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Free Verse Tree Poems | Free Verse Poems About Tree

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

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Details | Free verse | |

THE OLD OAK TREE


         Oh I am but a simple leaf
         withering within the gutter
         one summer of bliss
         now! Just an autumn flutter.

                   For some; destine to fall
                   upon stony ground, a part
                   of life’s infernal gyration.
                   Yet for those that fall
                   within your reach, to live
                   on within your soul!

         While limbs that stretch
         towards the solstice, create
         vivacious veins as channels of hope,
         a pledge of foliation continues
         to endure what spring has
         furnished; autumn expires. 

                   Yes! If we can but learn
                   from nature’s complex simplicity,
                   that life be of a cycle
                   from the seed we are conceived,
                   then let spring be my beginning
                   winter my exultant eve!

         Let our two cultures
         merge as one, the
         decomposed humus
         to become the sustenance;
         our transfusion the
         new beginning.

                   Let us breathe the
                   fragrance of born again;
                   let each slender limb,
                   stout body bear our
                   tenaciousness, each lyrical
                   leaf our life’s blood.

          Let us mollycoddle each
          precious tear that falls from a
          angry sky; dance gracefully
          upon the wind, embrace
          on moonless nights, bathe
           in summer madness.

                   Let us hear the bluebell call,
                   the daffodil pray, the apple
                   blossom bear witness; the
                   clamour of the field mouse
                   the pitapat of the butterfly
                   the silence of lovers in love.

             Let us be sanctuary to the
             symbolic songstress, scuttling
             squirrel, vulgar urchin;
             a fortress for the warrior
             a haven for the pacifist
             an inspiration for the poet!

 EPILOGUE 

                  The call of springtime
                   we will invoke,
                     logging representative
                      we will gladly choke;
                        nature’s guardian.
                          “This! Obliging old oak.”

Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000


        

         







Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Wood Stages

I Death Wood

My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.

The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide 
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.

The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers? 
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.

II Birth Wood

My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.

My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful 
songs encourage me to bloom once again. 

Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to 
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.

III Rain Wood

Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression. 
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.

Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire 
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.

My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.

February 7th 2008

Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3

Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Somber Days

I am somber like November days and my words speak weak, as if through tired tongue I see the trees stand naked reaching their limbs across the stream as if touching and comforting each other from the bitter cold that's settling in sometimes I envy them I want to stand naked arch my back reach towards hands and feel the comfort of more than I am allowed and escape the bitterness as it settles in it doesn't seem fair to question a day or night that wears the same veil as me, colorless and silent in the breeze as it whispers through the trees sometimes I want to lean my ear and eavesdrop on them I want to peak beneath the skies veil and see the colors blend to see the rain less clear through colored drops fall upon a canvas and paint a masterpiece I want to feel my hands finger a pen, without tingling from bottled up emotions to feel my soul inside me not as if locked outside looking in, as if a stranger to my own life not be the afterthought or an emotion beyond words of some poet's muse I want to know the meaning of this emptiness I want to understand why the tree is as naked as my thoughts in winter yet dressed heavy in the summer and most beautiful in the fall why does beauty fall become grounded and dance in November's wind somber, like the day....

Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Eleven Words

A busy road.
A tree stump.
An old man.

Everyday at eight 'o clock
He sits there, cane tapping
just watching cars go by--
I among them

Such a lonely man
I say to myself

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Same old man.

He looks up, cane twirling
and smiles at me
in that split second
I smile back

A roadside friend is gained.

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different old man.

Day after day
He waves hi--cane dancing
Smiling
I wave goodbye,
no time to stop

Same busy road
Same tree stump
No old man

I screech to a halt
Ask of his absence

Clutching
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
of thanks
to my roadside friend

Eleven words
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."

Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different me.


Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Nature

(The Sun is Out)

I dare to hope and dream, 
Of flowers that never fade
Of splendid and exotic creatures
All living in perfect harmony. 
I dream of tranquil earthly paradise,
A keen euphoric garden of Eden,
Created by my one and true Lord.
Alas that man sinned and now
The garden of Eden is closed.
 
