Oh how I hate the winter where my limbs are exposed and seen
I just adore the spring time, I wear my dress of emerald green
Draping myself in lush foliage, not an inch of body you can see
Until warm winds of autumn arrive and begin to undress me
Then I start to shiver as my gown of golden leaves falls away
Leaving me cold and naked until spring returns again one day
Original Contest - Trees Personified
Entered into personification poem contest
Sponsored by Lewis Raynes
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
I’m hanging on to the skeletal branch with all my might
Westerly winds blow but I won’t give in without a fight
My skin once soft and smooth is now wizened and wrinkly
Dark veins are so visible now, I’m all brown and crinkly
Suddenly a huge gust of wind releases me
Silently I drift down to the ground,
Now I am lying on my winter bed where I will curl up and die
No longer the last lonely leaf on earth …
For now I’m surrounded by my friends and family …
Inspired by the lonely leaf poem by Sophiya Kamil
28th November 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
I stood as though reborn on mounded dirt,
which seemed so moist it strangely could assuage
the ache from bowels that howled from so much hurt.
Would ground then be my cure or a mirage?
Enticed, I deeply pressed each foot through soil
till they took root and fixed me to a spot.
My ever-thickening trunk served well to foil
the plots of those who’d cut me. . . . they could not!
My limbs, though mighty branches, could not bend;
stubbornly I fought my transplantation.
I weathered storms that God or man might send,
sightless, living long in desolation.
Self preservation did this much for me:
old loved ones passed and I remained a tree.
For the Trees Personification Contest of Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Standing straight and tall, I am happy among my next of kin,
graceful and gracious, accepting and at one with nature.
The gentle whisper of the wind is music in our midst,
A cornucopia of chirping sounds, gleeful gifts from the birds.
Do you ever wonder how I have grown at last
For it was only six weeks ago that I was not on this spot
Yet it would seem that right before your very eyes
I suddenly appeared overnight, you were surprised!
My story cannot be told without mentioning the farmer.
Day after day, year after year he never gave up on me.
A powerful testimony of perseverance and trust, and hope and faith
in The One Almighty and... the power of a dream.
Knowing the value of patience, he waited and cared for me
oh so tenderly and never gave up. I dared not ever
conceive of disappointing him, so while he gave my needs
every day, I did what I had to do... I grew.
Not above, but underneath the ground, where no one can see,
to build that inner strength, deeply rooted in my seed.
One day in the fifth year, the right time came and
I literally leaped off the ground. Miracles do abound!
I am ever giving. I give food to the hungry, a shelter
for the homeless...even a bed. I am seat and a fence.
I provide clothing and more. It is my nature to give.
From my innermost being I provide freshness in the air.
Strong and resilient, I am not cowed by storms
They give their all to topple me from where I stand,
yet I hold my ground. I may bend and sway for the wind,
but after a while I stand, straighten and do not lose my grip.
I learned to accept my weakness and be proud of my strength
An image of one who is calm, I am at peace with myself.
26 August 2015
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
A conceited spring leaf, with pride in its heart
Its vigor and its beauty
The tree, how important it and its sibling leaves were,
And that without them naked the tree would have remained
Foliage, that so majestically the tree had dressed which, not only
Oxygen supplied to the tree
Also protection from the wind and for the birds a place to
Make their home.
The tree, after the leaf its long monologue had finished,
Turned towards it and asked with a sardonic smile:
“Where would you be, my newborn friend, if I were not
To provide, my branches for you to grow on
Nourishment from my roots that are hidden in the
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 MARCH 2015
* All stories I write with such dialogues, are the result of inspiration.
If, however, the story is not a poetic one, Please, blame me and not
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
How I take pride when you come to my side
You can't stay away, and I sway as you play
Running your fingers over my peekaboo veil of lace
My emerald covering of grace…
I tremble as you sigh as you cry…your soul dry
Falling, crumbling, crawling...
to that place at my base
Your welcomed retreat….when his kisses were sweet
Taken in by my charm, the beauty of my name, my fame
lovers, you frolicked without shame....
Now he says you're to blame
“Weeping Willow”, you whisper….”Nothing’s the same”…..
There you lie; there you cry….and the day, it goes by
beside the placid lake where I stand as you quake
I want to sweep you up, shake all dormant senses awake….
Please...make no mistake....
I’m rooted in soil; I toil, not letting the goodness...spoil
The first of my peers to herald the spring, comfort I bring
Now my arms, I stretch down….touching the ground….
I cloister you deep; do not weep...
Let me lull you to sleep,
while my promise I keep:
Weeping Willow watches over You….
For Charlotte Puddifoot's Tree Contest
August 22, 2015
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
THE HUMBLE CATHEDRAL
In the glaring eyes of the sun
dressed thin in lush green moss,
my shady sky-high trunk compeer
dark brown wrinkled arms spreading free
my slender fingers of verdant hue.
They swing, swing in quiet seesaws
attune to the cradling light of July breeze.
Pleased and appeased, I puff and puff:
oxygen dancing slow with other gas.
The blowing winds from the east,
The heaven tears cascading down,
they bathe and cleansed me but!
They too disturb causing murmurs
and rustles during my deep sleep...
Fall approaches, smell of despair hangs,
it pose danger making my leaves sad.
I began to weep as they slowly tumble,
tumbling below, leaving me naked.
Facing later the harsh bites of cold,
my arms turned brittle from right to left,
hearing them creak and break. Thankfully,
my feet safe beneath the ground.
I stood firm together with my friends,
unafraid of the ice but so scared
of humans carrying a sharp ax.
==Contest Name: TREES PERSONIFIED==
=Contest Sponsor: Charlotte Pudifoot=
9:32 pm, August 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015
the tallest I’ve ever seen was in primary
towering like a General in the military
a haggard expression of pain and disgust
the needle like leaves his ooze would discard
he seemed so staunch in his camouflage and upright salute
the pinecones resembling a grenade assault
as curious children do, to climb we were too eager
mystery lay hidden somewhere in his evergreen erect figure
the teacher would soon be called to the rescue
climbing down now an impossible chore
some disciplinary action would be enforced
he wouldn't even be swaying in the wind this unmoveable force
then one day the war would finally be won
it took a couple of grades of broken bones and casting stones
high up in his clutches where our balls would be stuck
he would be uprooted and loaded onto the back of the truck
but when he left, the school grounds seemed so empty
he had retired after generations serving this country
that's why it now felt like such a pyrrhic victory
in hindsight, he was truly our sentry
Contest: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot's Trees Personified
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015
We are the high altitude sentinels.
Our small groves freckle the high plains.
We keep to ourselves, mostly
upon the snow burdened peaks
where our ashen trunks blend
and our barren branches cling
to icy white glitter.
As the breath of winter ebbs
we watch the crystal spring run-off
growing ever greener with envy
of how it races down the hill; babbling.
We whisper this to one another
in the crisp mountain air, solemn
as we keep watch.
From our station on the precipice
we behold fully the majestic sun
revering at dusk how it paints the sky.
In the failing warmth of autumn,
we offer in turn, our own reflection of
magnificent golden sunset skies
in our shimmering yellow foliage.
We keep company with pines,
firs, spruces, and other prickly sorts.
Conifers aren’t social, which suits us
as we keep mostly to ourselves.
Sentinels must remain vigilant, after all,
watchful for approaching danger.
We quake from paranoia, probably.
Our bark is pale, above all, for fear.
We’ve seen your kind before.
Your kind we watch most carefully.
If you look close, you will see
from our thousand dark eyes
we always look closely back at you.
Are you dangerous?
Submission for contest: Trees Personified
Hosted by: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
*I loved the aspens when my family would go camping in the high Uinta mountain range in Utah. They are beautiful and they can grow at such high elevation (above 10,000 ft) it's really amazing.
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
"Two Trees: Mr. Oak And Mr. Bamboo"
A terrible wind storm was approaching and blowing everything out of it's path!
NOTHING....not one thing at all, could withstand it's awesome wrath!
Two trees saw this storm coming! YES!....it was coming their way!
One was Mr. Oak, the other Mr. Bamboo and very different things did they say!
* (Oh yeah, by the way, these two trees could talk!)
Now Mr. Oak tree was strong and mighty and was so solidly planted.
When in the distance he saw the wind storm, Oh!...he raved and he ranted!
"I am a mighty oak tree and I'll neither budge nor move,
what does this wind storm think it is, it's power I will disprove!"
"I don't move for any reason, and couldn't care less what that reason is!
I am the mighty oak tree and move in a breeze!!!...What madness is this???"
My stubbornness will see me through and when all is said and done,
I will still be standing right here, Mr. Bamboo, with this battle won!"
Mr. Bamboo looked too in the distance and he just so simply smiled.
It was as though he hadn't a care in the world,
though the wind storm was away less than a mile!
Mr. Bamboo looked at Mr. Oak and said quite philosophically,
"You know, sometimes bending even a little bit can help with flexibility!"
"See I do bend rather than resist and I come back stronger each time!
This helps me to avoid becoming stiff, even well into my prime!"
Mr. Oak glared hard at Mr. Bamboo and said "I don't bend for ANYONE!
When that wind storm gets here, I'll show it who's the boss,
and this will be over and done!"
The wind storm arrived with great intensity and everything was blown to and fro!
Mr. Bamboo was yielding and bending, Mr. Oak was shouting "NO!.. NO!!... NO!!!"
Mr. Bamboo was bent so far down, he was literally kissing the ground!
He then heard a "SNAP!", a "CRACKLE!" and a "CRASH!"
and Mr. Oak tree then fell down!
The wind storm moved on and the worst was over,
the clouds blew away and the sun came out!
Mr. Bamboo started rising up slowly, he moved as if he was a young sprout!
Mr. Bamboo looked over at Mr. Oak, who was clearly broken in half!
He was lying on the ground splintered and shaken,
the ultimate price paid in the storm's aftermath!
"I don't understand what happened!" Mr. Oak said, "I was so mighty and strong!"
"Nothing!...NOTHING could move me! Why did this go so wrong?"
Mr. Bamboo was empathetic and looking for the right words to say!
He sighed, looked at Mr. Oak, and this reply he did give that day....
"Yes, you were so strong and mighty and determined to stand your ground,
but there are some forces of Nature that will dumbfound and truly astound!"
"I tried to tell you about yielding, which is the natural way!
Yes, you will bend and be bowed down, but you'll spring back stronger and stay!"
So I wish you the best in your new life, where you will be surely stable,
and you will most definitely stand sturdy and strong,
as a new oak dining room table!"
Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016
The day I died, a village cried
and tears washed to the river's side
I meant the world, to my survivors
A Valley Oak......yes, that was me...
A stately tree with history
They drew from me a sense of pride
Four hundred years, I had sheltered them
with limbs that reached up to the sky.
I stood my ground, through all the rain
They understood, my worth, my veins
ran deeper than the eye could see
FOUR HUNDRED YEARS!.....Yes, I was old !!
And blood turned cold the day I fell
You see, I was much more than Oak
I spoke for those who've long been gone.
I reigned beside this countryside
and watched the tribes beneath the sky
I saw the white men, take away
and claim the ground beneath me, found
And soon a way of life would end
And I would bend my boughs, to pray
Four hundred years, I've overlooked
a river bend, below my limbs
I watched the steamboats ferry men
and saw men die, and saw men rise
and saw men carry hope again
And those who came so long ago
would build a town that grew to know
how values and our valiant strides
are deep as roots, as mine that grew
I was not just a simple tree...
I had a place in history...
I sat beside a little house
One still a treasured artifact
Once built along the river's bend,
It now sits naked in my tracks
without the shade that I had lent
The man who lived here, led a state
The first to govern, in my shade
It is a fact that through the years
I've watched and shed a thousand tears
What will become of what is left?
A town is left, a state bereft
But facts can't change that I was here...
My roots hang tight to yesteryear
They've grieved, and shed their tears for me
when winds prevailed, and down I fell
I wish them well, and if I can
.....I'll try to surge from down within
perhaps one root will sprout, and tell
my leaves to find the breeze again
Inspired By Tree Personification Contest
Based on the actual tree that came down in my home town
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
I was born a tree
Lived until forty three
For three months I was a tissue
With that I had some issues
After that I was paper for art
Thrown away and I fell apart
Back into the earth
Then on this last birth
I'm back to being me
Again I am a tree
Sept 21, 2016
Something replaceable contest
Copyright © Tanis Troutman | Year Posted 2016
A flock of Christmas doves
carried a turquoise veil
through a white winter sky
and found a willow tree
weeping and alone
in the cold of a December day
The veil was pinned in the sky
and twenty five doves
alit in the bare branches
so the tree was no longer alone
as it listened to the song
of the doves in the chilled morning air..
Copyright © valerie bellefleur | Year Posted 2008
Old Mr. Oak
Old Mr. Oak had bumps on his sides.
In his tired arms, black birds did reside.
He had seen all kinds come and go,
watching the young become old and slow.
The largest and king of mighty trees,
for 100 years, he’d danced in the breeze.
Children had used him to play at their games,
and he laughed at snowstorms, ice and rains.
Seasons came and time passed by.
Many have stood under his watchful eye.
Lovers carved their initials in a heart.
Smiling, he knew he'd always be a part.
Old Mr. Oak’s bones creaked when he swayed.
Sometimes an arm or two would give way.
One day the owner built a pool in his yard.
Earth movers’ trauma hit Mr. Oak hard.
In autumn his leaves turned but didn’t fall.
They hung there brown for an expert to call.
He said he was dying from shock and such.
The shifting of his roots had been too much.
Old Mr. Oak had to face his life’s end.
To the last ounce of living this tree would defend.
His limbs hit the ground and jarred Mother earth.
Saws snarled as they grappled with his thick girth.
He closed his eyes on the green garden world,
and sighed as his life began to unfurl.
That glowing fire of a room so warm,
comes from old Mr. Oak, all the years long.
Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016
Autumn is a thief! She stole my gown of gold
She let it fall gently onto the ground out of my reach!
Naked …I'm totally naked, denuded of my fabulous fallen frock
Now I'm at the mercy of the wild wicked winter winds
I’ll shiver until spring brings me a new dress of vibrant green
Not posted in time for contest
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
I am naked now, my limbs are bare
A chill blows through me during the night air
No one notices me, children do not climb
I stand still hoping not to lose a branch of mine
No green, no orange, no red I am just grey
This season I do not like because of being this way
Soon the sun will begin to show
My little buds of color start to glow
Encircled by luscious green grass I will be
Seasons are my life, this next one I like.
©Holly P. Moore
Copyright © HOLLY MOORE | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Tina Anderson | Year Posted 2015
Glorious spring sunshine kiss my limbs as they sprout
With each opening bud, "I'm so alive" I want to shout
April showers cling to me as I drink each delicious drop
Hopefully chosen by blue jays to build their nest atop
Caterpillars and ants tickle me as they crawl to and fro
Nothing sweeter than watching everything around me grow
Come sit under me, take a break from the hot summer sun
Join me as I watch the baby birds leave their nest one by one
Let's marvel at the beautiful butterflies that flutter all around
The music of my friend the humming bird will surely astound
Smell the delightful fragrance of all the many flowers in bloom
Capture the magic nearby of a newly wedded bride and groom
I'm bursting with colors of yellow, orange, red, gold and brown
I proudly smile each time one of my leaves cascade down
Laughing children make my day as they roll in my splendor
You taking my picture makes this memory much more tender
Scurrying squirrels truly fascinate me, as my acorns they hide
Forgotten ones will one day be my saplings, I'll burst with pride
Snow flakes have delightedly dressed me in a suit of white
City folk string me with lights, I boastfully light up the night
Skaters whipping by me, their energy and actions are compelling
I feel so very blessed to have been rooted within this dwelling
Come and join in the festivities and beauty of each and every season
Become a memory on my branches, I can't think of a better reason
*Dedicated to the 50-80 year old trees in Gage Park, Brampton
Copyright © Cecilia Macfarlane | Year Posted 2014
Oh how this bodice is dressed in taffeta,
Lined with hundreds of lavender pleats
Spiraling, drooping, whirling
All over my voluptuous contour …
Bare these limbs grinding on soft moss
To tap among rustled displays
From many a lovers’ heat to children’s romp.
I gaze at my long tresses hung by threads
Of July frills, combing the strands
Delicate as clusters in a spin that ignites
The evening air, the lush of daylight’s vine…
And like Kojin in a free-fall prance, I cascade
Through a mantle of grass, my arms floating
Over wisps of mildest pink, of boldest lavender;
Then to curtsy in a prayerful Shinto bow
Under heaven's marquee where my chants
about lonesome tales are hushed in secrecy.
