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Introspection Tree Poems | Introspection Poems About Tree

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

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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)


Details | Ballade | |

Why aren't we happy

Why aren’t we happy?

What is it in the most of us?
We are not how we should be
We should be like a singing bird
Who boldly, in the trees
Sings his song when fear is done
His life just flows along
He only knows the dance of life
So he just sings his song.


And yet we humans live our lives
Enfolded in our fears
Glorifying in the sad
And making this quite clear
As we always speak of doom and gloom
And watch it on TV
And always live our lives in fear
Is this the way it should be?


If only each would take a look
And see just what we be
We never see the flowers grow
Or let our hearts be free
Maybe it’s time to see the truth
Of what this life could be
If we look at life without the fear
And live with mystery.

6 August 2013 @ 1908hrs.


Details | Epigram | |

WHY BE A NAKED TREE

Why be a naked tree and endure winter's agony?
It should be forever warm and sunny...
to watch wild flowers grow by a spring!
Why be a naked tree and be unable to think?


Details | Rhyme | |

Leaving Me

The shine came off of her back that day
under the magnolia tree
She sprawled her arms like tree sized roots
and swayed with the swaying breeze
It was always her choice of blossoms
that seemed to bruise to the delicate touch
It was always on the day she was about to die
that she wanted to live so much
She sank from luxurious apple green
into chameleon red
as I drew her a picture of spring time
and the resurrection of the dead
The snow fell sweet on the tree that year
in a vision of rains to come
as I sparked a match and drew her breath
in the winter's fallen sun.


Details | Lyric | |

On A Runaway Train

Written January 8, 2013


The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed

On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed

I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow

No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing

Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring


Details | Blank verse | |

Hammer In Hand

You always laughed at me In that funny way of yours
Standing at the door ~ looking out to see 
Wondering where you are, and will you follow me 
With hammer in hand ~ Into nature decked with 
silver and gold 

Do you possess a loving heart  with stories untold 
By now they know what  you are made of 
Reflections that come from your eyes they see 
Though they walk with you in a style of their own
Shaped into the figure of a man with beauty of a woman 

A tree in the forest is cut down shaped into the form of a goddess 
A goddess that will take us through time and back again 
Though time is an elusive thing  here as we all know 
Hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold 

Time means nothing when the heart is near  I am told   
Does a tree feel the pains of a cut as we do , I ask you 
I have struggled all my days with thoughts like these 
To figure out what the true meaning really is to me 
If you know can you tell me too as we walk together
With hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold 


Details | Personification | |

The Tree

The Tree- 

My bark is worn from time and life
My steady branches have withstood much strife
The life blood that raged in my youth
Its edges raw and at times uncouth
Time has polished and as steel has hardened
As I have stood watch faithfully in my garden
My saplings I have sheltered and nourished
Their tiny sprouts have grown and flourished
My work here is almost done and
I was content to stand silent in the sun
However, one day as I stood alone
Came a carpenter with hands gentle and strong
He looked past my peeling ragged bark and
Found my barely beating heart.
He has caused me to dream of my youth again
Of beauty, peace and the passion of men
I am his project to mold and to make
A challenge only he is equipped to take
I stand here now curious to see
What this craftsman can make of me.


Details | Ballade | |

Like the oak tree

Like the oak tree

Have you ever thought about?
An Oak so big and strong
With all his blessed majesty
[As nature sings her song]
His branches reach unto the sky
As he strives to touch the sun
Take a look at his great growth
Now he’s a giant one.

And yet he cannot reach the sky
Unless his roots dig far
He’ll never reach too high at all
That’s just the way things are
Take a look at a bonsai tree
Then you’ll see what I mean
Compare it with the mighty oak
And see what might have been.

It’s the same with humans too
If they strive to reach within
They’re growth will reach up very high
And a song it will begin
But if they only touch the surface
[Most humans be like this]
They’ll stay small, like the Bonzai tree
That’s just the way it is.

8 June 2014 @ 1634hrs.


Details | Narrative | |

The Fog Rolls in

The fog rolls in surrounding me,
My hand before me, I barely see.
A heaviness as moisture clings to the air,
Ghost like shadows from trees that are bare.

