Only birds of the same clan or species play together on the same tree.
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Grass is easier?
Up on a windy hill a tree is
a grassy field wind is the breeze
birds and bee's play and play
long lost lovers sign there names
in the tree
a tire swing sways and sways
on this tree
children songs and voices
filled the air at the time
now and days the grass is dead
tree is bare and the birds and the bees
play else ware
long lost lovers are lost
the names wore and decay
on this tree
a tire swing once swayed
on this tree children played
now on this tree smoke and ash lay
songs and voices now all gone
for this is the tree we once plaid on
poem by Cody Lee Jones
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The Tree And The Breeze
Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree
The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?
poem by Amy Parkinson
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While The Birds Sing At The Top Of The Tree
Rivers flow lonely to the sea,
When the sunset is coming down,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
The garden is flourishing in the spring,
Little pieces of the rain fall on the edge of the street,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
The cold in the hills,
The forest still sleeps in silence
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
Love always falls and rises,
Leaving happiness, broken hearts and tears,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
poem by Lindemberg Pereira da Silva
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WREATHS ON DOOR (for Suu Kyi)
fingers printed on face
they offered apologies for the mudslide
after the typhoon
standing on the mound
of twisted bones;
the state had the right
to trample and extinguish
a bright flame,
a meteor, streak of dissent
only the sect, the clan
will surround the holy tree
to save the doomed species in the jungle
of laughing hyenas
i see my limbs separated
a piano remains untuned
poem by Satish Verma
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The Poem Tree
The poem tree is a very safe haven,
for birds and fowl, a hawk, a raven, or
a little barn owl.The tree could be a
silhouette, or the finest place to raise
your pet.The poem tree could bear
the fruit of life.Such as apples and
pears, with morning dew.A wonderful
place to play the flute.The poem tree
could have a nest.Giving birds with
eggs, a place to rest.It could capture
a kite who someone lost, or be bitten
by the morning frost.It could capture
a balloon, which went astray, or drop
all its leaflets by the bay.The poem
tree could have a lollipop, or maybe
a candycane, umbrella branches, to
stop the rain.The tree could protect
all animals, from an oncoming flood,
and keep all the tree bugs out of the
mud.Above the tree the sun will shine.
Home for a raccoon, or a porcupine..
The Poem Tree by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011.All rights reserved.
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Willow tree by the lake
Willow tree by the lake standing tall since the day one
Home for birds and squirrels, place of fun
Breeze will come and play with her branches
Whistle at them before they move on
Any time, at mid day, at night or at the crack of dawn
Humming bird feeder and bird house hanging all over the tree
They swing back and forth and hang free
All summer it is a fun house as the birds come and go
Rabbits will hop around on the ground below.
Ducks will sit idle or sleep under her shade
Squirrels will carry food up the trunk, not afraid
During winter when nature sleeps no life around
Willow tree will shelter the birds, the squirrels
and even the worms under it's ground.
Many yrs ago I planted the tree, saw it grow day by day
Sat under it, wrote poems, it made me happy and gay
I know one day my time will be up and I will be gone
But my willow tree will still be here, singing with the wind at each dawn.
poem by Syed Karim
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Monstrous to the Core
For Russia or any nation state
To 'claim' the North Pole to itself
Is monstrous. The riches of
The natural world
Are Heritage to us all -
Humanity, the other creatures
Of the earth and air and sea -
To be guarded with great diligence
And managed carefully
For the welfare of us all.
Yes, to claim a piece of earth
For one tribe, clan or gang,
Species, or National Artifice
Is monstrous to the core
And one of many things
This marvellous, morally able
Sapient species
Should have outlawed to itself
A long, long time ago.
poem by Frank Bana
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Three Songs Of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;
Still it seems a pity
No one saw,—it must have been
Very pretty.
II
Let the little birds sing;
Let the little lambs play;
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring;—
But not in the old way!
I recall a place
Where a plum-tree grew;
There you lifted up your face,
And blossoms covered you.
If the little birds sing,
And the little lambs play,
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring—
But not in the old way!
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
Ere spring was going—ah, spring is gone!
And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—
Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,
Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Banyan Tree Vavroovahana Patra
Banyan tree looks beautiful;
Birds fly on the tree are delightful.
Beauteous is the environment;
Beautiful leaves provide merriment.
Green trees provide oxygen daily;
God guys and girls rest beneath the tree gaily.
Glad lovers derive peace;
Glamorous atmosphere provides Divine Bliss.
Valley’s trees attract travelers;
Valiant poets enjoy the beauty with pleasure.
Various birds play on the tree gaily;
Vagabond boys enjoy the beauty enthusiastically.
The tree on road side entices women, men daily;
Travelers enjoy the beauty gaily.
Birds fly gleefully;
Children plays beneath the tree pleasantly.
Nature lures all travelers;
Provides peace pleasure.
Beauty of Nature is enticing;
Poets are delighting.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The intermediate halt
A bough dead, the tree is not dead.
A tree dead, its species is not dead.
When the species is extinct
Its family, when the family is extinct
Its order and when the order is extinct
The plant kingdom is not extinct.
As long as there is life force,
The death is intermediate halt.
11.09.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Hanging Tree 2
The children play around the tree
Unbeknown to them of their fate to be
If the where to commit an ungodly crime
They would meet their end at a premature time
They play around the hanging tree
Where they strung up the man the say murdered three
The man’s soul could never truly die
When his death was caused by such a lie
They play around the hanging tree
Where I wait for my love still breathing to join me
So at my place of death I will stay
As I await that faithful day
They play around the hanging tree
Where I watch over her and save her for only me
But when she could finally bear it no more
She spilt her own blood upon the floor
They play around the hanging tree
Hoping that we will one day be free
To leave this world for the heavens above
To live a life purely of love
They play around the handing tree
Were a guilty conscience sets us free
The guilty one confessed to ending the life
Then took his own with a knife
poem by My Stolen Identity
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From Tree To Web
A Quixotic Quest
“The tree of life is a record of how every species that
ever lived is related to all others back to the origin of life.”