So let us together embark upon a journey,
In earnest search and ardent expectation
Of peace and love and blissful pleasure. 
Let us travel down a mighty river
In a small pirogue, winding its way
Along the fern lined banks
Admiring the cypress and the tall pine trees.
 
The river turns into a valley,
Where mighty willows weep and dip
Their lower branches in the fresh icy stream. 
All around, we smell the scent of flowers,
Butterflies with gossamer wings
Flit untiringly from bloom to bloom
While insects seem to have composed
A lively concert of their own.
 
We hear the music of the song birds,
Especially the multicolored martin pescador,
Finches practicing their fine tunes
to serenade the attractive female mate.
We spy warblers, sparrows, and orioles
Dancing from branch to branch
Or birds of prey soaring over the ancient firs
Trying to catch some unsuspecting fish
That swims beneath the calm surface
Of a smooth and tranquil lake. 

Such magic moments mesmerize our senses,
As we witness the birth of day.
We find ecstasy in Our Lord's creations. 
His wondrous hand enhances nature,
Fascinates our spirit with uninhibited joy
Expanding the joyous hope for all humanity.


Placed 8

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Phantasy Willow

This night, this light,
the moon a balloon
that floats away hope.

Myself a tree, a willow weeping -
ripple of sighs, fountain of cries,
my tears like leaves.

Aftermath of moonlight rape:
my battered bark, my bowed boughs,
my leaves a draping shroud.

In phantasy, currents carry me
down, down to drowning depths
and all my tears are water-wept.




Five words used: Willow, Phantasy (amalgamation of phantom and fantasy), Rape, Moonlight, Aftermath

6/3/2016

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Lessons Learned from Trees

"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "

                                                             ~A Rambling Poet~



A canopy of trees
filters the sun for me,
and I am grateful...
For I do not feel like 
having the rays glare
in my eyes today,
in a brooding mood I am.

The earth is damp,
drunken with dew,
seemingly commiserating
with me

I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
--cutting, rough--
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
a reminder
that not everything 
is sunlight and blooms

I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
just sighing

For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
thoughts eroding
to nothingness

...until I open my eyes
to Wonderment

The trees above me 
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
breaking through,
shimmering, dappling
my cold being

Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits 
surrounding me

These trees 
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for 
that light,
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
of heaven...
of capturing 
its light,
using it,
feeding off from it,
in order to 
give back to others

some of them stumble
yet most of them
succeed

I am humbled.
I am awed.

Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
temporary darkness
from the light,
I look up again
and realize
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...

little sparks
that set off
a chain reaction
of life




--June 11-12 (2011)

Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb

(Irish from his Pop      Appendage from his Mum)

stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do

the apple doesn't fall far from the tree

I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!

(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)

the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground

Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can

(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)

Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets

the ground isn't just a place for our feet

Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes     giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence

(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)

Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight

our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple

We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"

I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...

... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...



Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Scattering Blooms


Gathering a plethora, of abandoned blossoms high and low, a covered basket and pockets full. Light footsteps through shady trees releasing dainty blooms for me, nature’s soulful aliment like a rainbow placed strategically for a little girl's innocent eyes. Blooms falling into my hands on a wooded path for one, then scattering to the wind, a fanciful dance, free of pending frailty; prancing petals take flight before their glory fades... How can I preserve God’s majestic beauty, petals adorning a late spring breeze? The newly green earth and trees - watch me, watch them. I am but one girl gathering blooms to press between pages of time or seep into an intoxicating potpourri. I could take a snapshot of these sacred scatterings but never could a photo fill my senses - the sweet scents, sounds and touch of blooms on a wooded path and breezes all around my face, the sight of God’s majestic beauty in a magical place. If I had one wish it would be, to share these magical moments with you.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Blackbirds In The Rain