I walk forward I don’t want to look back,
I grab a new card from off of the stack.
I think of it like turning over a new leaf,
I take a deep breath and hope for relief.

I turn the corner there are lights shining bright.
Blue lights resonate and glow in the night.
A Christmas tree lit, entirely in blue,
Like a beacon in the fog it shines right through.


The Christmas tree lights shine much like my hope,
I try to break free with some slack in the rope.
They bring a smile and fill me with content,
As the fog thickens the lights don’t relent.

They seem to glow within the fog,
I lose my bearing as I trip on a log.
I feel like a ghost upon a canvas of white, 
It all disappears within the confines of night.

I hear a bell from a church on the hill,
Its haunting sound from what was still.
It seems to call to me to just forge on.
All of a sudden the ringing is gone.

I stand in darkness just me and the fog,
Something awakens, memories it jogs.
I think of my journey and all I’ve been through,
What has been done and what’s left to do.

It hasn’t been easy though it’s not bad.
I have fond memories of great times I’ve had.
Still something’s missing as I look for the door,
I know it can’t be like it was once before.

The winds picks up, adds a chill to the air.
It awakens my senses so I really don’t care.
I stand at the threshold to the future and past.
I will simply step outside, the shadows it casts.


Details | Free verse | |

If I Shall Grow Old 2K13

If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.


Details | Rhyme | |

Sincerely

Sincerely

There’s one thing I know for sure
I’ve said it many times before
When it comes to knowing, I just don’t
I’ll never say ‘I know’ I won’t!!
No me I know nothing at all
Excepting ‘life is beautiful’!!
Some great power did make it thus
And in that power I do trust.

I see the flowers, I see the trees
I feel the breeze just flowing free
I see and hear the birds that sing
And to my heart all of this brings
A smile just like the morning sun
I’m so in love with the ‘power of one’
The truth it lives within my heart
As I proclaim it with my art.

My heart is always open wide
I sit in silence, look inside
And understand what life’s about
I have no knowledge, have no doubts
It’s written in my deepest core
The truth, I cannot tell you more
For words so clumsy, cannot say
What’s in the soul, there is no way!

I write this poem from my heart
So glad that fate gave me this art
This gift of writing truthfully
I cannot lie, I cannot be
A man who says I really know
Yet deep within my heart I glow
I have within me so much joy
And this, no power could destroy

6 October 2014.


Details | Personification | |

Birth of a Poet

The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”


Details | Sonnet | |

Broken Wind Chimes

Dangling from the tree I can see,
Broken wind chimes that still sing.
They just hang on by a split string.
Sending a harmony of tunes to thee.
 
Their tones and vibrations are a bit broken for me.
I listen and I ponder for what tunes they can bring.
From the tree they will sway when they can swing.
Bits and pieces are released through the air and flee.
 
Caught in the wind is it’s vibrations.
Carrying signals of great magnitude.
Funneling clouds into new creations.
Bringing air into a brand new mood.
 
Broken wind chimes can still sing a song,
But their messages are scattered all along.
 
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007


Details | Lyric | |

Like a bird

Like a bird

Like a bird up in a treetop
Singing, tenderly
This little bird I know him well
This creature it be me
I sit here with my pen in hand
And sing so crazily
With symbols shining out like gold
I give my song to thee

These words, they be my  message
I sing them to the sky
One day his body will be gone
But the words will never die
They well up from my very soul
Without no help from me
I am that bird up in a tree
With his lone symphony.

And lord, I like to share it
I will whisper from the stars
And tell the world I am this bird
Send vibes out wide and far
That sing about the journey
The only one I know
As I’m sending out my story
In words that make it glow.

5 August 2013 @ 1755hrs.







Details | Ballade | |

Questions for everyone

Questions for everyone

Has anybody ever sat? 
In a garden filled with flowers
Have you felt the magic there?
Have you felt the power?
Have you sat there with the body still?
And the mind too, just the same?
Have you ever lost yourself?
As the mind stopped playing games

Have you seen those magic colours?
And really seen them too!
Have you felt the touch of the morning breeze?
Have you seen the way she do?
Touch those branches with her glory
Make them dance in the morning sun
As the sparkles nearly blow your mind
And you’re the holy one?

