House Tree Poems | Examples
These House Tree poems are examples of Tree poems about House. These are the best examples of Tree House poems written by international poets.
The tree tired leaned
Against the old house
A ladder leaning
Against the massive
Tree front of the house
The ladder looked small
The tree branches dead
All the leaves were gone
It was an old tree
The tree tired
It could not stand tall
So it leaned on the house
It was ready to fall
All the tree needed
Was a guest of wind
To fall to the ground
woods above my house
surround beautiful grown tree
a great place for shade
as i sit and write
tree listens to my thoughts
and shakes in delight
my girlfriend is miffed with her neighbors
Their tree limb is one eighty of an inch over her fence
I know her; she will spend the evening chopping up their tree
She is totally persnickety about her yard
not happy with them anyway
one of them asked her if her front yard was her yard or their yard
you mean the yard between your house and the street? I asked
I could not believe it when she nodded her head
hat blew off
tree limb fell
cold old house
Christmas tree seasons symbol
Life of the party.
New year,dumped in a skip
If you’ll be stranded in a place with only me around
I’ll bring you in my arms safely, comfortably and sound,
I’ll feed you young white spongy-like sprouts and fruits
Provide your clothes from my trunk’s skin, flowers and leaves,
honing your creativity in a flying trapeze of joy or parachutes!
I’ll heal your ailments, I’ve good featured medicines
I’ll give everything I have, treating you my king or queen,
You’ll build your exquisite house and complete furniture
with enough utensils, decors, working and cleaning tools.
You’ll be a great survivor in my embrace ‘til the future!
I AM A TEXAS COTTONWOOD TREE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An old but wise Texas Cottonwood am I,
with twisted bark, I'm rooted where Trinity River runs by.
Arid winds whisper through my leaves and bone-white branches—
constantly rattling, like a rattlesnake poised to strike.
As dusk falls, coyotes gather under my shadow,
their shrill cries joining the prairie and the starry Texas skies.
I watch over hawk nests, house cicada songs, and
carry memories of Comanche campfires long since gone.
I am a sentinel grand, standing where lightning split my brother,
rooted in history and the scorching Texas sun.
my castle is twenty-six foot high in the top of two cottonwood trees
My daddy made it for me, he called it a tree house, but it is my fort.
My refuge, my camouflage, my hearth, my home.
I can sit here all day with a pillow, a swig of water and seven books.
I would make it eleven books, but the library is chintzy.
They will only allow me to check out seven a day.
My castle is where I go when I want to remember the best days of my childhood.
Summer days, when I could do what I wanted when I wanted.
though it has been fifty years, I can hear neighbor’s voices, and I smile.
Remembering their conversations, their arguments, their personalities.
I will never have a castle any better than this.
blue pines sparkle
under snowy gray sky
on top of voluptuous hills
the evergreen in Winter -
their slant suggests skiers,
and worshippers
around a bonfire - the red house.
the main house in uplift
on the port hill
with conifer’s oceanic tint
xanthous-blue streaks
calming round moon
forest points to the stars
and the fluffy, wet snow, gently falling
Honeysuckle trees have grown all over my yard
What can I do with this? Being a bard….
I counted the ones that are the easiest to see
They came into our house and commandeered our TV
Now a gang, they have a mascot and are wearing colors
We are just the start one told me. There are many others.
They demanded I make them a breakfast buffet.
My husband asked me “when are they going away?”
My writing muse tells me next to nothing, so I could not reply.
I am hoping these trees get tired of TV by and by.
They are watching Matlock now, as I fix them lunch.
Make it salty, a honeysuckle said to me, and make it crunch.
I read her old letters from time to time
Hoping one day she may still write
Pretending she's still just miles away
I'll send my letters out anyway
As I read the words I still hear her voice
In these passing moments my eyes get moist
All these times she talks about I remember well
Will you be gone very long? Why must you go at all?
I keep my thoughts, my memories
And share them with my family
All of us at your house on Christmas Eve
Say Mr. Postman do you have a letter in there for me?
I still feel her presence by the Christmas Tree
Down a winding road
At the very end
Is a tiny house standing
Near a forest pass
Its a tiny house
With two trees standing
In front of windows
They are very tall
No lights seen inside
The trees blocks the light
This house is abandon
No one lives there now
orange tree guarded the woman’s fantasies daily
She visited him often with her pony dog Bailey
sometimes they would drag along a yellow duck
He had a hoarse weird bark, that was no cluck.
The woman sat under orange tree and plotted fine.
Sometimes she wrote a page, other times a line.
Her giant yellow cat would play beside her with his mouse.
The rodent was purple, and lived inside their house.
Orange tree felt respected by these five.
They liked to frolic, play, joke, and dive.
under his shade, which made him feel special indeed.
He was grateful to the woman, for planting his seed.
an old apple tree
where a house stands abandoned . . .
limbs with empty nests
hanging from the tree -
a child’s swing from long ago
swaying in fall’s breeze
scattered on the ground
round the trunk of the old tree . . .
red, ripened apples
I had to tell all of my friends
We ran over to look, and we were in awe
Someone had beat me in making a tire tree
It had been my dream
Now here it was, all done up,
Someone else had the same dream
The difference is, they probably did not live at home
where my parents nixed the idea of me bringing home a bunch of tires
they thwarted my artistic efforts
you could make a cotton ball tree, my friend suggested
Has she met my mother?
Our house looks like Best Homes and Garden magazine
Like no one has ever coughed or farted in it.
My mother never let me have paints.