Related quotes
Sea-Saw (more writing fun)
If I saw a wood boat afloat
Upon the sea,
Would what I see possibly be
The wood I cut from a tree?
For when I saw a tree
I would like to think I see,
What the wood I saw
Could be.
If all I saw in wood from a tree
Was all I saw that there was to see,
Would what I did saw
Be the wood that I now see?
And if the wood I once did saw
Was indeed made into that ship on the sea,
Would it even be possible to know that here what I see
Is the wood once sawed by me?
All I here would dare to share is:
I see what I saw, and I saw what I see,
And therefore the wood I do saw could one day be
The boat I may see, afloat upon the sea.
See?
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Playmates
It's sixty years ago, the people say:
Two village children, neighbours born and bred,
One morning played beneath a rotten tree
That came down crash and caught them as they fled;
And one was killed and one was left unhurt
Except for certain fancies in his head.
And though it's all so very long ago
He's never left the wood a single day;
I've often met him peeping through the leaves
And chuckling to himself, an old man grey;
And once he started in his cracked old voice:
'We're playing I'm a merchant lost his way,
She's robbers in the wood behind yon tree,
The minute we grow up too big to play' -
poem by Ralph Hodgson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Magnolia Tree
I want to take pictures
of this magnolia tree
and I am standing
here and there
near and far
from this magnolia tree.
This magnolia tree
is perfect
but the rotten house beside
and the electric wires above...
oh,
I don't want them
in the picture.
This magnolia tree
it's deep purple color
oh, so deep
that I can feel the drowning
of my whole being
into it.
I want to take pictures
of this magnolia tree
and I am now spending an hour
figuring out how
without the wires
and the rotten house.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What is it about genus arboretum that socks us in the figurative solar plexus We see a logging truck go cruising down the road, stacked with a bunch of those fresh-cut giants, we feel like we lost a brother. Next thing you know, we're in The Brick, we're flopping money down on the bar. Wood. We're under a roof. Wood. We're walking the floors. Wood. Grabbing a pool cue. That's wood. Our friends in the forest carry a set of luggage from the mythical baggage carousel. Tree of life, tree of knowledge, family tree, Buddha's Bodhi tree. Page one of life, in the beginning. Genesis 322. Adam and Eve. They're kicking back in the garden of Eden and boom, they get an eviction notice. Why is that Lest they should also take of the tree of life, eat and live forever. A definitive Yahweh no-no. Be good to yourself, go out and plant a wet one on a tree.
quote by Diane Frolov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hill slope
Down on the hill slope a tree was there with flowers on it,
Season came and season goes,
it remain there with shade and fruits to give,
Small wood pecker or big owl,
all were there as it was there home to live,
One day a wood cutter found it useful to him,
he thought it to cut and takes its wood to sell in city,
birds and squirrel on tree helplessly saw the tree,
they tried to make noise,
but it didn't affected the woodcutter in the need
he cut down the tree to take the wood,
the tree on hiill slope became log of wood,
weak protest of bird and animals,
on it was not enough,
to save the tree.
tree full of life became silent as saying what was my fault,
is it only there right to live,
but yes its true only humans here,
are powerfull and can do anything to live and win,
hill slope became barren and dry like desert
poor tree however it was home for many
didn't found the place on to live on earth.
the reason it don't understand
why it is weak and meek.not able to
survive and get its right to stay alive to give shade and life to others.
poem by Hemu Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: My Poesy’s Spark
The spark of yours did light the wood in me,
That was so dry and fired so quickly;
Destined to be, consumed like this may be;
I thank you Uncle, most wholeheartedly.
The fire stirred my heart and mind and soul;
What blaze! How high! And continues to burn;
The flames leap like fire of England's coal;
The rest of time, I'm gentle like a fern.
The spark came timely; dry was much the clime;
My wood did burn so fast but noiselessly;
Each leaping flame carried with it a rhyme;
I burn still more but burn so steadily.
I thank the Lord for giving me this spark;
With it, I'll build a modern Noah's Ark.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lets Burn Down The Cornfield
Lets burn down the cornfield
Lets burn down the cornfield
And we can listen to it burn
You hide behind the oak tree
You hide behind the oak tree
Stay out of danger till I return
Oh, its so good
On a cold night
To have a fire
Burnin warm and bright
You hide behind the oak tree
You hide behind the oak tree
Stay out of danger till I return
Lets burn down the cornfield
Lets burn down the cornfield
And Ill make love to you while its burning
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When Orpheus Sweetly Did Complayne
When Orpheus sweetly did complayne
Upon his lute with heavy strayne
How his Euridice was slayne,
The trees to heare
Obtayn'd an eare,
And after left it off againe.
At every stroake and every stay
The boughs kept time, and nodding lay,
And listened bending all one way:
The aspen tree
As well as hee
Began to shake and learn'd to play.
If wood could speake, a tree might heare,
If wood could sound true greife so neare
A tree might dropp an amber teare:
If wood so well
Could ring a knell
The Cipres might condole the beare.
The standing nobles of the grove
Hearing dead wood so speak and move
The fatall axe beganne to love:
They envyde death
That gave such breath
As men alive doe saints above
poem by William Strode
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Vision the Tree that was Me
I saw a tree so tall and straight
It almost reached to the heavenly gate
I was very close to that tall tree
I became the tree, and the tree became me A fire was burning all around
It burned the roots that were attached to the ground
The fire did not burn the heart of the tree;
As I was the tree and the tree was me. God saved the tree that was me,
God looks upon the heart you see
He saw a sinful heart set free
Sins all buried on the cross of calvary God took the tree that was me,
And planted it by crystal sea
I am the tree, and the tree of life is in me
I, and the tree are one you see, Would you like to be our neighbor?
