I am somber
like November days
and my words speak
weak, as if through tired tongue
I see the trees
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
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
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
and dance in November's wind
somber, like the day....
June Bells Flowering under the Trees
Scarce had it rain'd -- blue hued
drops showering down;
in the witching hour I rode,
where the earth is overrun by weeds,
yellow fringed with black-eyed-susans;
trees overhung with wild cherries.
Pacing past the sequester'd glen,
following the trail where tall beeches grow:
long sleeved and long limb'd;
and leaves falling in curling frills.
Soon turning round a winding bend,
a field of dripping june bells;
I sighted them, a thousand and more
in blue slippers scatter'd wide.
Seated myself on a moss cover'd stone,
as one aptly does after a long ride.
Somewhere beats an earthly heart,
someone breathes a heaving sigh;
Eyes turn to the darken'd clouds hanging by,
and to the lowering skies;
then far to the place where airy spirits roam,
and to the sepulchred ground
where unruffled I lie in my grave,
under the tufts of june bells.
For the contest: "Appreciation (In Honour of PD)"
Sponsored by Abdulhafeez Oyewole
Written on 4/23/2013
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
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
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
to my roadside friend
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
"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,
I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
that not everything
is sunlight and blooms
I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
...until I open my eyes
The trees above me
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
my cold being
Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
feeding off from it,
in order to
give back to others
some of them stumble
yet most of them
I am humbled.
I am awed.
Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
from the light,
I look up again
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...
that set off
a chain reaction
--June 11-12 (2011)
Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.
After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.
Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.
After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.
Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.
Well, the pill knocked me right out!
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.
Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
d o w n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.
ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.
A tree stands tall,
in the forest is blended
I sit and admire it's strength,
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
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...
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
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
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
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
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.
Kanpur India 22 08 2010
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
Take the reigns of this chariot
rambling around on undiscernable tracks often
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
Leaving no paths passing me passively
~~passion is my blessing and curse
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
Laced with encouragement
Dipped in love
In my heart
Watered by my tears
Warmed by the sunlight of your care
G r o w i n g
Strong and beautiful
A word tree
Bursting into bloom
Breathtakingly Beautiful Blossoms
Flowers that never shrivel
Or get blighted by the frost of criticism
In the garden of my heart
I weep tears of joy
A little word seed
My heart is fertile
My heart is rich
My tears plentiful
You’d left me
An eternal gift
Of wonder and beauty
“But," you say, “It just was a word!"
W O R D
Eileen Manassian Ghali
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
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
What on earth is it like ....to be?
to be a standing…a standing only ...are they lonely?
What is it?
to be a 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.
Kanpur. India 01st December 2009
hanging from the foliage
in your hundreds
repainting the leaves
in bright shades
of black and orange
with your waterproof
of four inch span
so fragile and
yet so strong
to journey south
from canada to mexico
breeding new generations
as you travel
thousands of miles
with unerring accuracy
to the exact place
of your birth
a new generation
that will initiate
the process for
the return journey
to the north
in due course
you are indeed
"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.
Beetles, most likely, felled the giant.
A gruesome deterioration,
of a quiet magnitude,
Until, in the cold night,
root structure surrendered
from hardened ground,
to a misery of horizontal dust.
And where once the domain of birds,
was glorified above,
now gives shelter to ants and grubs.
Golden bark breathes no more.
A deathly gray instead petrifies,
the deceased former shade giver.
And yet as cell churns to molecule,
and molecule devolves its complexity,
Earth becomes fertile.
And the dust again gives way to life.
Trees fluttering in the wind
Whispering to each other
Secrets that they hold
Never to be spoken
Sturdy as it stands so bold
Strong, protecting never broken
Under it you reminisce
Of all things so soft-spoken
Childhood bliss, a lover’s kiss
Secret moments never to be woken
Steel Gray skies with threatening rain and restless wind
My breath gathers as mist on the inside of the window pane
...as I watched for the school bus
A slender birch tree with spiral scars
of flayed bark against its white skin
like curlicues of sharpened pencil shavings
Still clutching many bright yellow leaves,
Some collecting at its base like a discarded garment
Sunlight, just a small shaft flickers bright dapples on tiny dancers
Ocherous curtains against the bruised sky
Prodigious vibrant final act
Just for me
The tree manages a sly curtsey
in my direction,
Sacrificing more of her fragile costume
My beautiful rosy-cheeked child kicks playfully
through the saffron sea of discarded programs
“Here are some for you Mama” he says
as he bursts into the kitchen smelling of peanut butter and early fall
There he deposits a chubby handful of my regard
gently into my apron pocket
And into my heart's hiding place as well
Perfect poignant performance;
Beautifully done slender birch,
Most beautifully done
Cavemen thought only of self preservation and sex.
