around
As all along these wetland trails
Blue lupins can be found.

The perfume heavy in the air
It speaks of wild geraniums
The young ferns looking soft and green
And all those tall wild gums
Give out a rather pungent scent
A smell I've learned to love
As parrots screech in blissfull joy
In those trees there high above.

The lake, she glimmers neath the sun
As the ducks give lazy quacks
My feet scrape on the sand and gravel
As I stroll along this track.
Trees all gnarled and and twisted
Form a tunnel just for me
Oh I could write forever
But for now, I'll leave it be.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |

The Old Oak Tree

In a meadow by the stream there stood a big oak tree
and now I think of all the things that tree has meant to me

The old tire swing hung from a limb was put up by our dad
and all day long us kids would play and oh' what fun we had

In the shade of that old tree whose limbs are now bent low
is where I met my one true love so many years ago

Was where I got my very first kiss under that old tree
and that old oak stood right there smiling down at me

We are all grown up now but how we loved that old tree
a place of refuge for us all a place where we were free

We all went back the other day to see just one more time
that beautiful tall old oak tree for ever etched in our mind 

Copyright © Oma Bennett

Details | Ballad | |


The tree of life feels the woodsmans axe, and thinks such is life when the timber cracks, and consciousness is free, departing from this tree, not dead the spirit see, the tree of life is whacked, let the buggers be! re: " Hammer In Hand" Debbie Duncan by Don

Copyright © DON JOHNSON

Details | Ballad | |

Tree of strength

My tree of strength, my beautiful solitude spot,
I come to you to rest,  My tired body, my tears to shed,
My tree of solitude, may your strong branches give me shade,
My tree of solitude, you bring a smile upon my face, forever I will be grateful for your warmth, and grace.

My tree of solitude, I lay beneath you, as the winds gently blow,  your gentle branches, singing me to a calming sleep, I lay beneath you to remember my beloved son,  who loved nature with all his heart,
for now I know he is with me in the peaceful moment, thank you my sacred tree, until we meet again,  
may you stand tall and strong, with your long branches, to keep my spot nice and warm.

Copyright © Jennifer Donnay

Details | Ballad | |

The willow tree

Upon the good river
A willow tree grew
The days passed by
Never once did the willow sigh
Of sunsets and dawns
Winters and springs
The days passed by
Never once did the willow sigh
Summers and autumns
The turning leaves
Brown and gold fell and did die
Never once did the willow tree sigh

A cool wind blew
Through its' branches
To its' heart it crept and let it lie
Never once did the willow sigh

When fledglings left the nest
To the blue sky
The joyous flight test
Never once did the willow sigh

When the snow fell deep
The river froze and the earth stood still
When nature tried to crack the tree with all its ' will
Never once did the willow sigh

When lovers came in soft sunlight
In summers' crowning glory
They kissed beneath the sky
Only once then, did the willow sigh


Copyright © Matthew Brackley

Details | Ballad | |

Under the greenwood tree


Copyright © Olatunji Samson

Details | Ballad | |


In a basin of jewelled bronze

The leaves lay

Many colours

Of many shades

To become a tapestry

Trees never die

They are forever made


A soft wind blew

Gentle on the leaves

The Queen took them

Kissed them too

Made many

Threads spun

Magical weaves

The trees have begun


Upon the cloth

A mighty tree grew

In shades of green

Of soft leaf

Texture of bark

Of branches, seen


The trunk grew strong and tall

Of threads spun

Texture of bark

I can hear its’ heart

The first of many

The trees have begun


Branches reached out to play

Touching the sky

The joy

To see how it grew



The leaves from the basin

Of jewelled bronze

 Carried by the summer queen

With a soft kiss….

One by one

They were blown onto the tapestry

The leaves multiplied

Faeries darted back and forth

Sewed each one

Of threads spun

Woven magic

The tree has begun


The heart of the tree

Could be heard

Very softly sighing

The first of many

Upon a tapestry

Where leaves were laid

Branches reached out

Touching the sky

That a Queen made


To a castle door

Leaves were left

Memories of suns

and seasons

For trees never die

Of threads spun

Woven magic

The trees have begun



Copyright © Matthew Brackley

Details | Ballad | |

Under This Same Tree

                   It was here that we met.
                      In monism hearts melt.
                   here is where you where born.
                     So young but owner of all trees
                   Beneath this tree kins came and go
                      Taught to embrace and to rule; 
                   To repel and to conquer. 
                      Nature's at your call

                   Then they came;
                       They they forged gold masks.
                   Pretty looking yet so vile beneath.
                       As eye openers they came
                    But what we saw where shadows
                       Thus we didn't see at all
                    As rights lost, branches fell from this tree
                       Yet so strong the trunk remained
                   So embrace, repel, elope... your choice 
                       Water passed before realization 
                   Yet we realize a great mind fought
                        In the name of Mandela he came
                   A true Lamp light in our lost journey
                        He taught us to love and unite... a true monist
                   We will stand side by side 
                        Water and nurture this leaveless trunk
                   A day will come when it would rise again
                        Flourish in fruits and blossom in flowers
                   Only a bright future can fulfill the the past

                                    It was under this tree it began
                                    And it will remain under this same tree.