blackbirds in the rain walking among the fallen leaves under the old mango tree with dripping leaves bathing the grass below blackbirds diligently lifting the rain soaked fallen leaves peering underneath for insects and worms flushed out by the drizzling rain pausing to gulp one down then scooting off again searching for more sitting under the shed with raindrops playing their music on the galvanised sheet roof with a beat that resonates within my inner being putting me in a trance connecting me to the rain and the puddles on the ground with the raindrops gently tapping the water's surface creating rings that collide with one another disrupting their individual shapes creating a dynamic new pattern reflecting their unity and bubbling with energy in the drizzling rain O what a deep feeling of peacefulness and serenity with the rain the dripping leaves and the puddles serenading my spirit with the eternal song of Nature and merging it into the Unity Of All Things
It was raining today. There was a constant drizzle for hours. I sat in a shed attached to the house, watching the blackbirds in action in the rain, searching for their food. The constant rhythmic sound of the rain on the galvanised sheet roof of the shed and the gentle drama playing out in the backyard with the blackbirds was a spiritual experience for me connecting me with Nature and the unity of all things as mentioned in the last verse. .

Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Leaves talking

As long as I can remember
I have been green and on this branch.
They tell me soon I will become tinged,
Glow bright red,
Burn orange,
Or shine like gold.
I can hardly wait!

And soon after I shall
Embark on that journey
They have been talking about,
And I am a bit scared.
A wind will come, they say,
And rip me away,
Fling me wildly into the air,
Whirl me around in mad dance,
Toss me, smash me,
Lash me
With rain
Before I crash
To the ground
All wet and ripped.

But maybe, some say,
On a quiet sunny day,
A tiny breeze, almost unnoticed,
Will gently pluck me off,
And I shall sail on the air,
Swaying to and fro,
And descend softly
Onto a rustling pile.

September 14, 2016
For contest: Leaves Talking
Sponsor: John lawless

Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

THE HANGING TREE

Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of 
Destiny’s say.
On judgment hill from on high, 
Voices do echo downwards, as the 
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
Hangman's tree.
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
 Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west, 
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are  branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you, 
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
 Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
Mans tree.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


 


 

 


 

 


 

 


 

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Wisdom Tree

A solitary man
Makes his way up the mountain
One step at a time
The life he knows further and further behind
He wishes to be alone
Away from the busyness 
The noise
Responsibility
Activity 
Work that is never done
Conflict
The need to be right
He reaches the top
Sits down crosses his legs
He looks out at the landscape
His village a small mass of thatched roofs
People unseeable
Smoke rises from a central fire
The lake so small it can fit into a wooden spoon
The horizon surrounds him
He feels the pebbles beneath him
Blades of grass are myopically large
He watches an ant toil
Are their lives not the same?
Seasons change
Summer to fall winter to spring
He witnesses it all
His beard has lengthened his mind enlarged
Secrets have been revealed
Disconnected yet part of all
Growing into the ground
Others come to the mountain top
Seeking his wisdom
They sit with him for a while
They never stay long
Each take so that they may give
The wise man transformed
Arms outstretched reaching to all the horizons
Now covered with leaves
The seasons continue to change
He sends his leaves down to the village
Beckoning them to the mountain
Not wanting to be alone
"Come sit beneath my branches
caress my bark smell my scent
know my soul."
He no longer is able to speak
All that he knows resides in the rings of his seasons
Still he offers wisdom
Put your ear to his trunk
You can still hear his heart beat
His breath whistles through the leaves
His seeds cover your woolen coat
You are a solitary man
making your way down the mountain
One step at a time
Closer and closer to your village
To the ones you love
As you walk through the village you shake your coat
Seeds fall on the fertile ground
The wise man has come home


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

While I was standing near My Autumn tree

The audio version of the Poem can also be heard on my You Tube 
Channel 'RavindraKK1' or by using  the below given URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apYEemRpNRA

While I was standing near My Autumn tree The Sun was fading, with all its grandeur and beauty, Somewhere far, very far away amid the Poplar trees. I was in a state of enchanted stillness, Beholding the gold which was showering on me, With every gush of wind coming from the east. The earth was wrapped in a lovely darkness, Slowly the Sun rays slipped away from the hands of the evening, but It embraced the night in her arms perhaps to console its forlorn heart. I was glued with the fragrance of Autumn, while the Sun was still fading slowly, Leaving only a yellow and radish glow in the sky. The golden leaves of Poplar were still falling on me, Coming to me while flying from the Poplar tree. Suddenly the birds said adieu to me, reminding me once again the passing of time, While I was standing near my Autumn tree. Ravindra Kanpur India 4th Sept. 2011
Poem submitted in honor of Brian Strand's contest SEPTEMBER-YOUR CHOICE

