Best Branch Out Poems
The Mother Tree
I am the mother tree that spawned the seeds of you.
My children, you've grown and branched away from me.
You've married, left home to start your life anew.
Where e'er you go remember you're my family.
My roots run very deep into the earthly soil.
My centered rings are many, you may not yet view.
They show the story of my years of work and toil
And of growth and wisdom I've tried to share with you.
As you branch out, your little seedlings too will grow.
You'll try to keep them safe under your canopy.
One day when they grow up and leave, you too will know
The painful pangs of missing branches on your tree.
As they return for advice from their mother tree
Remind them to honor God with humility.
6-13-20
~First Place~ Poem of the Day June 15, 2020~
Non Human Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Love,
our most
precious gift,
helps our world turn
with stronger heartbeats.
Reach out to help dear friends;
stretch arms to embrace loved ones.
Greet strangers with that happy smile;
branch out to spend time with the lonesome.
Our love...the strength that turns the world around.
Our love...the strength that turns the world around.
But earth's heart and soul need our love too.
Planet earth maintains nature's rules:
must spend her gifts cautiously,
safeguard her atmosphere,
save cherished water.
She requires care
to move on.
Grant her
Love.
Painting You
Before painting, I first sketch you
In my mind’s eye…To compose
The lines, shapes, shadows and lights,
That work altogether to form a semblant sight
Of you for any relative, friend or acquaintance…
Next, I embrace the required courage
To face the blank canvas; to dip my brush
In sublime tones for my wild orchid wishes,
Wanting to stroke across the heavens
For reflecting starlights bright,
Which I’ll situate to split the darker places
Where the inks bleed and branch out
Around you, smudging your purest colors…
That I endeavor to recover
When illness tries to smother
You with a viridescent blanket for on-going days;
Cloaking the glance of your azure blue eyes;
Pulling gray and white from your skull
To streak through your forest brown hair;
Rushing flag red moments to your cheeks
When you growl, “No. Don’t—“ when I
Try any way to help you through the fevers
That hang dredged plum-violet clouds over
The sofa — away — where you stay sleeping…
While I sit crimson awake worrying,
Watching you breathe…And asking
Through faith’s golden prayers for your healing;
For our holy Lord to send some ministering angels
— With their glistening opaline feathered wings;
Who side by side, place hands on you ~ veiling
My first view of prayers’ answers coming true;
Lifting me to a bloom of rosebud gratitude.
I paint you never far.
I paint your ocean blue eyes opening.
I paint you always beside me in a sandcastle brown.
I dapple the air over us an effervescent pink.
I paint your prism presence close.
I paint your mid-night’s Arora Borealis dancing hues.
Our love is a stippled, rolling color wheel
Of our linked diamond destinies: journeying
Together on amber roads under sapphire skies.
—————————————————
(c) sally young eslingwe 10/17-18/2023
Glory to God…
A snow-splattered,
cheerful red house.
Pine, sparkling white.
A snowman gladly,
proud and robust,
wears red-trimmed black hat,
a long green plaid scarf.
Buttons almost popping
off his pronounced belly.
His arms branch out
as if they are long fingers,
and there rests
a Christmas red cardinal.
Wind-pinched, freckle-faced kid
sweeps in, holding a sled -
done for the day. He’s ready
to make cookies,
just as mom promised.
The inside is warm.
The kid takes off his boots,
gloves, jacket, but not
his smile. Mom kisses
his cold-wet cheek.
He is glad for the warmth.
His pig-tailed sister is waiting
at the table, rolling the dough -
the little bit mama gave her.
They giggle - they will save
a couple cookies for dad,
and a tall glass of milk.
They cut shapes -
trees, sleds, angels
and use leftover dough
for kolaches filled with jelly.
Mom lets the kids
eat them warm from the oven,
but the cookies
must cool and wait
to be buttercream frosted.
Dad will get his cookies
and milk. Bright eyes
watch him. The cardinal
is now perched
on the snowman’s hat.
