Best Banana Tree Poems
I AM THE BANANA TREE
I am the banana tree
That dwells where rivers meet ;
I am the banana tree
That dwells where sun lives;
On fertility I tower ; believe,
Your party hour has come
You shall now eat my fruits,
As these buds you see now
Shall wither not till fruits they become.
When they call me barren
And say I am fruitless and arid ;
They that once invaded my field
And carted away my buds,
I heed not their buzz ;
When they mock my torn leaves
And call me progenitor of scarecrow ;
They that once stowed their holds
Till cambers with my seeds,
I lend no ear ; when unschooled children
Call aleovera vegetable,do we blame them?
Their ignorance my knowledge
Though they don’t know me
I know who I am: sucker of millions nods.
My first pollination they arborted
When like gladiators they came
And destroyed my foliage like locusts
When they brought elephants to my garden
And scattered all my heaps and ridges
When they mutilated me like unedible snake
How so soon they forget that call me infertile !!!
Thanks for procreation that multiplies my breed
And erects a signpost of my lavish fertility
In their Lady and Lord’s vineyards forever.
Rejoice Africans;
Yours is not a barren womb
Rejoice, yours is not infertile -
I am the banana tree sprouting form the stump
Of old flourished tree the wicked cruelly felled ;
The sepulchre is opened , my resurrection has begun
It is dawn of my accession , my glorious hour has come
Because I am the banana sucker, this a tree you see now
Shall tomorrow plantation become.
Dear Miss Monkey Manners: I’m a Spider Monkey in need of your help,
Recently someone yanked my tail and I cried out with a yelp.
It may seem like a little thing to cry when someone pulls your tail,
Unless, of course, it’s mating season and you’re the alpha male.
All of the sudden this younger guy is getting more looks than me,
And there’s a lot of chatter going on all around the banana tree.
I recently overheard some talk about putting me out to pasture,
But with all the Jaguars around this place, a pasture would be disaster.
So tell me is there a way that I can continue to have fun?
Please send your answer right away before setting sun.
My poor, dear Spider friend, please take time tonight to watch the setting sun,
Then apply that sight to your alphaness and grab your prehensile tail and run.
Remember to keep the memories of all the girls you’ve had,
But perhaps it’s best to move along because what happens next is bad.
There will be a challenger who will have impressively aggressive displays
And he will not give a banana flip about stories of your glory days.
So let the girls remember you the way you used to be,
Instead of getting humiliated for all of the world to see.
Go find yourself a lonely tree because that where you belong now,
And if you think that life’s unfair, it’s better than being Jaguar chow.
IN POETRY SOUP SHE LIVES
Death brings down a banana tree
And goes about with joy in his heart ;
Rejoice not feller of tree
The one you cut has sprouted again :
She sits by the river side
There she quenches our thirst
With purity that flows from her soul
Her eternal spring sweet to behold.
A sparrow atop the roof
Singing sonorously with golden voice;
Guess not too much who she is
It is Marie that has come to play.
A chameleon in the garden
Painting roses , painting lavender ;
No , not just a chameleon
But Marie doing her art in style.
If you saw a spinner by the wall
Weaving words like never before;
Remember her vow and know who she is :
I live on in my words like a spider in its web.
So smile Marie’s friends
Smile in her victory upon wicked death;
When you wish to see your own
In poetrysoup she lives.
User’s name : Kayod5
Contest : Remembering Linda – Marie
Sponsor : Andrea Dietrich
Banana tree here! Bwana quick sit with me
Come sit with me friend for a spell
These damn tsetse flies are all out for our blood
By now we all know them quite well!
In African village we no got de fence
But when you share shade of my tree
I find even though conversation may lag
Still half flies bite you and not me.
Possessions I have really don’t matter much
You need what I have just please take
For most of the food that I need grows on trees
To own stuff just leads to heartache.
It’s true that I may never purchase a car,
I also have no place to go
And why should I want to spend money on gas?
Bananas are fruitful you know!
And why in the world would I want a TV,
You think I don’t know how to talk?
A box that is filled with bright colors and noise
Whose predators my wallet stalk?
Some people think God is the friend of the white,
But I know that’s simply not true!
A white skin is simply God’s mark upon Cain (2)
Explains why white souls are all blue.
Brian Johnston
November 20, 2014
Poet’s Note:
(1) Bwana is a Swahili word for Sir.
(2) When I was in college living in off-campus housing in the 1960's, the University of OK decided to interview the landlords of off-campus housing units to see if non-white students were being discriminated against in this market. I happen to be home when they interviewed my landlord. She basically refused to honestly answer the questions asked by the students conducting the interviews and then after they left confided in me that she found it hard to believe that anyone could doubt that a 'black skin' was the curse put on Cain's decedents after he murdered his brother Able. I was shocked into silence. Most of OU's fraternities and sororities banned blacks as well in those times.
How come Stephen,
When do you forget defence?
Why don't you hack death with your golden boot?