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Tree

To feel the joy
of my transplant, caring hands
that touch my very soul,
the willing earth
where you placed me
blessed, by nature’s 
incessant role,
the warmth of your regard
like wine transcends,
when the feeling of love
surrounds me.
Oh to be here 
yet not alone, 
beneath the azure sky
needing your care, and those
rolling clouds to come on by,
to be a part of this
complex simplicity
sculptured I am, with in
nature’s moods,
yet here in this corner
of your life,
forever let this be
our sanctuary!

© Harry J Horsman 2013     

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Touching Twilight

*


In the solitude of an ebbing day, there is a twilight blush along the hills

        And a world switches direction, ......as if tumbling silently into eternity

Where shadows of telephone poles, along a country road,.....
                                        seem to curl,... and follow the curve of the earth

When the shadow of a tree becomes longer,.......
                                        than ever a tree was tall

When my own silhouette, so dark and stretched, and long,......
                                        seems to walk between earth and heaven

To feel such harmony at days end,  my arms seem longer,...almost without limit...
               long enough,...
                      so that I can reach out to catch the first star upon the evening sky,....
                                                  and feel the touch of God....






--------------------------------------
For Nette's Contest: "In 24 Hours"
By Carrie Richards

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

BRONZING OF TREES


Silhouette of trees dressed in chiffon prints
Oaks, pines, maples tossing  their hair
I trail along their rumba curve
way down to where glazed bushes nestle.
Above roasted sail of Laguna River
crossing a moat...today, foliage begins to seethe
on flamed leaves amidst summer’s  embrace,
as  more timber follow a  float
where mauve petals kiss the air.

The bronzing of glens and wheezing of mist
reach a coaled ember of summer fire,
cluster of moments drapes veined trunk
with sniff of earthy scent, reminding me
how lush the branches swell against heat
of August ‘s coals when two pairs of arms
brush the stars with paint of reveries.
Warm the meeting of palms fondling the barks
In a dizzy sketch of romance, and then,
Like a curl of ambrosial boughs in rumba dips,

Trees hold passion’s charade, until...



Charlotte Puddifoot's  Vibrant Verse 2 Contest
- new poem

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Nature Portraits - Mountain, Sequoia, Sunset, Thunderstorm, Waterfall

The grandeur of a majestic mountain standing proud against the horizon with its snow-capped peak enveloped in fleecy white clouds against a clear azure blue sky The glorious majesty of a stately sequoia towering above the surrounding vegetation being the largest living thing on earth its massive trunk over thirty feet wide with its gnarled rugged beauty The wondrous artistry of the setting sun edging the darkened clouds with silver linings and painting the evening sky in brilliant colours of the rainbow mirrored on the ocean's surface below The awesome power of a thunderstorm at night with jagged bolts of lightning that split the darkness and light up the surroundings with blinding dazzling intensity The thunderous roar of a mighty waterfall cascading down in huge torrents of liquid fury smashing into the water below creating mists of water droplets that transform the sunlight into a rainbow

Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Beneath the Oak Tree


I kneel to pray beneath an oak tree’s leaves, where my journey began. Broken limbs straggle over a patchy lawn, a neglected place full of holes never gone, shoveled from childhood memories. I bow at the altar of the tall oak. Days come and go, but yesterdays are no longer my foundation. The oak’s trunk encompasses a sturdiness and truth I desire. Its roots are my roots. Its branches are my faith, my full embrace. I am left vulnerable in this season. Blackbirds, falling from dark skies perch on barest branches, cawing in a famished frenzy. Like unheard prayers, I hear desperation in the chilled air. A prayer is only muffled thoughts cried until lived out, until answered. I am more than a sound unheard. I’ll wait to mouth a winter prayer, for I feel dull and bare under autumn’s bright coat. Lord, will you find me lying still, silent below the flight of swirling leaves? Am I drowned out by the blackbirds’ caws? With the birth of a child, hope is reborn. Every step leads me back home. So, I carry my babes to the oak. Through the seasons, it cradles their innocence. The bough rises higher than the pine trees donned in deceitful evergreen. Nothing lasts except a child’s dreams. The tall oak feels like a new beginning tonight; I peel off my layer of once needed fright. With my eldest son knelt at my side, prayers are lifted within the song of autumn (Lord, grant me peace and broad wings for my flight) then after the glow of evening sun has fallen, I hope our prayers are an offering of love, two voices heard. I feel illuminated under night skies, as starlight sprinkles wonder. I pray to remain vulnerable so I can accept the gift of love. I pray God chisels away the bitterness of days gone by. I want to forgive, fill in the holes before I die. When my son and I pray, we pray for peace, for family, for the acorns that grow into mighty oak trees. Sometimes I forget to notice subtle differences between the weeping and whispering of whirling leaves. Sometimes I forget the difference between a want and a need. My child sincerely prays for his dad, brother and me; he prays for his friend to sleep with sweet dreams, and for the blackbirds at our feet scavenging through autumn’s dead weeds; then, with twinkling eyes, he asks me for a loaf of bread.
*my first new poem in 3 months.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Sarv-e Abarkuh

[“It nourishes the spirit and feeds the imagination” ~ Ryszard Antolak]

In the desert of Abarkuh
this magnificent cedar stands,
a symbol of beauty and happiness,
liberty and justice; the triumph of life.
Was it Zoroaster or Japheth
who planted this sacred Iranian tree
which has withstood the test of time,
defying nature’s most fierce elements?
There it stands, savouring memories
of distant years, witness to the birth 
and growth of modern civilization.
It bears no fruit, but it feeds the spirit
and offers shade to those who seek it.
Age takes its toll. Weary yet defiant
it clings on to stubborn faithful roots
waiting for the master to call its name
while swallows huddle in its welcoming
branches, whispering, as the sun goes down,
keeping her company right till the very end.

--------------------------------------------------

Period of Time ~ a 4,000 year old tree
Contest: Punctuation Personified
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Tree

The Tree

A tree stands tall,
in the forest is blended
I sit and admire it's strength,
simply splendid
For each of us has had time to take heed
Time to be fruitful,
give, and time to need

The wind picks up
I hear it call in a distance
It's the path I once chose,
the one with the most resistance
Oh woe, to my life of trouble and despair indeed...
as the wind redundantly shakes the branch with one last plead

Storms come and the rain soaks into the ground
The lightning, the memories
flash all around
Like a breath, in an instant
the calm sets the atmosphere

Don't look at the storm, what was
look at what has appeared

Some of the branches are left weakly unattached
It's the part to let go,
the part of the past
The sunlight now shines on the tree,
it drinks the rain
Ready to grow, flourish and blossom;
remembering no pain

Copyright © Cindy Lu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

POE IN TREE

I have dropped my pains on pages of poems,
the ink in my pen treasures my groans,the 
quill is my sword, with edges sharp enough
to sculpt the perfect picture, the quill is the
only thing you got when those devils try to 
get ya, the only warmth when those men or
women forget ya, I bet ya a million bucks 
and yes it sucks, but poetry is more than
just writing, its healing, remedy of feeling, 
dealing with the worst of you,  quenched the
thirst of you, a doctor or a nurse to you, 
sometimes you  get delusions and think it
gave birth to you, as it pours on its immensity
of worth on you, that's what enchanting words
will do.



One day I gave poe to a dying tree 
now it has grown it looks fine to me, boy oh 
boy the tree said to me, if it wasn't for your 
poe in tree  another day I wouldn't have seen,
but now I have STRONG roots running below
city's a million  feet strong and a billion feet 
long and I can stand to bear the blues jay on 
my branches, with songs all day long, I wrote his 
song it went like this poe in tree poe in tree gave
ETERNAL bliss to thee, oh by the way, I am
the tree saved by poe in tree poetry poetry

Copyright © Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Tree, Roots and the Light

Tree  Roots  and  the Light 


The tall Tree was Flying, its leaves high in the sky,

Trying to go beyond the flying kites, towards the light,

Its roots were trying to penetrate the soil, 

Heading in the deep darkness, it kept moving without a shine. 


