These Tree Mother poems are examples of Mother poems about Tree. These are the best examples of Tree Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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
Living my dream
I had one dream when I was young
To go to another land
In life I wasn’t satisfied
I wanted something grand
Lions, tigers. Kangaroos
And all those wild, wild beasts
Africa, South America
Or Australia at least.
Possessive Mother was my curse
How could I get away?
Every time I mentioned it
She had so much to say
And made me feel so guilty
Really cramped my style
And then one day there came along
Something to make me smile
I’d just turned my nineteenth year
When this great girl came along
She hailed from West Australia
And filled my heart with song
So we got married, had some kids
And here we are in Oz
Been here for half a century
And I came here all because
It was my fate to find this girl
She was my destiny
There’s be a whisper in the skies
That knows how things will be
It takes one’s soul, and leads it on
So growth, it might occur
And I know that west Australia
My heart, it sure does stir.
4 August 2013 @ 1440hrs.
Killington Mountain, one of the largest Ski resorts in New England.
With its webbing of trails, dotted with colourful kaleidioscopic ski outfits;
racing to the Castle they call a Base Lodge.
My Cabin is atop a mountain across two valleys from Killington's backside
I can see the untamed, wild and free side of Mother Nature's: True being
Where deers have no fears, and the Bald Eagle soars Free
I once did a recue mission there, and when all were safe, I walked
Into the forrest of Nature,where mankind had never before intruded
I walked where the Deer, Bed. where the eaglets squawked for food
I saw the Black Bear awake; "Good Morning Mrs. Black Bear"she Yawned
And walked away.I heard the Evergreens giggle as melting snow ticked Pines
The Serenity,Tranquility,enveloped me in Nature's Wonder of the World.
Inspired by Linda(PD) with her Contest: 7 Wonders of the Ancient and
New World. This POEM is one of my 7 Wonders.
This is Dedicated to all POETS who have written about the Autrocitys of
Mankind to " Nature or THE Beauty of Mother Nature in Rhyme "
This is not a Contest Entree
Upon his grandfather's rocking chair
on the porch in the cool crisp air
sits a man with a special gift.
For he can see the soul of a tree
within a piece of wood upon his knee.
His pile of cedar gives off a sweet smell.
He picks through the pieces, eyes closed,
his touch feels what is enclosed.
As if he were to reach within the wood
by pulling it apart from its protective bark
and removing what’s inside from the dark.
The Whittler will release this soul from its cage!
Each meticulous movement of the knife in hand
is meant to bring out something so grand.
After hours of work, fingers cramping into knots
the soul held within in this piece arose
to be a magnificent fully blossomed rose.
Beautiful just like the ones his gram
planted beneath her father's old cedar tree, by hand.
Adam Hapworth, With These Hands, 12/13/2013, Image #3
Who loves a sunburnt country with its bare and barren plains?
Who loves to hear our Mother Nature screaming out in mortal pain?
Who loves years and years of grinding heat with not a drop of rain?
Who loves a sun-scorched country? You have got to be insane!
What is not already dead is dying a slow and painful death
The unrelenting savage torture of that searing fiery breath
The limping listless livestock are walking skeletons of pain
Who loves this heartless misery? I’m asking you again.
I love a rain-soaked country where death is hardly ever seen
I love a forest to surround me where all is lush and green
I love to hear the birds a-singing, playing in the canopy of trees
The happy chirping crickets, the humming of the bees
You can keep your sunbaked country; it’s a rain-soaked one for me!
I love a rain-soaked country with verdant fields as far as I can see
The crops all harvest ready swaying gently in the cooling breeze
The swollen streams and rivers flowing boldly onward to the seas
Keep your brazen, blazing bush-fires and your depressing dismal drought
Your dried up dams and waterholes I can live without
No, give to me a nation where we can all be free
A rain-soaked, happy, thriving nation fat with fecundity
Give me Mother Nature with a sweet and swollen breast
Give me all her flora and her fauna; Give me Mother Nature at her best
'Twas the week after Chrstmas and all through the house
The children were sleeping, too tired to arouse,
When all of a sudden there appeared in the room,
Mama in her nightcap, carrying a broom.
The stockings once hanging on mantle in row,
Were picked off the floor, into storage they go.
All the glitter of Christmas, now tarnished and torn,
Must be removed from the room ere the New Year is born.