Copyright © Ako Henshaw

Details | Ballad | |

Barcaldine, Tree of Knowledge

Barcaldine, Tree of Knowledge One hundred and seventy years ago, The shearers had enough you know, Of working for almost nothing, then, Decided to form a Union, bend ! The master to cough up a quid or so? We all got better dough:} Daylight to dark the men did work, Maybe Sunday off to go to church, But all for the greed of Joe, Called mister don’t ya know, Class distinction it was worse, The Tree of Knowledge, Ghost Gum its, Tradition for the worker, it tis, A beacon for the slow, Equality on show, Cos that’s just how it is? Union bashing is their game, Sparks from every tory flame, Cos the unions made em pay, Good wages we have today, The hated union so-and-so , So when you hear a tory squeak, about lower wages for the simple weak, his greed is on to show, cos we all bloody know, that’s how old fat ass squeaks….Don

Copyright © DON JOHNSON

Details | Ballad | |

Christmas Gifts

Underneath the tree so grand
Sit many boxes beautifully wrapped;
Packaged with discerning hands;
Gifts by God’s love enveloped.
Giving is the greatest blessing;
Far greater than to receive,
But at Christmas we enjoy both,
Except the very poor and grieved.

So let’s think about the needy,
This very special Christmas Day;
Give generously of food and gifts
To those in need and pray.
Pray for folk who are grieving,
When happiness should be their lot.
We often forget to pray for others;
Let your prayers not be forgot.

When the gifts have all been given
And the tree looks somewhat bare,
It’s time to enjoy the delicacies
That loving hands did prepare.
Whether it be roast turkey,Or a leg of lamb and gravy,
Let’s remember the hands of the Giver,
And the blessed Christmas story!

Let’s thank God for His Christmas gift;
The greatest gift of all time.
The gift of our shepherd and Savior,
Born so miraculously divine.
This is the real reason,
We celebrate at Christmas;
Give thanks for all our blessings
Of hope, peace, joy and happiness.

Maureen LeFanue


Details | Ballad | |

The Last Voyage


Like a straw man,
Hunted by gusts of wind
(in order to outrun death),
I am returning to the valley of my childhood;
To see the old home one last time,
To see the old walnut tree one last time,
under which my mother used to read
Mark Twain's wonderful stories to me.
Nothing is the same anymore, everyone is dead,
Apart from memories and the old walnut tree;
Its old, trembling, bare branches
are impatiently waiting
to hug me one last time.

When destiny leaves you alone in the dark;
When your mother and father leave you early,
all you have left are dreams,
Yes, my friend, life rolls along the road of dreams,
And each dream is finished soon;

Just one more time,
I'd like to touch the coarse face of the old walnut tree,
To find a long lost tear
below its tired feet.
When I started on this long voyage,
The night was bright, and our beautiful walnut tree cried,
Yes, my friend, trees can cry too;
Just one more time,
I'd like to touch the old walnut tree,
To cling my face against my old friend's face,
Like a beloved son,
To hear the happy voices of my mother and father;
When your memories fade, drop down to your knees
To feel how the earth loves,
So your memories can find their sacred sanctuary.
When they want to kill your memories, hoist your flag of dreams
And keep on marching your way, like a noble soldier of freedom,
Because few are the poets who are honored
To finish their voyage
In the place they were born.

©Walter William Safar

Copyright © Walter W. Safar

Details | Ballad | |

Why the dogwood tree grows

Why the dogwood tree grows.

In the middle of a vacant filed stands a grand dogwood tree where the  crows gather daily. People flock far and wide just to gaze at its majestic stature and overwhelming beauty wondering silently amongst themselves, “How this tree came to be.”

Shrouded in secrecy lays the scattered bones of a dead man. 

His hands rest against his thighs, his head turned upright as his soil filled eyes gaze upward awaiting the warm glow of the sun that sadly never comes.

The man laid to rest beneath the black dirt over time had long been forgotten, he no longer had a name, no home, or even a family of his own. Just the loving roots he had been encased in long ago.

But how this event came to be only three could say.
The women, the murder, and the forever silent dogwood tree.

The restless bones belonged to a man, a young man who had fallen in love and courted another mans betrothed. The women cared for the simple gardening man and the many trees his nimble fingers tended but her fiance was a jealous chap with rage to match.
And upon one final night after witnessing their true loves kiss the grief stricken cohort stuck the man down with his rusted pick axe and banished the gardener to his hand dug grave, placing his lifeless corpse in a vacant filed in which no one came. But what the enraged man didn’t foresee was the seed of a dogwood tree.
It fell from the deceased pocket and grew from the gardeners heart.