The snowman
hasn’t moved.
Days go by. The snowman
loses his pouch, buttons
popping off, his carrot nose
on the ground, branches askew.
The bird flew away
a long time ago
and the kids are back
in school.
I am located in a park, where I am contemplating adjacent trees.
One tree in particular has caught my attention.
With each thought I feel ever more at one with this tree.
How can I contemplate trees without becoming one?
Just think what happened to Narcissus, who turned into a daffodil.
Or the nymph Daphne, who became a laurel tree.
What's so bad about being a tree anyway?
Is not it a good thing to put down roots?
But what about the loss of mobility that would follow?
Trees have carefree lives, though.
No taxes, rushing to work, paying bills.
On the other hand in my present state
I need not worry about woodworm, acid rain, being pruned,
woodpeckers or serving the needs of leg-lifting dogs.
And family affairs? Hmm.. Do I want my kids to be nuts?
It's all very well to branch out - in metaphoric terms, that is.
Oh, that board meeting! It’s time to go.
Hey, my limbs are stiff.
I can’t move my trunk. My fingers are green.
Silly thought, no one turns into a tree these days!
Aaaaahhhhh!
Swish, swish. Rustle rustle..
Keep the seed going
In the cloud of unknowing
The roots branch out – the plant has grown
Watered by the cloud are the seeds that were sown
The Willie Wagtail punches above its weight
To repel a raven or crow, it will not hesitate
Oh, little bird with such plucky a heart
Turning harassment and evasion into such a fine art
My friend the Rosella with colours so bold
Created by that master painter of old
Be free to wander and screech and sing
May your voice in the forest for an eternity ring
Oh, if I could be a bird and fly
Perhaps I will on the day that I die
To take my place in that eternal nest
And have myself a well-earned rest.
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;
Born well-grounded.
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.
08/23/15
CORRUPTION
As the tree branch its hands to collect wind
So do men branch out their hand to offer and collect my willingly.
Sweetness, and bitterness of life are my darkness works
Those who eat from me are those singing the song- let’s stop corruption.
Who can say, am the cause of drought in all nations?
Everywhere, echoes of your senseless possessions, crimpled the lands
Look inside you, you will see corruption seed happily growing.
Colour of skins, no longer fear but trend on my path.
Some kill to magnified me; some are roped into my wide name.
The mouth of the corrupted wants me stop for better life
Better life they never intended for any living souls
I am everywhere: in the church, in the mosques, in the families, in the schools;
Even in the bedroom of individual. I am there.
As the nose stood on the face, so do I; in your mind
What you do not need; you do have them.
You give birth to me daily in your blood and tongue
Your eyes sees me and glued to me.
To end me, is to end all humanities; all have corrupted.
Who can says am not part of him or her?
The only truth in your mouth is me.
I am the bedrock of distinct colour’s economy
I made them rich and kept others borrowers.
I made some rich, I made some rotten in jail, while some are permanently poor.
Famine, marginalisation, mass death; strengthen my existence and co-existence.
I walk through dispensations till date.
Those who enjoyed me pervert the course of justice and fairness
Oh, thou that eat from my table, why do thou want me sentence?
Has thou considered: your husband, wife, children and friends who I fed fat?
I have come to stay in this world since man never think to stop wanting more;
You called me corruption, but I called you my seed.
I am god to the rich and enemy to the poor.
If I smile to your faces or hands , no one can resist and flee
I gummed your eyes and palms as the fluid in the bone.
I am due for legalisation and honour
honour me as you do for those I made.
Having headaches daily on how to end me
never stop me from living in the heart of men.
I need recognition; sign ne into law worldwide.
by Pastor Omojevewe Emmanuel
Wrinkles caress her face.
A child emerges from within.
Smile straight from her heart.
Advice given from wisdom.
Enjoy your life when you are young.
Never just sit around doing nothing.
Someday you will be old like me.