She tackled the tree, taking some care,
To remove every light, the tree was soon bare.
She packed everything, put it safely away
On a shelf in the basement 'til next Christmas Day.
The fine Christmas spirit she'd had, was now flagging.,
She must clean up the mess to keep it from sagging.
She dragged out the tree and then heaved a big sigh,
Sat down with her coffee and had a good cry.
This was modeled after Clement Clark Moore's, 'Twas TheNight Before Christmas'
The little leaf held tightly
to his mother tree's bark.
He started to get frightened
when the sky began to get dark.
But the mother tree comforted him,
filling his little heart with love.
"It puts the world to sleep," she said,
"and is sent from the One above."
As the love between the leaf and tree grew stronger,
the weather began to change.
The color of green seemed to fade,
and the little leaf felt strange.
"What is happening to me?"
he asked his mother tree.
"It's a natural part of life, my child," she said,
"you're becoming who you're meant to be."
The leaf turned a beautiful bright yellow,
as summer changed into fall.
He danced in the golden sunlight,
feeling a thousand feet tall.
Again, the weather started to change,
and the growing leaf asked to leave.
So the mother tree let go of her child,
but her heart wanted to grieve.
The cold wind blew this little leaf
far away from his mother tree.
As he joined the sleepy earth,
he was glad that his mother set him free.
The Christmas Tree
My greatest memory was in 1996 when my son who was three years old at the time was taking out our first Christmas tree to stop me from feeling sad. He saw my tears coming down like rain over the fact we had no place visit for the holiday. My heart was so broken, wishing he had all that he deserved. The domestic violent shelters we just came out of traumatized us in our journey of trying to find a home. Home was planned to be a place for us to heal and make our lives happen in a healthy lifestyle. When I looked into his eyes pleading with me to put up the tree I knew I just had to. So much sadness stood there in his eyes yet he stopped his tears for me. We put up the tree that day and before I knew it our sadness seemed to be a distant memory and today I am grateful for God for giving me the greatest gift a mother could ever ask for; the love given back to me from my own child. Sadly he’s in jail today for making bad decisions, so worried about his safety I had to turn him in; though he thanks me that I saved his life. He said that he accepted Jesus into his life and if it wasn’t for me he would probably be dead on the streets somewhere by now. Still today, no matter how many miles apart we are together, I always reflect on that little boy who pushed a heavy Christmas tree out of the closet to cheer his mother up and how such a strong bond between mother and son was born to save each other through eternal love.
Contest: A Fond Memories
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
When we were growing up, as best buds,
I often wished she could see the world through my eyes
"It's a fake tree", I said the year
my mother lost her mind and decided that real trees were too much trouble!
My best friend, who lived next door
thought it was just great,....that giant, silver monstrosity!
That is..until I told her to close her eyes, and sniff.
"That's the ugliest tree I ever smelled!" she said, ...finally agreeing with me.
Her support helped to convince my mother of her error in judgment,
and that was the last tinsel tree we ever had.
That was the same year
that we noticed that Santa Claus looked a lot
like our neighbor, Mr. Hendrickson.
We had called him "Mr. Hiccupson"
until we would go into fits of giggles
watching how his belly jiggled.
Spending all those Christmas's apart
after her family moved away, was painful
Never again would we have special sleepovers,
and times like singing around that fake tree,
and listening for Mr. Hendrickson's reindeer to land on the roof.
We had written letters for awhile, but after a few years
we drifted apart....her living on one coast, me on the other.
But I had never forgotten that last Christmas....and the silver tinsel tree.
Out of the blue...a phone call,...a voice that time hadn't forgotten.
Suddenly, we were laughing and giggling like two little girls once again.
Sometimes, when you least expect it,
Christmas shows up early,....like a long lost friend
and wraps you up in it's arms.
Thank you Santa Claus.....or Mr. Hiccupson, ......wherever you are.....
for in my spare time
yes, i would read
my final retrospect
to my dearest son,
but oh precious dauqhter
"come forth" i'd say
shade your qrey skies with qreen
lose all memory of 'he'
i dont want you anywhere near my apple tree.
i now soar hiqh above thee
but before i reside here
know that i died near-this apple tree
i bit into the fantasy of life
a foolish woman i was, makinq no riqhts
so the pain left only to return aqain
thunder busted my eardrums
for my tears cried silently
in spite of me
dauqhter leave this place
to be continued.