Higher its branches touched the Crown of mirth, 

Touching the lofty heights of light and the sky,

Its leaves and branches were flying and dancing,

In the joy of touching Light and those untouched, heights.


Some where, not far beyond the skies, lives dearest of our heart and soul,

I saw the Tree kept moving towards that One, it always adored, 

While its beloved roots too, were silently busy in supporting,

Without which, the Tree can never even stand to touch the lofty scores.


I thought and wondered, which one contributes more,

In touching the limitless, lofty heights and the glow of the sky,

The stem, which is blessed to touch the sky, or the roots that resembles,

A true beloved without which, the stem even can not stand for a while. 


The Tall tree was standing before me, unfolding its love towards the Sky,

With a high and prideful head in the sky, the tree was heading towards the glow,

Far away from its beloved roots, to feel the serene touch in the limitless sky, 

Going a little closer to that Glow, which we adore and love and call Almighty.

Ravindra  


Kanpur India 22 08 2010 



Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Tree Rape

Scarlet and golden etched,
autumn leaves reflect summer's apprehended glory
incised in deep veined images.
Released, they sigh earthward like final breaths.

Sharp pungence ripens , musty tang,
a piquant vaporous mustard milked
from forest loam's black breasts
beneath heavy kneading tread.

Sudden, determined winds attack
raping writhed skeletal remains;
stripped spring's green clad darlings.
Feigning innocence,
the gray storm fiend curtains guilt
beneath pure, snow white overlay.

August 2, 2014
Vibrant Verse 2
Charlotte Puddifoot, sponsor

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Just a Little Word

It was a tiny thing
Just a little word
Made up of little letters
That you planted in my heart
You didn’t think much of it
You patted it down
And covered it with love

It wasn’t much
Just a little word
Little letters
Laced with encouragement
Dipped in love
Buried
In my heart
Watered by my tears
Warmed by the sunlight of your care
Growing

G   r   o  w  i   n  g

Strong and beautiful
A word tree
Bursting into bloom
Breathtakingly Beautiful Blossoms
Flowers that never shrivel
Or fall
Or get blighted by the frost of criticism
Eternally growing
In the garden of my heart

I weep tears of joy
Exuberant joy
You planted
A little word seed 

Not knowing
My heart is fertile
            My heart is rich
                        My tears plentiful
Not knowing
You’d left me
An eternal gift
Of wonder and beauty


“But," you say, “It just was a word!" 

                                                                  u    s   
                                                             j                t

                                                                     a

                                                              t              y
                                                                   i    n  

                                                                 
                                                                     l

                                                                     i

                                                                     t

                                                                     t

                                                                     l

                                                                     e

                                                                  
                                                            W   O   R    D

                                                    Eileen  Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

My Friend Pine Tree

My Friend Pine Tree 

Away, quite away from my nearby Allen Forest
One day I was moving on a hill top 
On a Himalayan mountain hill
I found myself standing 
Before a beautiful and majestic Pine tree

The tree was tall and beautiful
The wind was blowing,  its sprigs and leaves
As if, a flute blower was playing with its flute
The Pine tree was swinging and singing
Creating a melody of its own
I too got lost to watch and hear that music
And felt as if, the tree wanted to speak with me

I gently touched the tree and felt its thrills
A sensation ran through my spine and body
I found that the Pine tree was singing in joy
The breeze was full of drizzling and the hanging clouds
Were touching and embracing the hill top tree
While the sky was flashing a brilliant light 
And I was charmed by that magical yellow light 
Coming from a slice of the clouds, hovering on another hill 
And showering on the Pine tree and on every thing all around
Every things including me was taking a bath 
In the rains of that magical defusing light sublime

I again felt a sweet sensation running my spine
When a sprig of Pine tree touched my fingers
As if, it was trying to shake my hand with pleasure
To show how happy was the Pine tree 
To find a friend in such a weather sublime

Overwhelm by the sensations of pleasure I felt 
While standing before the Pine tree and beholding
To dance and sing with the tree in those moments
To celebrate the treasure of joy, it had given to me
And remained in an state of ecstasy till I saw 
What humans have done with other Pine trees
Which I saw on the other side of the hill

The trees here were brutally cut and slain
To get the resin from the trunks of every pine tree
I saw them crying and weeping with agonies
And their was no music and joy in their thrilling
Although the wind was touching them here also
But I could not behold my friend Pine tree 
In that state of agony any more.

