In Upper San Francisco
I heard that Heaven was bright and fair,
And politicians dwelt not there.
'Twas said by knowing ones that they
Were in the Elsewhere-so to say.
So, waking from my last long sleep,
I took my place among the sheep.
I passed the gate-Saint Peter eyed
Me sharply as I stepped inside.
He thought, as afterward I learned,
That I was Chris, the Unreturned.
The new Jerusalem-ah me,
It was a sorry sight to see!
The mansions of the blest were there,
And mostly they were fine and fair;
But O, such streets!-so deep and wide,
And all unpaved, from side to side!
And in a public square there grew
A blighted tree, most sad to view.
From off its trunk the bark was ripped
Its very branches all were stripped!
An angel perched upon the fence
With all the grace of indolence.
'Celestial bird,' I cried, in pain,
'What vandal wrought this wreck? Explain.'
He raised his eyelids as if tired:
'What is a Vandal?' he inquired.
'This is the Tree of Life. 'Twas stripped
By Durst and Siebe, who have shipped
'The bark across the Jordan-see?
And sold it to a tannery.'
'Alas,' I sighed, 'their old-time tricks!
That pavement, too, of golden bricks
'They've gobbled that?' But with a scowl,
'You greatly wrong them,' said the fowl:
''Twas Gilleran did that, I fear-
Head of the Street Department here.'
'What! what!' cried I-'you let such chaps
Come here? You've Satan, too, perhaps.'
'We had him, yes, but off he went,
Yet showed some purpose to repent;
'But since your priests and parsons filled
The place with those their preaching killed'
(Here Siebe passed along with Durst,
Psalming as if their lungs would burst)
'He swears his foot no more shall press
('Tis cloven, anyhow, I guess)
'Our soil. In short, he's out on strike
But devils are not all alike.'
Lo! Gilleran came down the street,
Pressing the soil with broad, flat feet!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The May Flower Tree
I was walking lone there,
Where we once had been.
I sought the house we lived in,
In the lush lush green.
Perhaps inmates out, I thought,
As none I could see.
She has been haunting ever,
Where's May Flower Tree?
Looked around and discovered,
Ah! she lost her grace!
Hugged her with my eager hands,
Alone at that place.
Touched her old bark earnestly,
Felt the touch of past.
Childhood cried in deep deep pain,
Days crept in we passed.
Suddenly the tree turned green,
The Sun shone brightly.
I saw the May Flower Tree,
An emblem of Infancy!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Tree
In an English forest on Nottingham’s Sherwood National Park
stood a large wide oak tree probably as old as the Ark.
Oddly enough I had never seen this old proud tree before,
it sort of pulled me to it, as though it wanted me to explore.
I slowly walked around the trunk and looked closely at the tree
admiring its form, its wrinkled bark, every inch fascinated me.
My fingertips touched its bark and felt its rugged texture and shape,
it seemed so alive, and I was overwhelmed for heavens sake.
The sturdy trunk appeared to be expanding and growing ever wide,
then I thought I heard a child’s voice coming from deep inside.
Against the deeply wrinkled bark I placed my hands and ear,
just in case by some strange chance a voice I really did hear.
It seems as though I heard nothing so I gradually stepped away,
as I did the tree trunk looked as if to shrink, shudder and sway.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief; I couldn’t believe what I’d seen
I reached out and touched it to make sure it wasn’t a dream.
Several times I stepped back and forth from this unusual tree,
seeing it expand and contract was becoming too much for me.
On my last step backwards I definitely heard a child’s voice say,
“Help me, help me, I’m trapped in here, please don’t go away.”
Without thinking I answered, “What are you doing inside the tree?
How long have you been in there and can’t you get free? ”
Sadly she said, “I don’t know how long I’ve been in here,
but I can’t get out will you please help me to get clear.”
The little girl started crying and pleaded with me to stay,
“Please don’t go, please help me, please try to find a way? ”
“Try to stay calm, ” I said, “I’ll examine the tree once more,
you found your way in, so there must be a kind of door.”
As I closely examined the tree I asked the child her name,
“Martha, I’m six years old and my mother’s name’s the same.”