Year after year the tree budded magnificent flowers each possessing a hint of red staining their petals.

People marveled in its splendor gazing at the unique tree, gasping in awe and glee, but for one women its beauty agonized her for its existence was a constant reminder that no justice, nor revenge could ever be won for her simple gardening man.

And as the roots steamed onward feeling the caressing flow of a spring wind on its crimson petals the mans chest flooded with air and his dry, frail skeleton once more exuded life; 

And  as she eyed the swaying branches his memory suddenly came to life.
He was the air the tree inhaled, the nutrients it desperately needed to grow, and the reason it thrived.

Even in death he had the gardeners touch.

Her wrinkled face light up with love and for the first time in fifty years she smiled in happiness thinking to herself.

“That is why the dog wood tree grows, its out of love for my dead mans bones.”

Copyright © Whitney Hart

Details | Ballad | |

2007 hybrids in snow evergreen peaches

sour not good dorment salt good urines good tree smell like
paint and urine cat smell and people and you taste urine in
mount all the time people, pick semi freezen store plant
when first flower and cover if need with plastic, need shade
stop cuting down all trees in jungle plants and trees the
sun is burning small plants need tree and plant first in door
then plant big to stand weater, keep some crops underground
one to two years incase of weather and use as needed, all
urine smell like that some time, its also in a food, it won't 
hurt you I don't think so because its in urine and after smell
twenty years later I am still alive.

Copyright © diane henning

Details | Rhyme | |

Ballad of the poplar

Tall and magnificent is poplar tree
But about its visage is something eerie
Poplar sways in the wind nearby a great sea
Poplar is tall but can’t reach the edge of sky anymore than to see

Past the great sea
It is very big sky goes for infinity
Yet in this lost cause I admire poplars beauty

Wind blows through poplar tree
And that is what one day will allow it to see
Far past the sky and the sea
To view time but not one known to you and me

The time seen by poplar tree
Is echo that only divine counterbalance can allow one to see
This time is like the wind of destiny
Far past infinity or continuity 

That wind knows what meaning of life is to be
And any other question of philosophy
It can answer what is beyond philosophy
And because of it my soul looking at poplar tree will be free

Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec

Details | Ballad | |


Deep in Heartstone

Amongst the Whispering Trees

Grew, The Giving Tree


I felt its’ heart

Below the bark

And asked

What of me?


The leaves rustled

The breeze lifted

I pressed my cheek to its’ heart

And felt everything gifted


What I feel

Centuries old

Of magic

Of nature

Of faeries told


To be chosen

To carry the bow

Defend all

The Heartstone in the Great Hall

The Kings and Queens

Of Knights deeds

To repel the Ice king

And the heart, so frozen


The Giving Tree

I felt its’ heart

Below the bark

And knew instantly


To see

The flight of an arrow

On to its ‘ mark

This I felt

In the heart

Below the bark

Of the giving tree

Copyright © Matthew Brackley

Details | Ballad | |

As If She Was A Cherry Tree

She wakens with the rising sun,
emerging from night's sable net,
her body--cold and naked from
the silence of its silhouette.

Though barren from a wintry sleep,
the dawn recruits her once again,
restoring her cherubic bark
to sate the restless hearts of men.

Her garden keepers, like a breeze,
deluge throughout her limber being,
embellishing her slender trunk
with trimmings suited for a queen.

They dress her down in garnished silk,
for men desiderate appeal
and flock behind beginning buds
in hopes their blossoms will reveal.

They veil her countenance with snow
to imitate the charming moon,
so that her lustful audience
will drift away in carnal swoon.

She exits from her private grove
to radiate her temporal cure;
her lips are laced with cherry and
possess a saccharine allure.

She lilts about on lifted roots,
exuding floral elegance,
and every room she slips into
is subjugated by her scents.

Her older sister starts to pluck
a melody on flavored strings.
Away--the rosy sapling flies,
performing as the trio sings!

Her limbs display like graceful wind;
her petals sweep the lustrous floor;
her gaze, like vernal fire, burns
into the eyes she dances for!

The night returns to claim her bloom;
so quickly does she flee from me,
to leave but soil in her stead--
as if she was a cherry tree.

Copyright © Michael Perriatt

Details | Rhyme | |

Willow s ballad

When most people see willow they see a tree
But to me it is something that can almost alter destiny
Filled in its essence with surreal majesty
Something that can make spirit free

Boughs and leaves of willow cascade like a waterfall
Magnified amber colored cells are behind its soul’s wall
Wind whispers old ballads murmuring in its leaves during fall
The ballads final fundamental place beyond life and death can recall 

The wind well the willow has taught
With destiny being single element the fifth element in willow is brought
This is the ethereal unstoppable vision of juggernaut
Pushing ever deeper into procession of thought 

Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec