You should have seen this tree before the winter came
Before the sun broke faith with its suckling leaves
Before the heavy ice of time sagged its limbs
Before its roots were singe in a frigid flame.
Did you know HG Daniel then, did you walk with him
Through spring and hear him sing of his king
Did he teach you "the elements of survival," when Eden
Closed its gate on us did he tell you its lore
And make you long for earth's long lost heaven
Though he struggles "not a man as before"?
I knew this tree when spring was a leaf of tongue
And poets sip the nectar of imagination young
I read him in rhyme and works of tribute
To fair Barbara and other members of the soup
Before the strokes, his loss of wife, and the loop
Of pall upon his hand with which he paint his love.
He is a noble tree, a great one in our forest of rhymes
A brother in arms of faith, a comrade, a friend
I send him prayers today, and wait for yours to come
This tree still from autumn mist a few fruit holds
Of friendship, love, and loyalty to the babbling scrolls.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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.
Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007
Wistful weeping willow why do you cry,
did you espy your leaves falling from on high?
They can’t cling on when a breeze is around,
see them cartwheel as they float to the ground.
Watch how they are dancing now they are free,
see them waltz as they lose their grip on the tree.
Long leaves spiral down and they land in the stream,
they planned their escape; they’ve achieved their dream
Wistful weeping willow you have no reason to cry;
when the wind blows, wave your leaves a last goodbye.
It's the end of the forms series contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Entered into Couplet Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
Firm and tall
Feeds on the love
Of other nature lovers
Was supported, cultivated
Becoming a tower against the horizon
Waxing green leaves, which it deposits later as gifts,
Among the earth dwellers, it embraced all under its canopy
Time passed and with it grew wisdom and purity of thought
Soon; sweet songs were sung by the tree dwellers, nourishing it abundantly
It was fruitful in return, gladly sharing all its color and splendor with other nature
Suddenly an alto fell in with the soprano pitched songbirds, distracting it immensely
The alto pecked, vibrating the core, with its obsidian bill, drilling, forever drumming,
Night and day, night and day, a steady pecking, of a woodpecker
Singing in a foreign soup song language
That it drained
The tree’s spirit
Trying to shoo it,
The tree branched.
Feverishly it tossed,
Left to right, beating.
Dropping all its fauna
Onto the forest floor.
Copyright © Sandra Hudson | Year Posted 2009
A leaf that tumbles in the air
And drifts upon the ground.
A person who sighs and smiles
With eyes that speak no sound.
Poetry is rooted in the earth,
And flies upon the wind.
It is not a sonnet nor a verse,
It’s a feeling from within.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
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.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
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.”
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
(This poem is dedicated to the late Nobel Laureate Chinua Achebe.
Your works will always stir our thoughts with reason and entertainment. R.I.P)
A Tree Fell
A very mighty tree fell,
its falling becoming audible
across Mama Africa;everyone
in Africa is mourning its fall
The branches that supported
the nests brooding African
identity are on the ground....
Since time cannot be reversed
to make the tree to pierce
the clouds once more,
another tree will have to stand
in its place
To find the tree, we have to water
our seedlings with knowledge
Our minds, the seedlings,
determine the time a future
incarnate of the fallen tree
will arise in its place;
piercing through the clouds
of ordinary imaginations, to the skies
of limitless and flawless imaginations
By: Teddy Kimathi
Date of Publication: 06/14/2014
Contest Name: Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention
Contest Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2014
I’ll take the back road; it is lovely and less traveled;
the briers run high against naked tree bark.
Around the bend the road is graveled-
with a canopy of foliage making pathway dark.
The briers run high against naked tree bark;
keeping all wild predators - hidden dangers at bay.
With a canopy of foliage making pathway dark;
I continually hope I am not mistaken for prey.
Keeping all wild predators - hidden dangers at bay;
if an abiding effort is on daily bases.
I continually hope I am not mistaken for prey,
as long as I do not travel in all the wrong places.
If an abiding effort is on daily bases;
around the bend the road is graveled.
As long as I do not travel in all the wrong places;
I’ll take the back road; it is lovely and less traveled.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Sixth Place Winner ~ "Back to Back” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Paula Swanson
April 4, 2011
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011
Our family tree will never stop growing…our faith and comfort will never crumble
Love grows here…so have no fear—God is near
My family, though packed up with pride and low self-esteem, still appears humble
Mirth produces joy and our hope gives birth to cheer
God is our Father; who could play this role as skillfully? Who, other than God, created the world so genuinely?
Love comes from He…so scare away the anxiety—God will grant us ecstasy
My family, though packed up with hope and despair, cherishes my soul with glee
Rebirth and life comes from He and our faith should draw near to thee
"i love you sweet boy..we will have fun this summer and be a close and godly family..nighty nit my light"
This summer, I am positive that we will be a close and godly family
But we must be lights of the world…and we must be willing to finish that race of hardships to earn His dignity
By all means, we will have an enjoyable break without paying a fee
But we must be God’s faithful followers…and we must be prepared to follow our Shepherd who is the key
Of never-ending faith and comfort, nourishing us abundantly
He still exists…He unravels the insanity
Of this world and set us free from blasphemy
Watching over us with pure vitality
Give us Your water
Don’t leave us in the gutter
Listen to the words we mutter
I pray that our family tree will look up to you devotedly
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2012
etched on a tree stump.
the carved memories of us
lasting through the years
Copyright © Rickie Elpusan | Year Posted 2005
I open a book
pages made of wood pulp trees.
on the pages, words.
IT'S PROPAGANDA !?!
A tree was destroyed for this?
Would the tree object?
Copyright © John Wilowski | Year Posted 2012
DR. SHUSH'S POETRY CONTEST
This contest isn’t as easy as it looks
The topic is Dr. Shush, his life and books
Send in your un-rhymed senryu
Or enter your well-rhymed haiku
The judges won’t mind
Not that they are really kind or tough
Good rhythm is hard to find
And they never read your stuff
So let’s keep all this hush
Unless you ride a different train
(But in honor of the lively Dr. Shush –
We’d allow frenemies to submit Quatrain)
Next month we will compete with sonnets
The deadline, if I may say, is yesterday
Now, don’t get bees in your bonnets
For it’s not quite April Fool’s Day
Before I go (but not really go away)
May I run this by you, “Parrot Or Pet Poetry”?
For a zinger combo contest, Pet Poems for the next St. Shush’s Day:
Submit Pet Parrot or Pat Parrot, Pat Poetry or Pet Poetry
Tree Parrot or Free Parrot, Parrot Free and Poet Free
Any tree, really – so long as it’s free (ra ra ra! FREE EVERY TREE!)
Poet Tree and Parrotry, or Free Poetry and Tree Poetry;
Last but not least, submit Tree Pets, Three Pats, or Tree Pats and Three Pets
(Just to cover loopholes: allow Parrot pats, Poet Parrots, but no parrot pots)
Poets’ pets, or Poets’ pats, along with Pat Poets and Poet Pets are a hoot –
Petty Poets, Pet potty, plus Pet Pats and Pat Pets. I’m done – Don’t shoot!)
H A P P Y A P R I L F O O L’ S E V E
© Anil Deo 20170331
Copyright © Anil Deo | Year Posted 2017
thanks for the tea, heres something about me
nothing beats poetry, sitting underneath a tree
thankin' my family for a strong identity
people watching cause its free, beauty in the scene
has me staring with a cheese, a smile at what i see
possibly a dream, caught up mentally
imagining a few things, with this human being
who has the sweetest energy, soulfood like collard greens
all fools falling means I'm really dumber than I seem
being intelligent isn't just from memory
its handling impermanence light and sensibly
and lady I'm feeling your sultry melodies
we'd be crowded if its three, sit and be my company
must be a chemistry major cause the reactions meant to be
the love we can achieve, is safe from any thieves
hold em from my queen, hearts tucked into my sleeve
Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2012
don't try My Darling
The fruits of my tree doesn't fall
Wind and rain stripped distance
Deadline to my passion
Distance is did not saturate
Remain in my memory only the eyes your lips...
Your body tree
I'm came out of empty paradise
In guard dress
don't try My Darling
Dream bleed on the sides of streets
And Tribes thrown my body in fire
When I want to destroy the idols
My Voice, which popularized the secret of King
Between the good citizens
My Voice sad
Is proclaimed to right and lack of injustice
don't try My Darling
Copyright © Abdel latif Moubarak | Year Posted 2016
The light from my window shines..
Brings my eyes and dreams all outside..
Birds flying so high from tree to tree..
My only prayers are to write that free..
The light from my window drifts past..
My mind follows the wind from line one to last..
The tree tops dance to the music of me..
Each word a whisper that screams what I see..
The light from my window is my inspiration..
A place to imagine and play is my dedication..
The page is full and a title is found..
All my visions and images expressed with no sound..
Copyright © Michael J. Falotico | Year Posted 2011
You know your culture is in decline, when the new Broadway show, "I gotta pee" is a smash-hit, or your friends encourage you to write the poem.
And just now, outside Mcdonalds ( Wifi - havin a smoke ), I named my ass-bag;
Smelleth thou thy fruity decay?
Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
Who do you feel like today?
Do you even remember my name?
It's been 8 years since then,
Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead?
I wonder if you've changed,
if you regret your biggest mistake.
Do you feel the sorrow i feel?
Is this pain the only thing that feels real?
I feel no sorrow now,
I only feel hatered for the world somehow,
How could you rape your granddaughters?
And Forget your own son, My father?!
How could you do this to me?
The only way how i feel now is to bleed.
I put no effort, no feeling, no thought,
In the war,
This battle in my heart
How do you feel like today?
Is it easier to know that your safe?
Outta jail they let you out,
Why so you can pay your road to hell?
So i plant me a willow tree,
right above the grass,
below the leaves.
I lay here below this willow tree,
My only friend beside of me,
The memories still remain,
But it's better off this way
Copyright © Hannah Croy | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2011
That Old Willow Tree
A place of solitude
Down by the swamp
A willow tree grows among the weeds
Branches reach to the sky
Fronds hang down reaching for the earth below
Birds live and sing in her branches
Shade loving plants grow at her feet
It is so pleasant on a hot August afternoon
The perfect place to just sit and think
Maybe paint a beautiful landscape
Or even an inspired poem
Such a place exists only for the artist
There aren’t many in our hectic world
They have been paved over
Polluted so that the beauty is long gone
Or just lost to everlasting progress
If you find a place like that old willow tree
Love it and go there for moments of solitude
Think about what nature has given you for that day
Because tomorrow it may be gone
And you may sit at the foot of a parking meter
But it will never be the same
Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2012
Haunts me…it smothers me…
I can’t handle the smell of burning sage
It overpowers me…will I EVER be free?
Grasps on to me…it bothers me…
I can’t expose my courage on stage
It’s horrendous…will you EVER pay the fee?
Reigns upon me…It chases after me...
I can’t let loose my youthful imagination, flipping page to page
It towers over me…will I EVER joyfully flee?
Recoils from affliction… tracking me down…
I can’t shed the grief that lead to rage
It pulls me back…will I EVER be a budding tree?
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2012
In a sense of victory
I hold up what is mine
All these years I worked on
My own life and times
Putting ink to paper
In a leather cover fine
Hoping that someone would read
My life, love, and rhymes
The days in sun
And when snow whined
In the time where love won
And souls were kind
I converted this life
To a physical type
And amidst loss, love, and strife
I have tears to wipe
What of this book
That no one will read
It was a tree cut, and shook
It had memories
A young woman
Once sat at its base
Peeled and ate apples
With memorable grace
A young man
Brought by a date
Joined the young woman's hand
Under a tree of fate
An age later
Men have came
And these traitors
Gave this ancient, pain
In a sense of sadness
I take down what is mine
This item is madness
I recycle my work
And tell of the tree
And all it was worth
Came with words from me
Copyright © Justin Street | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
Oh where is the meadow where good thoughts grow and sprout in the cyberspace of my
mind? As I stroll into the meadow i pluck an idea down from an apple tree. it tastes delicious,
and as i eat it, an idea devours me. The delicious nector tastes like candy made in my own
candy shop mind. what else could i paint on the inside of my mind from apple trees that
stretch past the stars and reach distant galaxies. and if i climb that apple tree i'd look down
from the top and see all there is to bring back to reality and at the top of the tree poking
through that distant galaxy i'll grab a star and bring it back on a page written right in front of
Copyright © stuart hayashi | Year Posted 2010
In the cool spring breeze
The purple robe dances free
While busy bees play
Your sweet scent filling the air
And my heart with every sway
"Purple Robe" black locust (Robinia pseudoacacia "Purple Robe") can grow in some of the most difficult conditions and on a variety of sites. The tree reaches 30 to 50 feet tall at maturity, and its oval canopy spreads 20 to 35 feet wide. In spring, it blooms with fragrant and showy pinkish-purple flowers, attracting bees to the area. "Purple Robe" grows in U.S. Department of Agriculture plant hardiness zones 4 through 8."
Find this info here if need be
Copyright © Jeremy Smith | Year Posted 2017
Under the huge tree of creation
Sits down the scent of death
On the round chair of air
Putting his hands of shadow
Upon the adjacent table of ether
Carefully he keeps a keen watch
On the ripples
Created by the falling sound of leaves
Like a ray
He stands up after hearing a roar
And rushes down to the door of waves
To collect the soul
From the chest of the identified star.
Copyright © wahab abdul | Year Posted 2016
Birds fly on high
deep into the sky
like they are so proud and free
the way love should be
Rain sends gentle mist
where hearts skips a beat
where animals run like summer breeze
and the birds are hight up in trees
chipping along to their lovers song.
Poetic Judy Emery
Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017
If you see a hawk
on a bough at field's edge
beyond the corner you should have turned
maybe it's a sign to go on.
Such as during an improvisation on
Flamingo or I've Got You Under My Skin
you play in the wrong key or mode completely
maybe it's a sign to go on, in the wrong key.
Or when my sons cry not wanting
to be alone, I'm upstairs writing
or just enjoying trees in every direction
it too may be a sign to go on alone.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2017
it’s hot tonight,
the palm trees stand still
I’m stacking close to my
one hundredth poem
after my first one hundred
were taken by that
the color of love dissolves
I can’t complain at the
By: Chicano Eddie
Copyright © CHICANO EDDIE | Year Posted 2016
Leave me visible like a vagrant dog in a deluge...
I'll hear your whisper in the wind, embrace your essence
in the rain, and see the secluded skies..
When the rain is subtle I will know that something
has tempered you... But when the rain rages I'll know that
something has imparted panic upon you!
And in this inherited intellect lacking eyes, ears, hands, or lips...
Our limp lumber would enternally rest in Earth's clay.Envision, the squall
streaming through a patch of wildflowers...
In my disorder gardens of myself flourished. Buds of curiosity burgeoning
from my eyes! It would be our knuckles, rigid, prancing pebbles meant for
progienies' play, and the sinful sun weaving it's way through your missing molars!
Countless days go unnoticed and nights unslept... We'll speak with our soul
through breached bones, where our tendons once thrived!
Imagine, your cranium and mine both mitagated to matter. Both refined from our
faults, and our skins going young again, disregarding the reason we ever wrinkled!
A chance to cleanse our aura oncemore... May I bceome dust with you?
My trembling tree...
Copyright © Hannah Gold | Year Posted 2016
Pop out one stands more than another
mini planet on center-tree
rapped bark out
and splayed with knotty nuisances
falling arms raising drops of
golden brown if lucky
green if true
and if I, alive in breathing
share this experience may.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007