To stop her fretting more I asked what colour shoes she had on.
“I have no shoes upon my feet somehow they have gone.”
“I’m sorry Martha I cannot find a way in I’ve looked and I’ve tried
I just don’t know how you managed to get yourself inside? ”
Sobbing she said, “I don’t know either, but it seems like a very long time.
Could you possibly look inside the tree? You could if you climb.”
“Alright Martha, I’ll climb up to that branch sticking out to my right.
I’m sorry there is no way into the trunk; and soon it will be night.
Let’s go over this again and try to remember how you got inside.”
“All I can remember was lying in the tall grass, trying to hide.”
“Were you playing the game of hide and seek with your friends? ”
“No, my father told me to hide and later my mother he would send.
It’s slowly coming back to me now I had also been hit on my head
I remember I went very dizzy and then everything else went red.
I woke up with a headache and found myself inside this tree,
I never saw my mummy she must have forgotten me.”
“Now then Martha did this happen recently, or was it some time ago
was it yesterday, a couple of days since, or a fortnight or so? ”
“No, I think it must have been longer because of the way you’re dressed
I’ve never seen anyone with clothes like yours; you do so look a mess.”
“How can you see me Martha, is it through a nut-hole in the tree? ”
“No, I can see you through the bark, as you are meant to be.”
“Is it dark inside the tree trunk, or can you see any light? ”
“Well, It’s not wet, it doesn’t smell, but it is as dark as night,
but high above there is some sort of lamp shining really bright.”
“Alright Martha, if you can get to it, a way out is in sight.”
“Hello, hello, you standing outside the tree, can you hear me?
Thank you. I’ve entered the light and my daddy I can see.
I didn’t realise he was so close I could have climbed up here before
and how I got inside the tree will be a mystery for evermore.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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The boy and the apple tree
Once there was a boy who used to play under an apple tree
He played so happily that it was a joy to see
As he grew old, he got bore of playing alone
Toys and gadgets he desired to be his own
So, under the apple tree the boy muttered
‘Tree can you give me toys I now desire? ’
‘Toys I don’t have, my boy, ’ the tree replied
‘But my fruits you can sell to get your toys.’
So the boy took the fruits and went away
The tree waited for his return day after day
Many years had passed and the boy got older
He married a girl to be his wife and lover
The adult boy now needing a new house for his family
Went to the tree and asked for its advice earnestly
The tree glad to see him once again said
‘My branches will be sufficient to make your nest.’
To these words the adult boy listened
And took all the branches away with him
With these he constructed a house for his family
Where he lived for several years happily
One day, the boy now a fully mature adult thought
‘It will be wise to travel around and sail the sea across’
So, he went to the now old apple tree and asked
‘Tree, can you tell me, a boat, where I can get? ’
The tree which was happy to see him again sighed and said
‘Though I am old, my stem you may take if you want’
On hearing this, the guy cut the tree down
And made a large boat, which was fine and strong
Many years had passed and the guy now became an old man
Tired from his adventures across the sea and land
He went and saw the apple tree once again
Which was now but a stump nobody would want
The old stump on seeing the old man cried
‘My old boy what can I do for you this time’
The old man on hearing this softly replied
‘I just want to lean against you till the end of my life.’
poem by Henry Chen
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Destroying Angel
I dreamt a dream the other night
That an Angel appeared to me, clothed in white.
Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
Such as filled my heart with delight.
And in her hand she held a flaming brand,
Which she waved above her head most grand;
And on me she glared with love-beaming eyes,
Then she commanded me from my bed to arise.
And in a sweet voice she said, "You must follow me,
And in a short time you shall see
The destruction of all the public-houses in the city,
Which is, my friend, the God of Heaven's decree."
Then from my bed in fear I arose,
And quickly donned on my clothes;
And when that was done she said, " Follow me
Direct to the High Street, fearlessly."
So with the beautiful Angel away I did go,
And when we arrived at the High Street, Oh! what a show,
I suppose there were about five thousand men there,
All vowing vengeance against the publicans, I do declare.
Then the Angel cried with a solemn voice aloud
To that vast end Godly assembled crowd,
"Gentlemen belonging the fair City of Dundee,
Remember I have been sent here by God to warn ye.
