A palm tree climber is not expected to tell everything he sees from up above.
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Man Is The Climber
Who is possessive-
The tree or the climber?
It must be the climber
who only clings to it.
Who is the climber-
The wife or the husband?
It must be the husband
Who only kills the paramour
And vindicates his possessiveness.
06.09.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little palm tree, stop crying, you child is the tall palm tree.
Don't quarrel with the coconut-palm climber: the coconut has been eaten by the moon.
A tree climber begins from the bottom not the top.
A palm wine taper does not stop tapping palm wine because he once fell from the top of a palm wine tree.
When you see a palm tree, the palm tree has seen you.
When you drink milk under the palm tree, people will say that it is palm wine.
As a child I was the best tree climber in our neighbourhood, I was like a little monkey. I've never been afraid of hurting myself or a little physical discomfort.
quote by Rachel Weisz
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It is only one bad palm tree that spoils the whole lot of palm wine.
Under Our Tree
Like fine diamonds, the stars could shine
The evening breeze blowing so fair,
From the dark end I could see none,
And from the light end I could see you come,
The leaves will wither with honour,
Witnessing the arrival of the expected,
Under our tree was a house of love
Midnight approaches for two almost lovers,
Under our tree were moments of glee,
The romantic experiences we saw,
Under our tree was a fairtytale
The sentimental touch,
Under our tree was a moment of relaxation,
The sensetional periodic hugs,
Under that tree was a paradise,
Sitting there, sitting with you
Looking there, looking at stars,
Touching there, touching you legs,
Under our tree was a lost story
It was always you and me there,
The world see but it could never know,
Such our place was so nice to be,
Like proving something to someone,
Someone who is expecting nothing,
In pain and in joy, it remains our tree,
And for what the future has for us,
So shall we always look back at the tree,
And so shall we know where it started,
Under our tree was friendship,
Under our tree was more and more,
Under this tree shall be even more
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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You don't have to climb the palm wine tree to drink palm wine.
Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose
A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.
The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.
The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.
Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!
poem by John Celes
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If the young palm tree wants to stay alive, it grows next to the odum tree.
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
quote by William Blake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Change the world with turning the palm
Change the world with turning the palm
Turning upside
Turning downside
Changing the world is not as hard as you think
Turning outside
Turning inside
Changing the world could be as easy as turning palm
Palm is opened
Palm is closed
Clap! Clap! Clap! The astonishing sound heard
Palm is hailed
Palm is hugged
When all people do it together
Yes, we can make a different
Change the world with turning the palm
Hide away smile
Erase away tears
Changing the world with a slight change of mind
The fate is cast
The fate unknown
Changing the world by turning others opinion
Palm is embracing
Palm is praying
Crack! Crack! Crack! A flicker of hope seen
Palm is waved
Palm is offered
When all people do it sincerely
Yes, we can change the world
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Moment
She walks through the rain, the pain locked behind her cold eyes
She sees the lights of the houses, those Christmas lights,
She sees her home, no lights, no tree, it is dark and still
The rain falls on her long white hair, her white gown flowing tears stream from her eyes
They are silver and full of sorrow and pain they splash against the wet street
And shine like silver perils against the black cold surface.
A car passes and for a moment she thinks the driver saw her, in her gown
For a moment she thought she was alive
Just for a moment
She sees the road stretch before her, she sees the lights that line each house
It is Christmas eave her mother and father are at church for their first Christmas sermon without her there, her eyes fill with more tears and more perils fall to the road
A bird flew above her, a dove
Her mothers favorite bird is a dove, she always says look to the dove for answers
The girl never understood her mothers words, now she knows
For a moment she smiles
For a moment she feels no pain
Just for a moment
She lifted her hands to the Dove
“Take me with you” she pleads into the sky, into the falling rain
The dove fly’s around her and grasps a small twig in his beak
The twig falls into her outstretched arms and she grasps it
She looks at her palm of her hand and sees the holly
The berries shine red, she knows what it means.
For a moment she sees the light stream from the Dove
For a moment she knew to follow
Just for a moment
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Which mother is right?
‘Seek someone, cling to him,
Lean on him, rely on him
And be prepared to die with him, ’
A climber taught its seedlings.
‘Repel the next, stand alone,
Spread wings, rely on self,
And be prepared to brave the storm, ’
A tree taught its saplings.
Which mother is right?
31.08.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My World
How can world be so small?
Not to respond to the sincere call
What can we do as children?
I have searched the answer but not found even
We read disturbing news
Come across elderly views
But concern aired by only few
Who knows in real what is really due?
We, as female child, are not preferred
Nice treatment is still not offered
Many countries still prefer ill treatment
One of the darkest periods to resent
Whole of the world sees in us
A bright future to dream about and trust
What are expected to do in days to come?
Watch it keenly and in fact to welcome
We and doves are real carriers
Even though we may find barriers
We may not fare well and it may happen too
But some realization has to come true
World is living on thin line
Everything it comes across is threatening mines
Yet no one thinks it may explode
As life and peace is precious to implode
World sees in us the innocence and promises
We are still not sure with so many misses
Yet we may offer olive branch of an oak tree
Let everybody feel it amidst tension very much free
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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When I was only three I planted a tree
When I was three I planted a tree. This was my tree and together we would always be. I gave it love and it to me, and so we were happy, me and my tree.
Then one day they came to see me and my tree. Men with no faces, and they said to me, you must go, and leave this tree.
Buy why I ask. For we've done no harm. Me and my tree, please let us be.
So they left us alone, me and my tree, but only for a while but I could not see.
Then one day they came and took me away. My tree was needed to save the day. Goods it will make it makes perfect sense. So we will take this tree, for wood we need. And so it was done, they took my tree.
And now I look around, my tree I no longer see. Taken from, this tree I planted when I was three.
poem by Brad Milner
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The Palm-Tree
Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm?
Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm?
A ship whose keel is of palm beneath,
Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath,
And a rudder of palm it steereth with.
Branches of palm are its spars and rails,
Fibres of palm are its woven sails,
And the rope is of palm that idly trails!
What does the good ship bear so well?
The cocoa-nut with its stony shell,
And the milky sap of its inner cell.
What are its jars, so smooth and fine,
But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine,
And the cabbage that ripens under the Line?
Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm?
The master, whose cunning and skill could charm
Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm.
In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft,
From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed,
And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft!
His dress is woven of palmy strands,
And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands,
Traced with the Prophet's wise commands!
The turban folded about his head
Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid,
And the fan that cools him of palm was made.
Of threads of palm was the carpet spun
Whereon he kneels when the day is done,
And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one!
To him the palm is a gift divine,
Wherein all uses of man combine,--
House, and raiment, and food, and wine!
And, in the hour of his great release,
His need of the palm shall only cease
With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace.
'Allah il Allah!' he sings his psalm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm;
'Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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