A Nightmare
I dreamed that I was dead. The years went by:
The world forgot that such a man as I
Had ever lived and written: other names
Were hailed with homage, in their turn to die.
Out of my grave a giant beech upgrew.
Its roots transpierced my body, through and through,
My substance fed its growth. From many lands
Men came in troops that giant tree to view.
'T was sacred to my memory and fame
My monument. But Allen Forman came,
Filled with the fervor of a new untruth,
And carved upon the trunk his odious name!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
An uncreative medicine
no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.
Today... 'David
David was Israel's shepherd king
Slew a giant Philistine with his sling
A foretaste of the coming promised One
Jesus Christ Who is David's greater Son
You came to us as the great Shepherd King
When You entered this world God's love to bring
And to lay down Your life as a sacrifice
To redeemYour sheep and to pay sins price
Standing before You was a giant foe
To slay him into death you had to go
No sling or sword was used in this great fight
There naked You appeared to all men's sight
That lion Satan roared ferociously
Clawing intoYour body on that tree
But he could find no sin to hold You there
And helplessly watched on in his despair
'It is finished' was Your victory cry
Bowing Your head upon the cross to die
Into the domain of the grave You went
To conquer sin and death was Your intent
A royal diadem placed on Your head
For now You have been raised up from the dead
Up from the grave You rose victoriously
Your enemy slain so gloriously
The victory over death has been won
By this king David's even greater Son
The Good Shepherd is now tending His sheep
And safe in His fold He does each one keep
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
America is embarrassed
Neither this nor that by race but mixed,
Neither this nor that by faith but mixed,
What else must the giant be to keep peace?
The giant’s been crowned; the giant’s been reined.
(The Nobel Prize for the world peace for year 2009 went to Mr. Obama, President of the U.S.A.; an Indian’s view)
15.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Ever So Tall Giant!
The farmer was busy ploughing,
With three fields left to do,
When a figure overpowering
Came suddenly in view...
The giant stepped across the gap
In seconds so it seemed,
The farmer thought he'd had a nap
And this whole thing was dreamed...
The farmer blinked yet stood his ground,
The giant's shadow loomed,
The giant's voice a booming sound...
The farmer thought, 'I'm doomed! '
'Don't be afraid, it's only me! '
The giant said amazed,
The farmer gulped quite suddenly,
For he was feeling dazed...
The giant smiled a lovely smile,
No bad thoughts on his mind,
The farmer stared up for a while,
His neck somewhat inclined...
'I'm from another planet, friend!
Just visiting, that's all...'
'Good God, will wonders never end?
How did you get so tall? '
'I'm only tall on planet Earth!
At home, I'm normal size!
I exercise for all I'm worth
And study so I'm wise...'
The farmer groaned, he'd hurt his neck!
'Your poor neck must feel numb!
I know I'm tall, but what the heck!
Wait till you meet my Mum! '
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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I Did Not Want...
I did not want to miss
you, you may not know
or, I forgot to say you-
I really, kept my days
gone in an ornamented
memory box.....
Buried the cascade, under
the red leaf tree, its
leaves are red, red
as my bleeding heart.
Rather-
I'll lock it with a monster
padlock, and throw the
giant key into the
deep grief sea.
Fathomless is its depth
and water is green, green
as the peach......!
Throwing the keys
I'll turn back to my
home of solitude,
to get the peace of mind!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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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
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Safe Crossing
The elephant was very hot and needed to cool down.
The water's edge was very soft, like clay and muddy brown.
The creature comforts looked divine beneath the boiling sun
And so he chose not to decline and start to have some fun!
The water welcomed one and all, to visit anytime.
As if to say, no need to stall... I'm here and it's sublime...
But danger, still, was ever near, as others rightly know.
For some are known to disappear! They simply come... and go.
The elephant has giant eyes, enough to see what's what
And yet temptation leads to sighs, especially when hot...
The gentle giant waded in, upto his trunk and more...
He swam across, with cheerful grin, to reach the other shore...
A lot can happen in a month, with many things to learn!
So he raised his trunk in triumph! Rejoicing in his turn!
The sun still shone, the heat endured, yet he was cooler now...
He felt elated, self-assured, revitalized somehow...
Safe crossing isn't guaranteed, yet when some find success,
It's great to see they can proceed and find new happiness!
I'm far too scared! I'm filled with fear! I'm not exactly brave!
I think I'll stay safe... over here. I'm not too keen to bathe...
I'll find some shade beneath a tree... Let others splash around.
Safe crossing! Great! But not for me! I'm staying on firm ground!
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Safe Crossing'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The World’s Justice
If the sudden tidings came
That on some far, foreign coast,
Buried ages long from fame,
Had been found a remnant lost
Of that hoary race who dwelt
By the golden Nile divine,
Spake the Pharaoh's tongue and knelt
At the moon-crowned Isis' shrine-
How at reverend Egypt's feet,
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
If the sudden news were known,
That anigh the desert-place
Where once blossomed Babylon,
Scions of a mighty race
Still survived, of giant build,
Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage,
Whose ancestral fame had filled,
Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,
How at old Assyria's feet
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
Yet when Egypt's self was young,
And Assyria's bloom unworn,
Ere the mythic Homer sung,
Ere the gods of Greece were born,
Lived the nation of one God,
Priests of freedom, sons of Shem,
Never quelled by yoke or rod,
Founders of Jerusalem-
Is there one abides to-day,
Seeker of dead cities, say!