"That by God's decree ye must take up arms and follow me
And wreck all the public-houses in this fair City,
Because God cannot countenance such dens of iniquity.
Therefore, friends of God, come, follow me.
"Because God has said there's no use preaching against strong drink,
Therefore, by taking up arms against it, God does think,
That is the only and the effectual cure
To banish it from the land, He is quite sure.
"Besides, it has been denounced in Dundee for fifty years
By the friends of Temperance, while oft they have shed tears.
Therefore, God thinks there's no use denouncing it any longer,
Because the more that's said against it seemingly it grows stronger."
And while the Angel was thus addressing the people,
The Devil seemed to be standing on the Townhouse Steeple,
Foaming at the mouth with rage, and seemingly much annoyed,
And kicking the Steeple because the public-houses wore going to be destroyed.
Then the Angel cried, " Satan, avaunt! begone!"
Then he vanished in the flame, to the amazement of everyone;
And waving aloft the flaming brand,
That she carried in her right hand
She cried, "Now, friends of the Temperance cause, follow me:
For remember if's God's high decree
To destroy all the public-houses in this fair City;
Therefore, friends of God, let's commence this war immediately."
Then from the High Street we all did retire,
As the Angel, sent by God, did desire;
And along the Perth Road we all did go,
While the Angel set fire to the public-houses along that row.
And when the Perth Road public-houses were fired, she cried, " Follow me,
And next I'll fire the Hawkhill public-houses instantly."
Then away we went with the Angel, without dread or woe,
And she fired the IEawkhill public-houses as onward we did go.
Then she cried, "Let's on to the Scouringburn, in God's name."
And away to the Scouringburn we went, with our hearts aflame,
As the destroying Angel did command.
And when there she fired the public-houses, which looked very grand.
And when the public-houses there were blazing like a kiln,
She cried, " Now, my friends, we'll march to the Bonnet Hill,
And we'll fire the dens of iniquity without dismay,
Therefore let's march on, my friends, without delay."
And when we arrived at the Bonnet Hill,
The Angel fired the public-houses, as she did well.
Then she cried, "We'll leave them now to their fate,
And march on to the Murraygate."
Then we marched on to the Murraygate,
And the Angel fired the public-houses there, a most deserving fate.
Then to the High Street we marched and fired them there,
Which was a most beautiful blaze, I do declare.
And on the High Street, old men and women were gathered there,
And as the flames ascended upwards, in amazement they did stare
When they saw the public-houses in a blaze,
But they clapped their hands with joy and to God gave praise.
Then the Angel cried, "Thank God, Christ's Kingdom's near at hand,
And there will soon be peace and plenty throughout the land,
And the ravages of the demon Drink no more will be seen."
But, alas, I started up in bed, and behold it was a dream!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Gascon Punished
A GASCON (being heard one day to swear,
That he'd possess'd a certain lovely fair,)
Was played a wily trick, and nicely served;
'Twas clear, from truth he shamefully had swerved:
But those who scandal propagate below,
Are prophets thought, and ev'ry action know;
While good, if spoken, scarcely is believed,
And must be viewed, or not for truth received.
THE dame, indeed, the Gascon only jeered,
And e'er denied herself when he appeared;
But when she met the wight, who sought to shine;
And called her angel, beauteous and divine,
She fled and hastened to a female friend,
Where she could laugh, and at her ease unbend.
NEAR Phillis, (our fair fugitive) there dwelled
One Eurilas, his nearest neighbour held;
His wife was Cloris; 'twas with her our dove
Took shelter from the Gascon's forward love,
Whose name was Dorilas; and Damon young,
(The Gascon's friend) on whom gay Cloris hung.
SWEET Phillis, by her manner, you might see,
From sly amours and dark intrigues was free;
The value to possess her no one knew,
Though all admired the lovely belle at view.
Just twenty years she counted at the time,
And now a widow was, though in her prime,
(Her spouse, an aged dotard, worth a plum:--
Of those whose loss to mourn no tears e'er come.)