Have you ever heard the dove’s warm Coo
And that deep, deep ravens croak?
Have you seen the mulberry tree?
As she dons her summers coat?
And radiance and reverence
Are all that one can know
Have you ever sat there in the garden?
And watched the morning flow.


Details | Pantoum | |

FOLIAGE IN WITHERED HARMONY

‘  ‘  ‘        ‘’’’’’’’’’’             ‘        ‘



Those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down 
auburn dressed palms of shaven-  tree solemnity, 
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony. 

Auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity
tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light, 
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony 
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight. 

Tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light, 
brushing a wandering  sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight 
and whispers of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep. 

Brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final  display, 
and wafts of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep
as  full season of fall sheds life’s leaves to pray. 

Spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display, 
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound, 
as  full season of fall seems to shed life’s leaves to pray 
those  tender wrinkling leaves  pour dizzily down. ~


~

………..     ………





Pantoum poetry
© rights reserved



By: nette onclaud



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.


Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








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.


Details | Personification | |

THE HOURGLASS

 

Time drones slowly on 
Each day...an eternity 
Snowflakes change to frozen rain 
Leaving icicles on the tree 

I barely notice spring's approach 
Budding branches on the tree 
Or summer's sun-kissed bounty 
From the garden planted for me 

Fall arrives in all its glory 
Nature's artists on a spree 
Painting glorious colors 
For all the world to see 

I do not see this beauty 
The golden leaves upon the tree 
To me it has no relevance 
For you're not here with me 

The sand is flowing slowly 
Through the hourglass of time 
Now the days fly by too quickly 
Soon  the tolling bell will chime 

But I cherish these fading days 
And our promised rendezvous 
When the last grain has flowed 
Then I will be with you

For John Freeman's contest (your best shot) _


 Copyright©2004 Beatrice Boyle

(All Rights Reserved


Details | Imagism | |

Poison and wine

Calamity strikes under the calm of fog, The man breathes in the misty water. His thoughts dissipate with the touch of dusky light, Her auburn hair flares behind the rose of cherry blossoms. Their fingers caress at their tips, A consciousness already bonded eternally. Branches of cherry blossoms rest upon their cold heads, Notions forbidden and a desire remains suppressed. Their lips turned to poison, It crept and tangled deep into their minds. From this moment forward they were consumed, Forever doomed to think the same. * The tree stands still - its eyes perturbed, The green shrubs, the amber buds, Surroundings bustling and lively, It stands placid, as almost dead. True nature it has not revealed, The mute damned to sit still, Words rush and glimmer in poetic verse, No sound crosses its rough lips. Century withered and silently crossed, The tree stands still yet even now. The aging man, his worn axe glistening in dawn, Slashes down the tree, its roots bare. Now knowledge sleeps in the soil, the soil remains untouched.


Details | I do not know? | |

Hope

Today I saw a tree trunk,
Growing through a fence.
Metal bars pierced, as it grew,
It almost didn’t make sense.

Sap oozed out its flesh,
Where the spike had bored.
Victim of its own success,
As if it had fell upon its sword.

I wondered if the tree was wise,
That growing meant having to agonize.
The tree didn’t seem to mind though,
As it stretched toward the rainbow..


Details | Free verse | |

the apple tree greed

the apple tree greed 
the apple tree greed 

he has an apple a green apple 
he is the only person in this room 
with a green apple 
suppose suppose NOW 
he has MORE of those at home 
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree 
In his backyard no WAIT 
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau 
And he makes green apple wine 
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people 
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine 
And the whole city is soon sick 
The children ralf and barf and ralf again 
There is no more end to the men 
Drinking all the green apple wine 
To make this ONE person rich 
He never offered me any of his wine 
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage 
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please 
I'm just full of good intentions 
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many 
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay 
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him 
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure 
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name 
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and 
his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in 
ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in 
selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my 
teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the 
core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is 
being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big 
its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from 
branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine 
no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the 
wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces 
vailiantly piled higher then the sky. 


Details | Free verse | |

One Tree Hill

He Created the Tree
He molded and built
A small lonely hill,
That He knew would be
Called Calvary.