Answer, now as then, THEY ARE;
Scattered broadcast o'er the lands,
Knit in spirit nigh and far,
With indissoluble bands.
Half the world adores their God,
They the living law proclaim,
And their guerdon is-the rod,
Stripes and scourgings, death and shame.
Still on Israel's head forlorn,
Every nation heaps its scorn.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Sonnet: Roots Matter
Look, how the cut branches and leaves get dried!
Sometimes, this happens when the Sun's too hot;
With roots intact, the trunk sprouts from its side;
The tree uprooted sure to death is fraught.
Look, how the trunk has sprouted green again!
The tree has started growing with revenge;
Almost a miracle is done by rain;
But this is how Nature tries to avenge.
Our Body, mind draw nourishment from soul;
Our soul if pure is habitat for God;
If not, the evil spirits take this role;
A sinful soul in Heaven would look odd?
Good roots matter if habits good flourish;
God's grace matters for Man's soul to nourish.
poem by John Celes
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song - The Old Swing Tree
Park at Inch crossroads outside the new Church
And walk slowly southwards through beech hedge and birch
Turn left where the hanging tree once used to be
Straight into the war hidden there by the trees
Where soldiers and huts lined both sides of the Road
When bombs fell round here sixty five years ago
By Ash and by bluebell, old sycamore
Here where the past laps like waves on the shore
Take the wild pathway that hides the Lost Road
Towards the new village that would one day grow
And there by the verge you’d have found the swing tree
In silence, no kids swooping there wild and free
Nor pledging of love proudly carved in that tree
Those crudely cut letters for you and for me
And somewhere between times, free in the years
A few broken hearts, a few smiles and tears
So many dreams that would never come true
And not just for us but for everyone too
As time and the world bring us changes to rue
The gentle give way and the selfish break through
And here am I wondering, listening and lost
In search of all those precious moments long gone
Around the old swing tree, felled and away
By tracks of love carved too deeply to fade
08 02 08 Renfrew
What is the purpose of the giant sequoia tree? The purpose of the giant sequoia tree is to provide shade for the tiny titmouse.
quote by Edward Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartbeat
Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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In Long Rows
Millions and millions of crosses
standing in long rows.
Standing as a testament
of man’s inhumanity to man.
Their ages range low to high,
all casualties of a war
in which they answered
their counties call.
Their kin are long dead now,
but the crosses all bare a name
of someone who had they lived
might have gained fame
in another game.
However, here they lie
where the pretty flowers grow
after giving up their life
for their country.
Some are remembered
even to this day
for their acts of courage
others knew so well.
The others are just names
carved in memorials somewhere
as falling in a battle on a foreign soil.
All of them had a life
men, women and child alike.
A life they should have lived
and lived it to the full.
Now all they remain
is names on crosses
standing in long rows.
22 January 2008
This is for all those whose lives have been stolen in wars throughout the centuries.
poem by David Harris
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Ami Green
Not "a youth with hoary head and haggard eye,"
But an old man with a smooth skin
And black hair!
I had the face of a boy as long as I lived,
And for years a soul that was stiff and bent,
In a world which saw me just as a jest,
To be hailed familiarly when it chose,
And loaded up as a man when it chose,
Being neither man nor boy.
In truth it was soul as well as body
Which never matured, and I say to you
That the much-sought prize of eternal youth
Is just arrested growth.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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And you, my friends who have been called away
And you, my friends who have been called away,
I have been spared to mourn for you and weep,
Not as a frozen willow over your memory,
But to cry to the world the names of those who sleep.
What names are those!
I slam shut the calendar,
Down on your knees, all!
Blood of my heart,
The people of Leningrad march out in even rows,
The living, the dead : fame can't tell them apart.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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The Strawberry Moon
will turn your
big Macs into chateaubriand
cockroaches into poodles
eyes into shooting stars
lips into roses
heart into the giant
Ghiardelli chocolate bar
it has always dreamed
of being
poem by David Kowalczyk
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4. Grow Well
The knowledge tree will need to grow
While we still have the need to know
Its roots secure to help it growing
Food it seeks our need for knowing
Thick stout trunk a brain or store
With many wonders to explore
Branches go at every angle
Many problems to untangle
A tree as this of many years
Survives by feeding from our tears
Sometimes joy at knowledge found
They fall like raindrops on the ground
Remember in the world out there
Try to learn and be aware
And if you’re able, go to college
To fertilize this tree of knowledge
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Oh That Tree
Maybe if you would have seen
Our initals carved in the tree,
You might have fallen in love with me
When we were so very young
For I wanted the world to know
How I felt about you
Now after thirty years,
i went back to that tree
To see if I could still see
If those words could be seen.
Looking there to my surpise,
Two words carved right next to mine
I KNOW!
poem by David Kush
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The Miniature Woman
The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle
He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.
He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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