OUR seraph fair, such loveliness possessed,
In num'rous ways a Gascon could have blessed;
Above, below, appeared angelic charms;
'Twas Paradise, 'twas Heav'n, within her arms!
THE Gascon was--a Gascon;--would you more?
Who knows a Gascon knows at least a score.
I need not say what solemn vows he made;
Alike with Normans Gascons are portrayed;
Their oaths, indeed, won't pass for Gospel truth;
But we believe that Dorilas (the youth)
Loved Phillis to his soul, our lady fair,
Yet he would fain be thought successful there.
ONE day, said Phillis, with unusual glee,
Pretending with the Gascon to be free:--
A favour do me:--nothing very great;
Assist to dupe one jealous of his mate;
You'll find it very easy to be done,
And doubtless 'twill produce a deal of fun.
'Tis our request (the plot you'll say is deep,)
That you this night with Cloris's husband sleep
Some disagreement with her gay gallant
Requires, that she a night at least should grant,
To settle diff'rences; now we desire,
That you'll to bed with Eurilas retire,
There's not a doubt he'll think his Cloris near;
He never touches her:--so nothing fear;
For whether jealousy, or other pains,
He constantly from intercourse abstains,
Snores through the night, and, if a cap he sees,
Believes his wife in bed, and feels at ease.
We'll properly equip you as a belle,
And I will certainly reward you well.
TO gain but Phillis's smiles, the Gascon said,
He'd with the very devil go to bed.
THE night arrived, our wight the chamber traced;
The lights extinguished; Eurilas, too, placed;
The Gascon 'gan to tremble in a trice,
And soon with terror grew as cold as ice;
Durst neither spit nor cough; still less encroach;
And seemed to shrink, least t'other should approach;
Crept near the edge; would scarcely room afford,
And could have passed the scabbard of a sword.
OFT in the night his bed-fellow turned round;
At length a finger on his nose he found,
Which Dorilas exceedingly distressed;
But more inquietude was in his breast,
For fear the husband amorous should grow,
From which incalculable ills might flow.
OUR Gascon ev'ry minute knew alarm;
'Twas now a leg stretched out, and then an arm;
He even thought he felt the husband's beard;
But presently arrived what more he feared.
A BELL, conveniently, was near the bed,
Which Eurilas to ring was often led;
At this the Gascon swooned, so great his fear,
And swore, for ever he'd renounce his dear.
But no one coming, Eurilas, once more,
Resumed his place, and 'gan again to snore.
AT length, before the sun his head had reared;
The door was opened, and a torch appeared.
Misfortune then he fancied full in sight;
More pleased he'd been to rise without a light,
And clearly thought 'twas over with him now;
The flame approached;--the drops ran o'er his brow;
With terror he for pardon humbly prayed:--
You have it, cried a fair: be not dismayed;
'Twas Phillis spoke, who Eurilas's place
Had filled, throughout the night, with wily grace,
And now to Damon and his Cloris flew,
With ridicule the Gascon to pursue;
Recounted all the terrors and affright,
Which Dorilas had felt throughout the night.
To mortify still more the silly swain,
And fill his soul with ev'ry poignant pain,
She gave a glimpse of beauties to his view,
And from his presence instantly withdrew.