Ravindra

Kanpur. India  01st December 2009

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

A Look Inside

I came as an unaffected statue
Halloween depiction depicting everything
vaguely-leaving margins for misinterpretations
like hieroglyphics deciphered by illiterates
scawling crayon scratch book reports

Walk in these shoes
Feel the pavement scrape through openings worn through souls
and feel the contours of the Earth ravaging
           ~merciless~
Take the reigns of this chariot
rambling around on undiscernable tracks often
backwards-hobbling humbly
numbly picking up pieces from a patchwork jigsaw
picture possesing voids in the most beautiful places

Climb this tree and know the shaky footfall limbs
sprawl like weeping willow tendrils on my fathers branch
bare and abandoned like locusts came, fed, and fled
watch the forest flourish and realize
this tree is flawed yet resilient
rooted in the strength of adversity

Stethoscope this heart and enjoy the offbeat beat
thumping in uneven peak and valley arrythmia
loving deeply and loved shallow, coldly
berating every executioner who killed
my adoration quotient with dull unfeeling axes
Leaving tides turned, churning me to hurt
Vengefully....Senselessly
Leaving no paths passing me passively
~~passion is my blessing and curse

Copyright © Steve Voorhees | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

What Is It To Be A Tree

What is it to be a Tree?
Do trees ever mind being so close ...so intertwined ?
Do they ever long for space as I do? 
Do they prefer to be so meshed…branches touching branches
 all the time or do they like me long 
............................................................for autonomy

Do their branches reach for another’s touch? 
….................stretching to find it?
Do they cling and pine when isolated …as we do sometimes?

When a tree falls does another one grieve?
...............................................................

Do they sometimes wish to be free?
To be as free 
as he does....... from me?

Does life always include such serious stuff? 
Or do trees simply shift in the breezes
of superfluous fluff?

Do they ever 
wish 
to find
the sea?
To fly 
to fly?
just 
like me?
What on earth is it like ....to be?
to be a standing…a standing only ...are they lonely? 
beloved tree?
What is it?
to be a tree?


Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

To a Weeping Willow

"the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink." William Cowper

To a Weeping Willow

The graceful, sweeping green
I remember seeing it,
my first weeping willow
 graceful trails of leaves
bending to touch its own reflection
Growing on a creek bank thick with grasses
 I lay there in the soft tufts,
 dreaming, staring up at clouds
watching the zig-zag flitters
of a butterfly.

Now days never seem so long

 
Wherever its pure tapestry reigns
in fragrant gardens, wherever 
they take root; on creek-beds 
sometimes by a charming bridge.
Weeping Willows have become for me
symbols of long peaceful days

I stop to gaze at them in gardens,
in paintings, in books that picture them
my hand lingers on the page

Beside a lacquered pond they still
 touch their own reflections
 with long, whispering  trails 

 Once, in a dream, I saw one
with pallid catkins,
 on a   lonely promontory
 beside a forgotten grave-

 an echo of grieving.

Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Open Handed Thief

The birdfeeder hung on a narrow limb,
away from deck rails, discouraging squirrels.

No problem for the little robber 
who raided the feeder day by day.
Repeatedly, he climbed onto a tender branch, 
inching forward until it bent, riding it down. 

Each trip, he leaned off and dropped freestyle, 
disappearing inside with only a furry tail visible.
He emerged with both cheeks bulging , 
and sunflower seeds scattering  below.
 
On a continuous march of palm-less thievery,
the brassy chipmunk mouthed his loot home, 
adding to his cache.    

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014