Do not disappoint me,
Do not let me down Keshi,
Your crown is medal-made;
Roam not with lilliputians
Whose blazer is calico
Whose utensil is mud
Whose bread is shaft and husk
Whose shelter is raffia...
But dwell among the giants
Who parade st. Joseph street in damask
And pop wine in holy Michael Crescent.
There you truly belong,
Flaunt your crown among Moses and Elijahs,
Flirt among Marys and Maras.
Be not a pebble in any ghost's catapult,
You are the Kilimanjaro, who can headbutt?
Be not a pebble in any ghost's catapult;
When the woodpecker pecks all,
Does it also peck banana tree?
Be not a pebble in any ghost's catapult,
You are the anvil, which termite can consume?
No, I will not meet you in dream,
I will not meet you in trance and vision;
Because you gave all you had,
Our tryst shall be Paradise.
Till then and for now big boss:
Head to head, chest to chest, hand to hand;
Knuckle, knuckle, knuckle.
Auf Wiedersehen !
I waited
Under the outspread foliage
Of the banana tree,
With ripening fruits dangling precariously,
Wondering,
With eyes set on the earth,
Wishing I understood
This everlasting madness.
To what end would man go,
To what end?
A mystery it remains,
Like the age old conundrum
Of the seniority between the hen and the egg,
Like the unfathomable depths of the bottomless pit...
Oh! Lamenting in unbridled grief,
Mother of all,
Seated on an ashen throne,
Wails poignantly,
While her children trade mighty fists,
Wetted by her tears,
Buoyed no less by her flashing darts
Of fierce reproof..
I, a mere bystander,
Watching, meditating, confused,
Lost, trying to understand what
Led to such fisticuffs
Between brothers who sucked on
The small obfuscated nipple
And rode the same burdened back..
Yes!
To what abysmal end?
What, hidden under the rigid crusts of the earth
Drives man to seek so zealously
To bury his fellow man
Six inches below
And shake his head
From side to side
Wearing rehearsed frowns,
Indifferent, obeying the laws
Of anarchy, and basking
In the prestige
Of ill advantage?
For in these matters,
Fasidically christened "the survival arts"
Men show sleight of hand,
Dexterity and mastery of the deleterious science
Of death...
And for his fellow, he is unapologetic..
Fallen, have you into the cesspool
And mucky wastes of nothingness,
You survived not,
And as such, were not fit to survive...
We, must hold our
Small heads in mad agony,
For shamelessly, we have
Trampled on the little men,
So dastardly disparaged
Till they shrunk,
Into tiny ants
Who suffer in silence
While the mammoths fight
For the trophy from Sheol..
I wondered....
Days passed,
Nights went by, sleep eluded me,
Nightmares sought out my deranged mind
And tormented me,
And I could not bear it any longer!
I searched the lengths and breadths of the earth
For answers, from men
wizened beyond my years,
But found them not...
I found only fools,
Tightly snuggled in their cosy territories
With mighty barricades
And tall barb-wired fences,
Throwing orgies...
For they had defeated themselves...
It was then, I slept...
This time, in the gentle
Stillness of the Caspian,
Wishing I was never born....
All poems were for you
I was waiting for true life
Pen recalled the last dew
Love was rainbow type
Lips composed the truths
You hugged all boo strife
Sparrow left all loathes
November rain was ready
For our sacred blue oath
Come, make rains and lee
Under banana tree we sip
The love filter forever free
Leave strife and past all grief
Love, unite soul, make deep
-October 23, 2018 Chattogram
Dear farm,
I write to tell of what life has become of me
Life in the city and this white collar job-
Has blotted from my memory
How to plant the seeds in your bed
And clear the beard of weeds that grow on your jaw.
The smell of the city
Has charmed me away from the smell of dung
And the bush air that fills my lung.
Now I adorn my self in suit and tie
Dropping the cutlass for pen and pie.
Dear farmland
I remember how once I shook your hand
And beneath that banana tree-
You showed me what it is to be free
How most times I'd cry
And rush to your recluse-when my pocket is dry.
When the sun go down
After being chased out of town,
And the crabs emerge from their holes
Heading towards the tin trap with onions has moles
We'd sit down waiting to take the prey home.
Now I know not what has become of you
Since granny's death and we've dispersed
Just to flourish in other trades-
Following the foot prints in the evening shade
I just want to show how grateful I am
For showing me the other side to life.
So here we are in the city
Getting fed in self pity.
Knowing not how to appease the ground
With seeds of libation-
To come to our aid with multiple germination.
A basket load of pepper now goes for thousands
When there on your chest we could get for free.
Sweet oranges we shared with the birds
In the city we hardly could afford.