Wanting to branch out, seeing the world.
I never went to far from home.
Never got to experience life.
I gave it up made some sacrifices.
Felt smothered with great remorse.
Had to work two jobs.
Never got to see the joy.
Took care of an ailing man.
Kids drove me crazy with wants.
Now I am alone and old.
I can barely walk.
But in these last few months,
I find even now, I can have fun.
A trip to the zoo with my grandson.
The first in over thirty years.
Antique mall shopping,
with my newest friend.
Now I can have luncheons out.
I have a favorite spot.
Now on my Senior discount.
It does not cost much at all.
I can sleep as long as I want.
Do not have to wake at a certain time.
I only have me to answer too.
No more do I have to live the grind.
So with all that I am, I do hope.
My children will see before it is too late.
Get out and experience what life has to offer.
Because someday you will be like me.
Once, long distant calls would cost
You, your friends and family so many voices
had to wait, anticipate the budget and the worth
of words said out loud to ride rapid electric lines.
Still sentiments of love freely fly on telepathic planes
while prose and poetry remain yours truly.
When present face to face do you speak truly?
Conversations branch out, chip, splinter into stories, that's the cost.
Fish stretch past arms' length and record breaking climbs pass clouds and planes.
Tell me again how it all began, how many voices
sang out from heaven: Forgiveness for sale! Limited supply, form lines.
Greedy practice, selling soul's salvation, who figures out what it's worth?
Fear can make us pay the selfish who decide our worth.
Are our souls and spirits make-believe, a magician's trick or God's, truly?
Conversations of belief from heart or scripted lines
brainwashed or sincerely swayed, choice has a cost---
Cross your fingers, chant the scriptures, sing with all your voices
until it's real or a lie you can live with, insured for your departure in heaven's plane.
If a soldier's plane crashes, angelic eagles soar, swoop like planes,
nose dive to every soldier because lives are worth
remembering. Telephones shoot words-- bam, bam, bam, fire voices
on ears that bleed worst fears, shattering those who love them truly.
Nothing will ever be sweet or innocent again, this is an impossible cost.
War kills conversations, steals final farewell lines.
Songs please draw forgiving lines,
to rise over hatred in unarmed planes
for a bird's eye perspective to consider the cost
of love lost in doubt, its worth.
Love lights up any sort of soul, truly.
It's power hurls bolts through nerves that revive the mystic voices...
Devils, misfits, do-gooders, cherubs and chumps-- let's hear all your voices!
Call out to love, it won't resist, will cross any line
to save who is good or bad-- it desires everyone, truly
Here comes the light, hear comes our flight, listen for the plane
Remember it's insane to worry about your worth,
to be, to be, is miracle enough, we can't comprehend the cost.
Solo fly or get in line formation with you plane
Lift off, blast past hatred to reach Love's treasure of unimaginable worth.
Truly precious, so protect it, Love in all your actions no matter what the cost
desire to branch out
hoping for leaves to caress
lightning interrupts
For Delilah Ventura’s “I Am a Tree Contest”.
Water, in a protein sense,
salt and other substances,
make up plasma, which, in kind,
account for half of blood's design.
A mammal's blood is red and bright,
-from oxygen, when mixed inside.
Because of an iron-filled kind of protein,
Hemoglobin, it's red and glowing.
Red and white cells fill the half,
oxygen rides in small red rafts.
Compared to white, the reds are many,
born from marrow, good and plenty.
Blood supplies glucose and acids,
while carbon dioxide wastes are banished.
Coagulation is the body's repair,
as hormones message when damage is there.
It regulates the body heat,
hydro-mechanics, just like a machine.
Blood makes 7% of your weight,
red cells live 120 days.
The white cells clot the blood on site,
they help by killing parasites.
White cells come in different types,
some kill bacteria, and fungi,
allergic reactions, virus cells,
tumors, pathogens as well.
If only we could go within,
to see a white cell's origin.
