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Not until the tree is felled can you see how tall it was.
7/11 Mumbai
in the deep recess
far away from the light
lives a neanderthral.
a giant in size,
mind firmly lent
to the nether of ideas
and morals,
the neanderthral
was
but human in shape.
the neanderthral
got envious of a tiny
tree,
'lop it i must',
he said to himself.
tree and i cannot
stay together.
so decided
he took an oversized
sword,
aimed at the tree
and cut it into two.
but
of
the smart tree,
the felled part raised itself
and
the same tree stood again.
surprised,
but
angrier
the neanderthral
second time
dealt a mightier swipe.
again
cut but again
re-joined,
the giant was confused,
dismayed.
twice
repeated the murder,
up
again rose the tree,
livelier, more vibrant
and
challenging the ogre
for another swoop.
disheartened,
but
nevertheless
wising
upto the situation
the giant
conceding defeat
named the tree
Mumbai.
the city that refuses
to call it quits.
poem by Samyak Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tree of Liberty
WE’LL PLANT a Tree of Liberty
In the centre of the land,
And round it ranged as guardians be,
A vowed and trusty band;
And sages bold and mighty soul’d
Shall dress it day by day:
But woe unto the traitor who
Would break one branch away.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty
For the vow that we have made;
May it so flourish that when we
Are buried in its shade,
Fair Womanhood and Love and Good,
All pilgrims pure shall go
Its growth to bless for happiness—
O may it flourish so!
Till felled by gold as bards have told,
In the Old World once it grew,
But there its fruits were ever sold
And only to the Few:
But here at last, uncurs’d by caste,
Each man at Nature’s call
Shall pluck as well what none may sell,
The fruit that blooms for All.
By gold ’twas felled as bards have held
In the Old World where it grew,
But here the power that there dispelled
Its life shall be its dew:
The evil bout of Time is out,
And gold no more a thrall,
Shall here but build for Truth and gild
The fruit that blooms for All.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty,
And the men who shall defend
Its glorious future righteously
For this all-glorious end—
That happiness all men to bless
Out with its growth may grow—
Our Southern Tree of Liberty
Shall flourish even so!
poem by Charles Harpur
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Binsey Poplars
(Felled 1879)
My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That swam or sank
On meadow and river and wind-wandering
weed-winding bank.
O if we but knew what we do
When we delve or hew-
Hack and rack the growing green!
Since country is so tender
To touch, her being so slender,
That, like this sleek and seeing ball
But a prick will made no eye at all,
Where we, even where we mean
To mend her we end her,
When we hew or delve:
After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve
Strokes of havoc unselve
The sweet especial scene,
Rural scene, a rural scene,
Sweet especial rural scene.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Self Portrait
The willow tree stands alone.
It grows alone, relying only on the Sun and the Rain.
This willow tree offers shade.
It only shades during the day, casting a monster
of a shadow in the mornings and evenings,
its size shrinking in between. Its shadow
is solid in some places, but has empty
places of sunlight dotting the ground beneath
it, allowing room for purity among the darkness.
This willow tree is immune to the Wind.
It bends whichever way it needs to survive,
sacrificing its tiny leaves to be carried away.
This willow tree is a home.
Small birds build nests on its branches,
laying eggs that will bring new Life to the World.
The nest is supported. Some things of little
weight can be supported, but anything that drags
the branches too close to the ground
will be dropped so the tree can be saved.
This willow tree is weak.
As it grows, its branches come closer and closer
to the ground, for it cannot support the weight
of itself anymore. It cannot help its own soul.
With one swing of an ax, the tree will be felled.
It will be finished, left there to be eaten
and burrowed in and rotted away by the Earth.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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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 Strange Tree
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
And this strange tree could not agree,
That if this tree could ever see,
A stranger tree it sure would be.
There’s a strange tree which topples me,
For this strange tree was tall, you see,
And then this tree would use its knee,
To break in three, the clouds who flee.
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
The northern tree, its branches free,
The southern tree, no limb to see,
For this strange tree, was strange, you see?
There’s a strange tree which I can see,
And this strange tree (against my plea)
Was sent to sea, its roots now free,
And now this tree… A ship is he.
End.
The Wetness....
when the shells are spent,
and the bodies lay quiet.
when the ravens full,
lumber in stillness.
when the spider's web is full,
the felled tree rotted.
when ants stagger in drunken delirium.
when the cat's claw is broken,
the window painted over.
and the name of the logs
forgotten by fire...
all that's left, all that remains,
the trail and the scent of the wetness
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tree please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
Please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
I hope you smile at me
Oh tree, oh tree
I will try to save you
Oh tree, oh tree
Become my friend because I am all alone here
poem by Lovely Girl
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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Stroke One
Head throbbing
Heart pumping
Neck stiffens hard
Cannot move forward
Vision now doubles
Hearing inaudible
Everything's white
Something wrong with sight
What can be done
When it's Stroke One...
Beep beep the monitor
Out goes the doctor
'She will survive'
(I'm still alive!)
Bless this good child
The stroke was mild
Of symptoms, none
Sneaky Stroke One
So if I misspell
It's my eyes, they aren't well.
(How are the two of you?)
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Stroke Of Death
Do not fear the stroke of death.
Because afterwards, that’s it, there’s nothing.
You will be gone so quickly,
You wont even know what happened.
So don’t fear the inevitable stroke of death,
It will happen to all of us.
We have to understand it, acknowledge it,
But never fear it.
Never fear the stroke of death,
You will go mad just thinking about it.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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The leaf in the wind
The leaf in the wind
Missed the tree
The tree it was in
That made it be
It fell to the porch
A child held it
And gave it a stroke
Then gently left it
The wind came again
And took it to the sky
Then the sky rained
And it fell to lie
The things on the ground
Kept pushing it away
The wind had an angry sound
It wanted it in its way
So the wind blew
And picked up the leaf
And held it through
Earth’s grief and relief
No tree would claim
The young leaf left
Touched by time
Time itself had left
poem by Ragy Sandid
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The Flea
Under a magnifying glass I observed an extraordinary flea,
it was dressed as a lumberjack, chopping down a tree.
It got into a rhythm and many trees were felled with its axe,
at dusk it’s day was over, and made it’s way down the track.
I followed it through the forest with my magnifying glass,
it came to a cottage, got out the mower and cut the grass.
When it had finished it went inside and turned on the light,
at ten the light went out and someone said, “Goodnight.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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Paradise Seed
Where is the seed
Of the tree felled,
Of the forest burned,
Or living root
Under ash and cinders?
From woven bud
What last leaf strives
Into life, last
Shrivelled flower?
Is fruit of our harvest,
Our long labour
Dust to the core?
To what far, fair land
Borne on the wind
What winged seed
Or spark of fire
From holocaust
To kindle a star?
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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