Then He made the seed,
That would grow to be thorns
That would make
His Son bleed.

Tell me
How can you be so numb
When you've been so well fed
Bless me, bless me is
All we ever hear

One Tree Hill
When will the seed
Grow into a tree in you


Details | Rhyme | |

Whiskey Christmas

It was Christmas Eve; I was a prisoner of my own divide.
Lost in mind, clad in drunken sadness, caged up inside.
Alone and forlorn my thoughts laden with whiskey lies,
Memories seem so distant, only a week since goodbyes.
Christmas tree glistening, blurry in my vision of tears,
Flashing lights bright, neighbors Christmas party cheers.
No presents or joy in this household upon this night.
Sorrows, misguided gulps of liquor, cloud my sight.
Heartbroken, gloomy devouring the demon filled drink.
No more, no less, my eyes roamed over as I did think.
Hopelessly lost in a whirlwind of memories of no more,
No more, love by a lover, no daughter to teach the score.
Left me in a house, no longer our home that we shared,
Only I and this half-empty bottle, feeling impaired.
She left me, taking my child a thousand miles away.
While here in this house of torture, me and myself stay.
Every corner a recollection blinks by crystalline light.
Splintered and speckled by the twinkling star so bright.
Atop the now barren tree which had shined with joys.
Years before cluttered with wrappers, boxes and toys 
I slam a big gulp down my throat, since this was my first.
Night of my debut to the evil of whiskey blinding thirst,
Never before had drunkenness been a quest or even a try,
This night she devoured my soul, not wanting ever to cry.
Intoxication was a desire, though not ever beyond joy.
My virgin body of drink has choked me unable to deploy.
Sour mash tears wash down my face, wiping my eyes.
I hear my built up agony; pour out in inhuman cries.

User Name  Cecil Hickman

Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~ 
Contest Name Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever 


Details | Dodoitsu | |

GRAY-HAIRED WISDOM



‘ ‘ ‘’’’’’ ‘ evening hangs on gray-haired tree stems more frail than autumn’s veins a falling rakes damp secrets moist enough to weep tales glum circles on old trunk peeling all barks like droplets wisdom of tree bears comfort for night hearts’ lament © , , , ,, , * remembrances of teenage times when i spoke to a tree and spilled my guts under its shade Contest:Brian Strand's Any Verse of Yours/ max 12 Lines By: nette onclaud


Details | Free verse | |

To Be a Tree

Were I to decide today, I might choose the simplest way….
Yet, I cannot but think that I’d regret losing the experiences I would get.
Water, bends and flows and trickles through every crevice it can find….
Taking the path of least resistance to wind its’ way towards it’s’ goal.
Yes, water is flexible, as we should sometimes be….
But water evaporates.
Now a tree, yes, a tree….
A tree stands tall, reaching out as far as its’ limbs allow, so it can caress the heavens. 
A tree forces its’ roots deep, often ripping through concrete to remain firmly planted….
A tree is stable, strong, almost eternal…
It only fades when it must make room for another or when felled by an axe.
Were I to decide today, I might choose the water’s way….
But a tree’s life, I bet, would make me that much happier yet. 


Details | Free verse | |

I talk to the trees

When spaces are filled with loneliness,
I realise,
I am not alone. 

I talk to the Trees,
They live. 

I listen to the birds,
They sing.

They're alive,
All of them.

People walk by,
They fail to see us. 

I can't make myself move,
I don't want to.

I talk to the Trees,
They feel,
Just like me.


Details | Ballade | |

Why would I swap

Why would I swap?

What have they, these men of wealth?
What could they give to me
I have the skies the clouds the rain
I have eternity 
For I would live within this now
Expecting naught at all
Because this world, all by itself
Is so, so beautiful.

I see them with their dull, glum faces
No hint of any smile
And yet I’m supposed to envy them!
With all their wealthy style
No belly laughter comes from them
Cause this be all dried up
As for the joys of life itself
They hardly fill the cup.

While birds are singing in the trees
And the stars shine bright at night
While the flowers smell so wonderful
And the birds give sweet delight!
Oh, I could go on all day long
Why would I want at all?
When my world is oh, so beautiful
And theirs seems oh, so cruel.

2 August 2013 @ 0740hrs.