A tree planted by the waters.
Come to the cross dear sisters and brothers
Jesus will meet you; and we will meet each other.
poem by Pearline Wagner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Enjoy The Reflections Of Your Light
i enjoy the reflections of your light
from a distance
where you burn when you see me looking at you
i enjoy your flame
in blue, red, and green and orange hues
it is warm from where i stand my hands feel you
i go near you i may burn like you and may hurt myself
but it does not matter now i have nothing to protect from hurting
i have nobody to comfort me
i have no choice but to burn
myself with you
and those who simply watch love and how lovers pain themselves
even to the edge of death
in conflagration
in the passage of time
rotten and to dust returning
they will not remember anything.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Just An Ordinary Tree
My existence
start from a little piece of seed...
First, I was bury on the ground...
Then, I showed my two cute leaves up in to world...
But it didn't end just like that...
I grow... more and more...
With love, hope and care,
I became a tree...
Tree with many leaves,
if you need some shady circumstance...
Tree with a strong wood,
if you need me to make a good wardrobe...
Tree with a tight root,
if you want to make a solid foundation...
Tree with a sincerely pray,
if you need a support...
Tree with an everlasting presence,
if you need a friend beside you forever...
Tree with a dry branch,
if you want to share your tears...
Tree with a pure dew,
if you feel thirsty...
Tree with a warm wind,
if you get cold and alone...
Tree with a full color's flowers,
if you feel your life so black and white...
Tree with many hopes,
if you lost your dreams away...
But... after all,
I'm just an ordinary Tree...
By: Tree
22 May 2007,7: 02 PM
Not To Molest The Trees
do not use wood
in a sense do not cut a tree
do not use paper
in a sense do not write anything there
try using this computer
do not bother the paper the wood the trees
do not bother the pen either
there might be papery in there
like ink from wood like sap from a tree
we were born with thoughts and ideas
great minds
there was no paper in our mouth inside our brains
no trees cut by the axe in our hands
the worlds much safer then
and colder and fresher
and shady
and grassy and flowery
moonlighted and free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Museum Of Idiots
They built this whole neighborhood out of wood, out of wood.
I guess I'll still be around when they burn, burn it down.
I will be standing around when they burn it down.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Honey, I'm there when you need me, please believe me, please believe me.
I'll still be right where you left me, if you manage to forget me.
Where we met is where you may forget.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
If you and I had any brains, we wouldn't be in this place.
Chop me up into pieces if it pleases, if it pleases.
And when the chopping is through, every piece will say, "I love you."
Every piece of me will say "I love you."
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Every piece of me will say "I love you, you you"
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Way Of The Wood
WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze
Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern,
Through the green garments of the trees
The quivering shafts of sunlight burn,
And all along the wet green ride
The dripping hazel-boughs between,
The spotted orchis, stiff with pride,
Stands guard before the eglantine.
Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves
By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown,
Round which the honeysuckle weaves
Its scented golden wild-wood crown.
O wood, last year you saw us meet,
For her your leaves and buds were gay,
Your moss spread velvet for her feet.
Your flowers upon her bosom lay.
This year you wear your raiment bright,
As fair as ever yet you wore.
And, none the less, the world's delight
Walks in your ways no more, no more.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rotten bastards
The lot of you.
All of you
You are all rotten bastards.
And I hate you all
All of you
Raped and abused me.
But what goes around comes around.
And revenge will be mine.
Rotten bastards.
You rotten rats.
Rape and abuse.
Is that all you can do?
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Burn That Bridge
Burn that bridge
By: jimmy buffett, michael utley, will jennings
1984
Im not sayin Im scareda you
But your kinda love is somethin new
When I hold you were swayin in the wind
Of all the bridges Ive ever crossed
High and lonesome and wild and lost
I feel this time Ill take it to the end
We dont care what the people may say
If theres a price its the price well pay
Chorus:
And well burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to
Burn it down
Burn it down
We both done our share of runnin around
So we know enough to know the kind of love weve found
Its the real thing and weve got to see it through
Im a singer and a sailor on a midnight sea
(oh captain come and take me on your fantasy)
If were crazy that aint nothin new
cause we dont care what the people may say
If theres a price its the price well pay
Chorus:
And well burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to
Burn it down
Burn it down
Who knows how it started
Who knows it end
The point of no return is waiting
Just around the bend
Chorus:
And well burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to
Burn it down
Burn it down
Chorus:
Yes well burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to it
Burn that bridge when we come to
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
Burn it down
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Am Nasty And Rotten To The Core
I am nasty and rotten to the core
they didn’t call me dodgy for nothing.
I run about and shout a lot;
recently I took lessons on how to be a bitch,
now they call me a son of one.
I can swear like a trooper,
but only when no one is around
after all I’m supposed to be a vicar
with a smiling frown.
Believe it or not this is the real me,
a hairy ape hanging around in a tree.
Some will dispute my claim,
but they don’t know me at all.
I’m really nasty and rotten to the core
that even my wrinkles
are afraid of me.
30 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!