For a period of 150 years
biology sought the holy grail
of the tree of life – today
the tree has become obsolete
through negative evidence
Discovery of DNA structure led to
molecular evolution studying inheritance
as contained in the history of DNA sequences
finding species swapped genetic material
with each other, hybridising - thus the tree-
theory degenerates into impenetrable
thickets of interrelatedness
Bacteria and archaea swap
genetic material with other species
across huge taxonomic distances
in horizontal gene transfer (HGT)
Darwin assumed 'vertical' descent
but when genes were sequenced -
DNA replication and protein synthesis
showed the promiscuous exchange
of genetic information across
diverse groups
**************************
Why Darwin was wrong about the tree of life
21 January 2009 by Graham Lawton
Magazine issue 2692. Subscribe and get 4 free issues.
For similar stories, visit the Evolution Topic Guide
Graham Lawton is features editor of New Scientist
http: //www.newscientist.com/article/mg20126921.600-why -darwin-was-wrong-about-the-tree-of-life.html? full=true
poem by Margaret Alice
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Birds, Birds Everywhere
Birds, birds everywhere,
flying through the sky without care.
Reminding us how graceful life can be,
as they fly from tree to tree.
Singing so very happily.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Birds, Birds Everywhere
Birds, birds everywhere,
flying through the sky without care.
Reminding us how graceful life can be,
as they fly from tree to tree.
Singing so very happily.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Sonnet: The Kingdom Of God
Both good and bad species of trees has earth;
Good ones bear flowers/fruits right from their birth;
The bad ones have big thorns and poisonous spikes,
And give no shade and so master dislikes.
If your garden contains one such bad tree,
And birds can’t built their nests nor perch afree,
What will the master of the garden do?
The rear both the good one and bad too?
He’ll cut the bad tree surely into bits,
And throw them into fire in large pits,
And far away from any dwelling place,
For fear of poisonous wood-smoke, in case.
God’s Kingdom appears in a similar way!
The impure souls can’t enter any day.
poem by John Celes
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Twitcher and the Bird Sanctuary
I see many species of birds
from morning till night.
They speak different languages
the migratory birds from all over the world.
What a colourful pagentry and harmony?
Nobody carries weapons
and no any harshness.
So it's very harmless to be with them forever.
Their twitter makes me happy
and I want to be single
whole of the journey.
If she comes I fear the birds won't be here.
She scolded me in her last letter.
'You are good for nothing; a Gooseberry
one day you sink with your birds
in your own bottomless harbour.
Your holey gondola won't be long-standing.
My wicked Gondolier,
you propel with your rickety pole to the hell!
Wind up,
your unfortunate wino Goddess.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle
eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out
eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''
eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''
Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''
Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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On Seeing Tawny Frogmouths
At nightfall the birds known as tawny frogmouth come out in family groups of three or four
They do not have a song the only sounds they do make is a sort of a low pitched nasal snore
In the wooded parkland they fly from tree to tree in their search for tree insects and flies
And they return to roost on their roosting trees at the dawning just before sunrise,
Quite expert at camouflage in their colours of brown lengthwise on a bare branch of a tree
In the bright light of day they look part of the branch they are almost impossible to see
Disguised from the prying eyes of predators in safety they rest Nature never ceases to amaze
Of her so little we do seem to know we are strangers to Nature's ways,
Related to the nightgars nocturnal insect eating birds though frogmouths far greater in size
For better vision in dimlight the night birds 'twould seem than day birds have far larger eyes,
I have seen the frogmouths at nightfall in the park near my home almost tame to them I approached near
Of human kind so little they seem to know so of humans they show little fear,
From tree to tree in the parkland they fly these quiet brown birds of the night
So well camouflaged on their bare roosting branch they seem part of the tree in daylight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Until It Finds A Tree
A bird flies round until it finds a tree;
its spirit doesn’t tell it one is better,
and even when it lands it feels it’s free
to try another, avian jet-setter.
Inspired by Ricardo Muti who told Daniel J. Wakin (“And the Brass Ring Goes to the Chicago Symphony: Riccardo Muti Says Yes, ” NYT, May 6,2008) :
Mr. Muti called the Chicago Symphony “a perfect machine, ” with the versatility to play huge works like Prokofiev’s Symphony No.3 and Scriabin’s “Poem of Ecstasy” or to display the refined delicacy needed for small-scale Schubert.He remained steadfastly unattached after resigning as music director of the Teatro Alla Scala in Milan in 2005 in an operatic kerfuffle. Orchestra musicians and other workers at the theater had turned against him in an internal political wrangle. “I thought it was time for me to be absolutely free, like the birds in the air, ” he said. “Birds go around and they enjoy their happiness, their freedom. But sometimes it can happen they find a tree, and they like to stop on a tree, and they didn’t know about the tree before. It doesn’t mean one tree is better than another tree. It just happens at the right moment in life.”
5/6/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Blues In Minor Key
'Twas a lovely night in gay Paree
The stagelight was beating on him and me
He took my heart and spoke so well
And told me things no one else could tell
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
He was a lonely tramp in the world of rhyme
With words that caught me just in time
I gave him my body I gave him my soul
In front of the stage I played my role
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
The chimes of freedom rang that night
And stars in heaven were shining bright
The songs he sang were like ice and fire
Leading me through the bush and brier
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
Behind his mask and behind his name
He left the stage with nothin' to claim
Like a shooting star in the empty skies
Our love was done without any ties
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key....
Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved
poem by Göran Gustafsson
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