poem by La Fontaine
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I Remember That Day In My Life
'twas early morning
when i climbed
the mango tree
and at the top
i sat on the big branch
for a long time
i looked at the
tranquility of the barrio
where i spent
my childhood
i breathed the air
filled my lungs with
so much peace
i did not have anything in mind
except that little escape
from every day's boredom
'twas a day without words.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dads Cherry Tree
There was a large cherry tree in my yard
This tree t’was my dad ‘s favorite
And as the cherry tree grew up to thy sky
He did have a decision
whether or not to chop the tree down
Or risk it falling and killing him
For you see this old cherry tree did
Stand right over his bed
So if the wind kick up or lightning did strike
Would be his end for
The tree would fall and he would go
So unfortunately with the tree
So he would make great decision
And hopefully make it right
It took him many years and many a time
He thought’s the did spite
Him for the year’s went by and the cherry tree
Got more demised, nearer to the bed
As he would lay and begin to wonder
Will this take off my head
So as the year the did expire
Then He finally said
I will take the old tree down
Above my own bed
And the so alas the cherry fell
The tree would breathe its last
And be cut down to stump and be
Safe for dad once again
The tree was made low and the branches did go
Right into the meat smoker
But out of the ash cloud grew another
through the thorns and choker
the tree did live on in another a tree that grew
and so the tree was reborn
from a cherry, the trees great fruit
and so this little sapling grew and it grew
and it grew 1,2,3 foot by the crowing of the year
and so it grew and it got taller
as a little sapling then might or would do
and the tree got no smaller
as it grew to be as tall as dad and it was
staring him in the eye
he said we got to dig this up
look at the size
for you see the little sapling was right in my garden
and blocking the sunshine
so we dug and dug and dug
it took a lot of time
but finally we got up pulled it out of the ground
and moved to better spot
were it would live in peace and harmony
the place we set was not to hot
But it was not to cold either, it was
It was a nice spot with all
of the tree for the young cherry’s company
the tree grew very tall
And with it happy position that there was
it was a great sight
To see this cherry tree again live
And never have to fight
Now when my dad he did see this
he was so overjoyed
He had his cherry tree’s son and offspring
And never again did he toy
With planting or cutting down old cherry trees
He loved his tree so dear
That he would be indeed collecting all the cherries
And never wrong was he steered
poem by Timothy Young
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What I Have Seen #3
I saw two youths: both were fair in the face,
They had set out foot to foot in life's race;
But one said to the other, 'I say now, my brother,
You are going a little too slow;
The world will look on, and say, 'See Josy John,'
We must put on more style, now, you know.'
So he tipped a plug hat on one side of his pate,
And strutted along with a Jockey Club gait;
And he carried a cane, and said, 'It is plain,
I am too fine a fellow to toil.
I can gamble and bet, and a good living get;
But my hands are too pretty to soil.
'My friend in the rear, you are slow, I am fast;
I am up with the times-I am first, you are last.
So I guess I will leave you-aw, if it won't grieve you;
I'll wait for you when I get through;
Or, when up on the hill, I'll remem-bah you still,
And-aw, mayhap I'll come and help you.'
I saw him pass on with a strut through the street;
Saw him stopped by a score of 'good boys' for a treat.
While the calm 'Josy John' went quietly on,
And kept his lips free from the bowl;
Worked at whatever came, turned from sin and from shame,
And wrote 'Purity,' 'Truth,' in his soul.
I saw two men: one was fair to behold;
The other, a drunken sot, bloated and bold.
One stood on the mountain and drank of God's fountain,
The other drank beer in the street.
Yet both started alike; but one made a 'strike,'
Which ended, you see, in defeat.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Posterity's Award
I'd long been dead, but I returned to earth.
Some small affairs posterity was making
A mess of, and I came to see that worth
Received its dues. I'd hardly finished waking,
The grave-mould still upon me, when my eye
Perceived a statue standing straight and high.
'Twas a colossal figure-bronze and gold
Nobly designed, in attitude commanding.
A toga from its shoulders, fold on fold,
Fell to the pedestal on which 'twas standing.
Nobility it had and splendid grace,
And all it should have had-except a face!
It showed no features: not a trace nor sign
Of any eyes or nose could be detected
On the smooth oval of its front no line
Where sites for mouths are commonly selected.
All blank and blind its faulty head it reared.
Let this be said: 'twas generously eared.
Seeing these things, I straight began to guess
For whom this mighty image was intended.
'The head,' I cried, 'is Upton's, and the dress
Is Parson Bartlett's own.' True, _his_ cloak ended
Flush with his lowest vertebra, but no
Sane sculptor ever made a toga so.
Then on the pedestal these words I read:
'_Erected Eighteen Hundred Ninety-seven_'
(Saint Christofer! how fast the time had sped!
Of course it naturally does in Heaven)
'_To_ --' (here a blank space for the name began)
'_The Nineteenth Century's Great Foremost Man_!'
'_Completed_' the inscription ended, '_in
The Year Three Thousand_'-which was just arriving.