We could show our gratitude,
for those that keep us strong like new.
Our health is their only mission,
their ranks are in the immune system.
The heart drives blood throughout the body,
from the ventricles, to the arteries.
-Back to the heart and through the veins,
ventricle, artery, lungs, you could say,
the blood travels far, and this would be truth,
it takes 30 seconds to complete it's route.
Oxygen brought in must be spread around,
While carbon dioxide is what's carried out.
The vein is a valve containing the waste,
which is pushed with help from muscles in legs.
Arteries branch out as smaller roads called,
Capillaries, just one cell thick is their wall.
The blood must be slowed to allow the breakdown,
of substances, nutrients, eat up the chow!
Blood is classified in 200 groups,
you inherit whichever your parents gave you.
The most common kinds are "A" "B" and "O",
Some have "A" or "B", and some people have both.
It's important to know, should you need more blood,
a bad combination will make it clot up.
Blood brings to life almost every creature,
-we could not be without, those...5...liters.
My family roots ain’t long
how could they ever be
They cut off bits each day
we’re now the minority
Wish they’d leave us alone
set my kindred free
Back to our glory days
when life meant liberty
Don’t want this microcosm
stunted growth of misery
Please let us branch out
Stop this inequality
We wish to caress the sky
regain full gravity
So much for ethnic groups
who’d be a bonsai tree
If only my wish would come true
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
06/16/22
You are the pride of a nation
revealing the beauty of it's people
you reflect a nation's heart, mind, and soul
more brilliantly than pavo cristatus...
With grace and agility
you embody the power of your people
youthful energy unyielding strength
rivaled only by panthera tigris...
You are the nelumbo nucifera gaertn
the sacred flower of your people
keeper of art, music, mythology
guardian of it culture...
Your thoughts branch out into words
like the branches of the ficus bengalensis
which re-root themselves into fertile soil
those words take root in the hearts of your people
and become immortal...
You are more than the pride of a nation
Mundaka Upanishad scripture said
satyameva jayate
you are proof that truth alone triumphs...
O mother, who was so beautiful, yet, troubled with everything
that may affect on the son’s well being; and therefore, grew old.
O mother, who was so elegant, yet, was so concerned about her son;
she always worried and was thinking what if the son wet from
the spring mist, or what if the son falls on the flowerbed;
and therefore, grew senile.
O mother, such a great and virtuous, is well stricken by the years of moons, winds, stars, and clouds, and now, clumsily clinging on the trunk of a big tree, the grown son who stands tall with the root taken deeply in the ground, as a withered thin branch.
When a rain poured violently, the mother who never had a day
of peace thinking of her son, became an umbrella over my head.
When a blizzard raged, the mother who never had a day of serenity
worrying over her son, became a blanket over my body.
Although the umbrella was old, beaten, and spokes were broken,
a drop of rain was unable to wet me. Although the blanket was the rags
sewed here and patched there, the blizzard was unable to take my body heat away.
To give a life to the son, I know the mother,
you underwent the excruciating labor pain,
the pain that is more painful than the chopping yourself with an ax.
To bring up the child as a decent man, I know the mother,
you underwent the trouble after troubles of trials caused by
your mischievous son.
You were the woman of great heart and sagacity,
you, therefore, were able to accept all circumstances with equanimity,
good and ill, joys and sorrows, honors and dishonors;
you offered your life and all to your son with love,
understanding, and patience.
O mother, though you knew it was useless,
you stretched the withered thin branch out in air
to shut out a wild wind that was shaking the tree from the trunk.
O mother, though you knew that the wind was
beyond your strength to hold, but you did anyway,
because you loved your son so much; and as a consequence,
you were violently blown out from the trunk to fall on the ground.
Dear mother, you are, from the tomb where you are lying
as a little stone pillow on the grass,
recalling the memories of happy and joyful moments
while looking at your son proudly; recalling the memories
of tired and sorrowful moments while looking at your son worriedly.