A tree often transplanted neither grows nor thrives.
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Love is like young rice: transplanted, still it grows.
A tree often transplanted is never loaded with fruit.
Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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Trust Of The Wicked, And The Righteous Compared
As parched in the barren sands
Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with'ring stands,
And only grows to die.
Such is the sinner's aweful case,
Who makes the world his trust;
And dares his confidence to place
In vanity and dust.
A secret curse destroys his root,
And dries his moisture up;
He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,
Then dies without a hope.
But happy he whose hopes depend
Upon the Lord alone;
The soul that trusts in such a friend,
Can ne'er be overthrown.
Though gourds should wither, cisterns break,
And creature-comforts die;
No change his solid hope can shake,
Or stop his sure supply.
So thrives and blooms the tree whose roots
By constant streams are fed;
Arrayed in green, and rich in fruits,
It rears its branching head.
It thrives, though rain should be denied,
And drought around prevail;
'Tis planted by a river's side
Whose waters cannot fail.
poem by John Newton
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Reservation For One
This is my tree, my tree, my tree,
My one lone tree, pear tree,
It grows, overflows, it grows it’s fruit,
Alone, only for me.
If I could go to a far-away place,
With just me and my tree, pear tree,
I’d pack my bags, my bags I’d pack,
I’d pick up my bags and flee.
There’s nothing at all, no nothing,
At all, that films me more with glee,
Than those globes, those globes,
Of precious fruit in my tree, pear tree.
I sit beneath, beneath I sit,
Its laden canopy, I polish it’s leafs then,
Set a table of fruits,
Of wine, and bread and brie.
This tree, my tree, could feed the world,
Find me a wife and camaraderie,
It’s powers, it’s powers are vast but I
Can’t pass on its secret sadly.
I’d tell the world, the world I’d tell,
If they weren’t all so hungry, you see.
But my fruit, my fruits, my laboured.
Fruits, I grew only for me, for me,
No none are as hungry as me.
poem by Suzanne Louise Bishop
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A Tree To Me
A Tree to Me
Once there was tree
It looks so strange to me
Wondering how it become a tree
A small sprout from a seed in my hand
Now, it's bigger than me.
Unfortunately, tree stood alone
Grows without heart and soul
No friend, no companion
But still stand strong
For you to help on
A tree is a friend to me
That set you free from calamity
From floods and erosion you are free
As you rest under the tree,
Think how lucky you are with a tree.
poem by Cristina Delos Santos
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For one country is different from another; its earth is different, as are its stones, wines, bread, meat, and everything that grows and thrives in a specific region.
quote by Paracelsus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proof positive 2011
Proof positive 2011
This tree is where no tree should be.
It clings to life precariously.
From whence it cam nobody knows.
All that we know is that it grows.
Although it’s stunted gnarled and bent.
It has survived that’s evident.
Perchance it’s where it should not be.
It does not matter to the tree.
This is the only place it knows
and so it very slowly grows.
Defying rules conceived by men
It forces them to think again.
Although the experts all agree.
It’s an impossibility
The tree discounts the experts view
A seed took root and simply grew.
That’s all seeds know how to do.
Its mere existence proves it’s true.
Tuesday,27 December 2011 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Beauty By The Tree
Beauty By The Tree
It is you beneath the tree…
A wonder of wonders to behold…
A queen of nature's perfection…
Ebony layers starting up a re-action…
Yet the tree shades you well…
My heart swells with anticipation…
What a beauty you are by far…
I am swallowed up by your beauty…
Nature maketh no mistakes…
You and a tree by the lake…
Both wonders of the same creator…
God…God's love for beauty…
As God paused while creating you…
Then added your wisdom…
My, my…what a woman you are…
And the tree just adds to your beauty…
As nature adds to the beauty of this land…
As the rain gives the tree life…
Your heart grows and grows…
You, you wonderful you…
Make you some day a wonderful wife…
Of man's pit falls and strife…
For you my granddaughter I pray …
That you be honored like the tree always…
A creation of creations…a woman of women…
Awe! …a word for you…and your beauty…
Granddad
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Team efforts
Every seed that comes off a tree
Does not grow to a tree.
The one that grows to a tree
Depends on various factors
That have come in its fevour.
Don’t boast your glory.
14.08.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Only Peace Thrives
Only peace thrives
Innocence sleeps
on the dreaming eye lids
of a toddling child
so nascent so fresh
as the drooling dews
on a quivering grass blade
as the first morning
of cool winter
smiles innocuously.
Only peace thrives
Innocence sleeps
no war no war-cry
only peace and peace thrives
a cow boy sings the song of joy
in a remote yet not far grass land
the innocence sleeps
nestling on the bed of roses
the frisky fragrance of love
the garland of motley hopes
touches his chin tenderly
he could see his God
the divine possibilities
with the dancing tune of nature
so close to his imbued heart
that is filled with
only joy and happiness.
Innocence sleeps
no war no war cry
and only peace thrives.
poem by Tarapada Mohapatra
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It is of the nature of idea to be communicated: written, spoken, done. The idea is like grass, It craves light, likes crowds, thrives on crossbreeding, grows better for being stepped on.
quote by Ursula K. Le Guin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An Do Tu
These past years, you have grown in knowledge
As a tree grows in sunshine.
You have reached out and made friends
The way a tree reaches out and plants roots,
And like a tree in spring
Your personality has blossomed.
May your future be as bright as the sun
And may success rain down upon you
(1984) Written for An on his graduation.
My Tree Of Life
Once a seedling
Well nourished and fed,
Now a giant elm
In my garden bed.
I've sheltered this tree
From wind and rain,
Watched it grow,
And kept it from pain.
This great big elm,
So important to my life,
Signifies my past;
It symbolizes my strife.
When I grow weary
Of dealing with my pain,
I turn to my tree
Realizing I have much to gain.
My tree has scars
And it's bark grows rough,
But day after day
It's just never enough.
You see at my tree
Life throws rain,
And at my tree,
Life throws pain.
It's these things though,
My tree needs to live.
For, it's these hardships
Life has to give.
So just like my tree,
I'll learn to move on.
I'll soak up the storms
Until I'm gone.
poem by Candika Niada
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A Family Is Like A Tree
A tree is like a family it starts
out very small but it soon begins
to grow and the family too also
grows.
The tree starts out with small branches.
A family ita a child.
as the years go by they have all
grown together.
Soon the tree has been generated with
new branches and too the family expands
not with branches, but generations.
.Their both so much a like in so many
ways., if nurtured and taken care of
they both will grow straight. and tall.
And generate many new branch
and many more generations too
come as the tree grows old
some branches will die and fall off.
When the generations of a family
get old they too will die off.
But both will leave something of
themselves behind.
.
To live on for many generations of
life and many generations of branches..
GAYLE GOFF
2008
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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If the young palm tree wants to stay alive, it grows next to the odum tree.
Banyan Tree
Earth needs seed,
Seeds need mud
Thought needs eyes to behold
Out of conceived thoughts
An artist sprouts
A plant grows and grows
Becomes the Banyan Tree
No care is needed than//
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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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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