By Jove! thought I, 'twould make the founders grin
To learn whose fame so long has been surviving
To read the name posterity will place
In that blank void, and view the finished face.
Even as I gazed, the year Three Thousand came,
And then by acclamation all the people
Decreed whose was our century's best fame;
Then scaffolded the statue like a steeple,
To make the likeness; and the name was sunk
Deep in the pedestal's metallic trunk.
Whose was it? Gentle reader, pray excuse
The seeming rudeness, but I can't consent to
Be so forehanded with important news.
'Twas neither yours nor mine-let that content you.
If not, the name I must surrender, which,
Upon a dead man's word, was George K. Fitch!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tree
The weathered tree stripped bare
broken branches hang still
as though to scar its nature
no birds nest here any more
a thing of beauty has passed
into a beauty of another kind
colourless in the backdropp of sky
roots rise and fall into the ground
etchings of forgotten loves
remain as eternal memories
no lovers shade here now
the tree stands as though defiant
unwilling to relinquish to time
that which grew so tall
not dead, perhaps dying
stripped and broken it stands
the weathered tree
a work of life's true beauty
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Judgment Day
Saint Peter stood, at Heaven's gate,
All souls claims to adjudicate
Saying to some souls, 'Enter in!'
'Go to Hell,' to others, 'you are steeped in sin.'
When up from earth, with a great hubbub,
Came all the members of the Tuscarora Club.
The angel Gabriel, peering out,
Said, 'What, the devil, is this noise about?'
'Gabe,' said Peter, 'There's always lots of noise,
At any get-together of the Tuscarora boys -
Those are anglers and they all tell lies
About the trout that got away, their fierceness and their size -
They want to enter Heaven, for our brooks are full of trout,
But I won't have any liars, and I'll keep the whole gang out;
No liars enter Heaven, and I'll most distinctly tell
The whole danged Tuscarora Club, it has to go to Hell.'
Then, at a little distance from the precious pearly gate,
The Tuscarora fellows paused to talk and cogitate;
One Barr said this, one Barr said that, McAlpin had his say,
But foxy Charley Roberts said, 'This is the only way -
'You'd best leave this to me,' he said. 'Just let me handle Pete
and in a trice we'll be inside upon the golden street;
I'll show him that he's one of us, because he used to be,
Himself, a brother fisher, in the Sea of Gallilee-
And I move you, Mr. President, we make the poor old dub
An honorary member of the Tuscarora Club.'
'Agreed! Agreed!' the members cried, but Manny Barr said, 'Wait!
Amend it thus 'PROVIDED - That he didn't fish with bait.''
Saint Peter saw them coming but his face was hard and stern,
He had formed his resolution from which he would not turn,
Not even Roberts' palaver would ever change him so
He'd send the Tuscarorans anywhere, but down below.
But now upon his countenance there came a look of pain,
He stepped from foot to foot, and then from foot to foot again:
He hailed a new-come resident, who near the portal stood,
A goodly Christian gentleman, whose name was Hubert Wood.
He said to him, 'Come here, my friend, and tend awhile this gate-
Just take my place for half an hour - I've got to urinate.'
With that Saint Peter hustled off. The gate-keeper pro tem
Observed the Tuscarorans and he waved his hand at them.
'Come in! come in!' he shouted, for he was an angler, too,
And he knew that anglers, as a whole, were earth's most harmless crew.