At nightfall, stars circle my lit frame,
The aroma of wisteria's mint huffs
outside my pores and unto an earthy glow;
Young the nippled buds swelling in lusty dusk
Till I gently writhe as a mystical shadow of the woods.
SPRINGTIME STANDARD CONTEST
~ The wisteria tree is packed with an assemblage
of purple blossoms, falling in tapered clusters
to symbolize a kneeling pose of honor and devotion
based on Asian folklore.
~ Kojin: Japanese Tree Goddess
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
The tree stretches its branches
Like a cat waking up from sleep
Its leaves give a little shake
Almost like a gentle sneeze
Looks down at the passing river
Snaking its way past its roots
Watering nature as it meanders by
Grass and plants with wormlike shoots
Where is this river running to
What mysteries does it leave behind
Any evil teardrops to poison you
Or just happiness of the watery kind
Whatever hope this picture brings
Look for the sun as it bursts with song
Remember that tree with its catlike stretch
And the lazy river meandering along.
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2012
It is strange
how things that we see
and take for granted
in everyday life
should suddenly instil
in our minds
a new awareness
of their presence
A silent moment
a brief pause
from life's ever quickening pace
a moment of peace -
in times like these
a common thing
like a dried old tree
becomes alive with beauty
It stands like a quiet sentinel
who has witnessed
many an event
Time has passed by
but it remains
silently standing there
What secrets do you store
in your noble branches?
How many events have you recorded
that man knows nothing of?
In your younger days
when you wore your mantle of green
you nested the carefree birds
to their offspring
you gave protection
When the sun scorched the earth
you gave them cool shade
On a cool windy night
you gave them warmth
How pleasant was their song
to your ear
as they sang a song of thanks
You were a playmate to the children
When they romped at your feet
or climbed on your branches
Time grew older
and the children became lovers
You saw them kiss in your shade
soft with the light of the moon
The aura of their love
touched your leaves
and you blushed
they have all gone away
but you still remain
still waiting and watching
How many untold events
have you witnessed
faithful keeper of secrets?
O that my soul could commune with you
and share of your rugged beauty!
Most Noble Tree!
forgive me for my
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013
A Weeping Willow Tree
I feel like a Weeping Willow Tree, a Weeping Willow Tree
See all my limbs swaying every which way to see
My beautiful sis has gone and left poetry soup
She's gone for good and found a Christian group
I feel like a Weeping Willow Tree, a Weeping Willow Tree
She keeps telling me she's much happier and so free
Evie has found her real niche in her life
She now is writing full force with no strife
I'm still feeling like A WEEPING WILLOW TREE.
Copyright © Theresa CW | Year Posted 2016
From seed to sprout
Then twig to bough
From shade to light
Together upward t`ward the sun
From hope to faith then love,
Embrace my death,
And grow with me.
Copyright © Ryan Farmer | Year Posted 2013
I know I'm surely not the most beautiful tree
For my leaves and form are really quite plain
All year I quietly stand and bide my time
In the fall I bear fruit, the waiting not in vain..
Finally my branches yield globes of green an gold
I bear their weight with pride and such delight
With reluctant pleasure at last I let them go
My yearly efforts a beautiful fall delight...
The season passes and comes the rain and snow
Then it seems in a much different role I'm cast
For a lovely partridge on my branch will perch
And just perhaps I am really beautiful at last......
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015
I know your father,
And his fathers too,
I know you all,
And now, without a frown
You want to tear me down.
Do your fathers know ?
And children`s children ?
I feed the air,
Embrace the earth.
I keep the flame,
And waters hold.
How will you cope,
When I am gone
Devoid of hope?
The air will choke
And earth will move
Fires consume and
Waters wash away.
When I am gone, how will you cope,
Dear one, devoid of any hope?
Copyright © Ryan Farmer | Year Posted 2014
At peace with the outdoors,
Where life's creatures roam
Within nature, I am at home.
The North East is where I grew.
My roots I barely knew.
As the seasons drift,
I accommodate the shift;
Embracing them all.
Feeling most alive during fall;
A time bright colors enthrall.
The wind touches me like an old friend.