In someway evolution was faltered.
Man learned to measure:
You cannot hold an inch, or a mile,
you cannot see a pound, or a ton.
They are but measurements.
They do not exist but in our understanding
our understanding of what they are.
You can hold a stick that is an inch long.
Yet, it is only a stick, and not an inch.
You can see a tree that is a mile away,
but it is a tree and not a mile.
A pound of butter is only butter and the pound
is but the measurement of its weight and is invisible.
So is the same for innocence and evil ;
Innocence is love in ones heart for others
and how far a heart can stray from love is evil.
Measurements of love.
Christmas home decor
Short and round is our Christmas wreath
Wreath we made of the tree branches
Branches are tied with the red ribbons
Ribbons stuck with berries,ready is the wreath.
Wreath is placed on our door’s foot steps
Steps away is the snow on tree not far
Far away, look, how He laid His holy hands
Hands on things He wants us to see and praise.
Praise him, be quick your voice to raise
Raise your hands his love to receive
Receive love in your every choice forever
Forever on Christmas with this decor wreath.
This type of poetry was first introduced by George Herbert, a contemporary
of Shakespeare. There are two ways to write it. In above poem, the last
word of the first line is the first word of the next line and so on. Or one
may use any word of the first line as the first word of the next line. Variations
of the word can also be used.
I cry until my entrails are laid out before me.
I watch the vultures,
My insecurities feast on my nerve ridden stomach.
I’ve repeated the cycle for many days.
My love forever stains
This sea of linens which was once our home.
The call of the sirens is strong
And resisting drives us mad.
How do I know my attempts are not in vein?
Is this futile?
The upkeep of this tree outnumbers the fruit.
I do not blame nature.
I allowed this.
As soon as I walk away you fully blossom.
I was always cursed with bad timing.
I must now focus on my own flowers sprouting
Before I plant anymore seeds.
You will continue to grow
As you always have.
And I’ll still marvel at your beauty from afar.
What a grand tree you were.
I retract my own roots and return to my bed.
I reminisce until I drift away.
Becoming a prisoner of my head.
Seeing pictures of you and me
And dreaming of what was and what will be.
Community starts here
Under this tree of sprawling branches
With thighs pressed against sinuous gnarled roots,
Our heads nodding and shaking with whurring yellow leaves
Adorning our heads and fluttering off into the river beside us,
Only to stick to the dipping twigs of the tree in such cool August air,
Such a smoky light, community will start right here.
Community starts here
In this small over-crowded coffee shop,
with faces in late morning glow, as old friends reunite to
the clang of dishes and the sliding of porcelain
On faux-mahogany, elbow-elbow expressions brighten
from the whiteness of day: "I got a copy of my documentary on DVD
In my car that I can give you, if you like?"
"Oh really, well, okay..." This is the post-Sunday Mass air
Where light and love swirl as opportunity and re-emergence
And everything feels as natural as a breeze, with the fluttering of
Newsletters, roommates wanted ads, yoga lessons, and announcement
That a new spoken Word artist is arriving in town who's blind but has a dog and took the
bus from Ohio and reads his words like honey for angels,
This is where community starts.
Community starts here
On the playground of a hundred tumbling children
Screaming, tugging, jumping, laughing, crying, and dreaming.
Slow this time down and imagine them all 30-years-old with suits
And private thoughts and caged feelings and fully-fleshed with the
Citizen's kinetic energy to do right and wrong, good and bad,
Picture them as you, then picture how you're reflected in their eyes like
Revolving suns with times for dinner, and now flash back to the monkey bars,
Back to the open-souled shining young stars, here on their battleground,
in this galaxy of fun and terror our community finds it seedlings.
From the cafe to the riverbank,
From the playground to the People's Court of Whatever You Can Think Up,
Community starts everywhere,
But my bathroom.
walking silently with the spirits of the woods
the stunning acquaintance of a snowy Owl
Hearing songs from many around yet not seen or found
careful your crossing a coral snake or copperhead
preparing to wave all rights to see beauty to live
one piercing bite from the red and yellow snake
deadly shy snake sudden death may await your fate
stillness and earth is touched with Cherokee blood
many tribes with sage and fires dances the brave
you see the wild mustangs ride and deer in mind
the squirrels the rabbits and wolves you hear
the woods once a many land to explore
becomes extinct with Mans desire to build more
how much can we take before it is gone forever
entered " in the woods contest "
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