What a mockery of ourselves
What a shame for being unable to feed oneself
May be someday I'll turn to your shelf
And pick from it books to feed this nation.
i become lost in these lazy days
the ones i have learned to allow
sitting here on the balcony
watching the frigates glide to Bolero
below a content ocean, empty beach
my attention was broken by a Tropical Queen
butterflies in pursuit of drams
vases rose, yellow, orange, purple
a squirrel scampers across the banana tree
below, kittens in ludic behavior
practicing top dog, the sun bears down
iguanas abandon the roof's pinnacles
for the trees and the shade therein
it is time for siesta, i am tired
this morning the children and i
were playing warfare in the yard
my cane magically transformed into a rifle
i am learning again
what i was once an expert in
a child amok in the fields of imagination
tomorrow i may take out the beach towels
and supermen will fly the patio
or stealth ninjas having hidden in the bamboo
till at last mother calls and it is time for siesta
and as does the wise old iguana
back we crawl to the nature of dozing
there was something i had to do
however, the myoclonic jerk has begun
lay down and drift away
even clark kent needs a respite
from the chores laden world
marbles
i forgot to buy marbles
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
and this begins my first year of sobriety....playing marbles in the streets, learning the basics of the language...
If I were a horticulturalist like Sam Van Aken
I would splice a banana tree with a strawberry tree.
Strawberries are not tree-grown?
Okay.
Then I would splice a banana tree with a peanut tree.
If I could find a butter cow from the Iowa State Fair
I would set it under this new bana-peanut-a tree
For there is nothing better than a peanut butter and banana
sandwich
And I eat butter on everything
I did not know that about peanuts.
I would splice a banana tree with a pistachio tree
over my butter cow.
SOL’S A SHINING
Sol’s a shining,
And dog is laying around,
For on this day
Winter has made her home in residence,
And bought another dimension to feeling
Adding to a wonderful time of year,
And I sit in contentment be
And bask in Sol’s feathered warmth;
And let the world around
Pass with noisy traffic abound,
And siren in background,
Clear sky rain surrendered
A notch in the gauge indicates the occurrence,
Garden dressed in freshness splendid,
A zephyr stirs the leave’s,
On boughs of trees parked within the garden here
And beyond the garden fence,
Jackass from beyond laughs, laughs, and laughs again
To me he is friend in background far,
Butterfly dressed in yellow hues
Flitters and flutters on upward drift,
As winter shadows dance and prance adorn the land,
Papaya tree burdened down with fruity treasure plenty,
Banana tree heavily pregnant hangs prodigiously to ground,
It’s this time of the year for reflection in the knowledge
That I have plenty of blessings that abound
And wrap their arms around,
That I have much not to take for granted:
And Sol’s a shining,
And dog is laying around.
Francis Cooper – Mac © 29-Jun-20
CRISIS
BY DR RANJIT DUTTA
A blanket of darkness everywhere!
Civilization, society, love ,
Faith and religion
All are on the threshold of crisis.
My heart revolts
And says something different
The mysterious journey of time spreads
An enigmatic essence of evolution.
The lizard on the wall,
Hoots of the owl on the banana tree,
The colourful giant sky
Aren’t they the witness of eternal time?
The soul, incarnation and re-birth
All are in crisis of thought.
Weeping civilization asks again and again
But never an answer anywhere
All are spellbound,
Tough responsibility on the
Shoulder innocent generation
Unknown countless time,
A new social panorama
Reddish songs of life,
Joyous poetical notes,
A colourful dreams of love.
With Indomitable spirit of revolution
It’s indeed a journey!
A mysterious journey of eternal time.
From the tree we both grow,
Pointed in different directions.
Banana tree, supple in the wind.
Perfect brown spots, silk yellow skin.
From the tree we both grow,
Inching closer, my lips intwined
In yours.
Green until ripe.
Although there are plenty,
It’s you I adore.
Poised in different directions.
How you’ve grown, thick in width.
The sun a smiling face that spreads
Warmth, the same warmth
I long to give.
Banana tree supple in the wind.
The bend of my body pointed towards
Yours.
Green until ripe.
Ripe with affection, ripe with purpose.
I can’t live without you, there is no
Substitute,
Involuntary to the dangers of being
Eaten.
Pointed in different directions,
Our taste thick, ripe in survival.
If someone plucks & eats one of us,
I hope that it’s me.
I can’t live without you.
Pointed in different directions.
I won’t see it, you won’t see it.
I can’t live without you,
It’s you that I adore
SURREAL ANS DAFT
On my way back to home at night,
descent crescent Moon descended,
glowing one foot above my head
and as a torch showed me light.
Banana tree standing stable at my gate
Suddenly started slapping spreading long leaf
Promptly entering house,I could get relief,
Door opened on its own to my surprise , great!
10/24/17
~
I just picked a grapefruit
off an old banana tree
It sliced it up like an orange
and I couldn’t wait to see
A watermelon pattern
seemed to be its outer skin
My mouth it started watering,
I needed to dig in
It tasted like a nectarine,
a lemon and a lime
Perhaps a little tinge of plum
to occupy my time
A sour cherry texture
with a granny apple core
Was hoping to find cantaloupe,
so I just ate some more
I noticed just a hint of pear,
some grapes without a seed,
I guess it was the perfect fruit
and all I’ll ever need
But one thing that was missing
and it made it all unreal
I looked for a banana
but there wasn’t one to peel
~