Our movements dance and blend.
Arms with body sway as hands flutter around;
Flapping until they rest and fall down.
I may appear fragile;
A belief unfounded.
I am by nature;
As birds and insects gently fly,
People sit or stand nearby
Admiring beauty, as if they see
An inner sweetness inside of me--
A commodity untapped and sought,
Without pride, I embrace that thought.
My arms branch out
Towards the southern skies,
Thankful for all it supplies.
In time my outer skin loosens and cracks with wear,
From the wind's motion and the sun's glare.
My girth is another rough gauge
Of the circles of years that determine my age.
Lovers have engraved their affection;
I am a part of life's connection.
And when my form of existence does cease...
Just as before I began, I will end in peace.
Copyright © Barbara Campbell | Year Posted 2015
It is the awakening.
After long dreamless sleep, my time has come again.
Through endless cycles of night and day, of heat and cold
I have lived throughout history. My birth unremembered
as is my youth. I have lived for a thousand years but too many years
have passed for concern over such trivial matters.
I remember the long decades without water.
I was in my middle years then. A time when almost everything was lost.
This was the time of the great fire. The fire that almost consumed me.
Bright white flames burned down from the heavens and in an instant
scarred my rugged flesh, my beautiful skin blackened in jagged disfigurement.
Many of those around me perished.
I can no longer mourn those who have gone before me.
It has been too long and in that time I have recovered from my injuries and the disease that followed. I am again strong and tower over the
youth that surrounds me, young ones of a hundred years. Many my own. Now I must concentrate on drinking in the nutrients that the earth provides me, as I watch over the shrinking forest.
The past is the past
and the receding winter
is slowly fading away,
now I have felt the long
rays of the sun warming
my limbs once again and I have
awakened to a new world, a world
of renewal, a world of hope. My trunk
is strong and my pollen will soon fill the air
covering the woods in a yellow green dust.
New life will come as acorns sprout, and I will stand silent watch.
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015
I have grown old and twisted with all my living;
my limbs gnarled and arthritic,
my skin rough, sometimes peeling,
turning dark beneath the sun.
Bunions and corns decorate my feet.
What a life I have lived!
In my youth, young natives sat on tender grasses at my feet;
i sheltered them in coolness,
i listened to their vows of love.
Months later, they returned to me holding the joy of new life.
I rocked their papoose in my arms,
the wind sighing lullabies through my evergreen hair
making the silver moss, hanging on my tresses, sway.
I saw them leave before the growing strength of new settlers,
weeping as they walked away from this beloved land.
A wealthy man settled the grounds where I spread my roots;
I grew and wrapped my arms around the home he built.
I was young then, strong and full of vigor;
I was the watchman at the door.
I enjoyed many years with the family,
playing with the children,
giving shade and shelter.
Early one morning, the sounds of war disturbed my sleep;
all day the battle raged.
Cannon balls ripped through my flesh;
I heard the anguished screams.
When the sun set,
the ground beneath my feet was littered
with the broken bodies of men,
dead and dying,
soldiers uniformed in both blue and gray.
Our beautiful home was nearly destroyed,
our land ravaged.
If men could only learn, as I know,
to respect and care for one another.
As time passed, my limbs healed,
through scarred, just as my heart is scarred.
Generations have come and gone,
each one passing close to my heart in fleeting succession,
but I live on.
Age shows on my body, yet I cling more tightly,
stretching deep into the ground, sucking the earth's sweet nourishment.
My arms droop low, hanging heavy with sad and happy memories.
I do not want to leave this dear, fair earth,
the tears of heaven fall,
bathing me in dewy sadness.
A thousand years is not enough.
Copyright, August 22, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
In our quiet senario,
I saw a tree stare
At me, it told me it
Was going to die
I asked why and it
"I doth Love but
I asked why.
It replied in tears,
"My hours has come,
soon it Would be thine.
I too wept.
Copyright © Chukwuemeka Anyikwa | Year Posted 2013
The yew trees
Were like staid old ladies in green skirts.
They lined the way to the church door.
Like the staid old ladies,
They did not bow when the fancy vicar
Walked the path, or asked him how he was.
Like the ladies they were proud,
And all brown leaves from fancy trees
Annoyed him, just like they.
Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015