So all the Tuscarorans got to heaven, thanks to Wood,
And the Secretary's last report says, 'Fishing there is good.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry Freedom
How can I turn away
Brother/sister go dancing
Through my head
Human as to human
The future is no place
To place your better days
Cry freedom, cry
From a crowd 10,000 wide
Hope laid upon hope
That this crowd will not subside
Let this flag burn to dust
And a new a fair design be raised
While we wait head in hands,
Hands in prayer
And fall into a dreamless sleep again
And we wave our hands
Hands and feet are all alike
But gold between divide us
Hands and feet are all alike
But fear between divide us
All slip away
There was a window and by it stood
A mirror in which
He could see himself
He thought of something
Something he had never had but
Hoped would come along
Cry freedom, cry
From deep inside
Where we are all confined
While we wave hands in fire
Wave our hands
Hands and feet are all alike
But gold between divide us
Hands and feet are all alike
But fear between divide us,
Slip away
In this room stood a little child
And in this room this little child
She would remain
Until someone might decide
To dance this little child
Across this hall
Into a cold, dark, space
Where she might never trace her
Way across this crooked mile
Across this crooked page
Cry freedom, cry
From deep inside where
We are all confined
Till we wave our hands
How can I turn away
Brother/sister go dancing
Through my head
Human as to human
The future is no place
To place your better days
Hands and feet are all alike but gold between divide us hands and feet are all alike but fear between divide us hands and feet are all alike hear what I say hear what I say oh, so be it
How can I turn away brother/sister go dancing through my head human as to human the future is no place to place your better days
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cummerbund: An Indian Poem
I
She sate upon her Dobie,
To watch the Evening Star,
And all the Punkahs as they passed,
Cried, 'My! how fair you are!'
Around her bower, with quivering leaves,
The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.
II
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads circling round.
Above, on talles trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan'd
Its melancholy tone.
III
And where the purple Nullahs threw
Their branches far and wide,--
And silvery Goreewallahs flew
In silence, side by side,--
The little Bheesties' twittering cry
Rose on the fragrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled
Deep in his hateful lair.
IV
She sate upon her Dobie,--
She heard the Nimmak hum,--
When all at once a cry arose,--
'The Cummerbund is come!'
In vain she fled: -- with open jaws
The angry monster followed,
And so, (before assistence came,)
That Lady Fair was swallowed.
V
They sought in vain for even a bone
Respectfully to bury,--
They said, -- 'Hers was a dreadful fate!'
(And Echo answered 'Very.')
They nailed her Dobie to the wall,
Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words,
In yellow, blue, and green:--
Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,--
Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come,
And swallow you outright.
poem by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tale of a Nose
Twas a hard case, that which happened in Lynn.
Haven't heard of it, eh ? Well then, to begin,
There's a Jew down there whom they call " Old Mose,"
Who travels about, and buys old clothes.
Now Mose — which the same is short for Moses —
Had one of the biggest kind of noses:
It had a sort of an instep in it,
And he fed it with snuff about once a minute.
One day he got in a bit of a row
With a German chap who had kissed his frau,
And, trying to punch him a la Mace,
Had his nose cut off close up to his face.
He picked it up from off the ground,
And quickly back in its place 'twas bound,
Keeping the bandage upon his face
Until it had fairly healed in place.
Alas for Mose! 'Twas a sad mistake
Which he in his haste that day did make;
For, to add still more to his bitter cup,
He found he had placed it wrong side up.
"There's no great loss without some gain;"
And Moses says, in a jocular vein,
He arranged it so for taking snuff,
As he never before could get enough.
One thing, by the way, he forgets to add,
Which makes the arrangement rather bad:
Although he can take his snuff with ease,
He has to stand on his head to sneeze!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In A Windowpane
I looked into a windowpane
Last evening in a city far away
I was feelin sad and blue
I wondered then if I should really stay
Wanting someone to be with me in the light of this uncertain time
Waiting by the window for the man inside
To please make up his mind
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
I walked along the roadway to a fountain
Where lovers come to meet
A hobo walked up to me, I could tell
He didnt have enough to eat
He said, good sir you look so kind
And though the years have stripped me to the bone
It seems I am the better man
For in this place Ive never walked alone
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Where will you be, my friendly, when your
Telephone aint givin out no calls
And when the seasons come to haunt you
Will you still find springtime in the fall
And when youre on your island
Will you wave at every ship that passes by
And will you feed a hungry man
I thank you, sir,
Now Ill just say goodbye
Dont you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel colecapo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street.[d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street.jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street.he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twas the old—road—through pain
344
'Twas the old—road—through pain—
That unfrequented—one—
With many a turn—and thorn—
That stops—at Heaven—
This—was the Town—she passed—
There—where she—rested—last—
Then—stepped more fast—
The little tracks—close prest—
Then—not so swift—
Slow—slow—as feet did weary—grow—
Then—stopped—no other track!
Wait! Look! Her little Book—
The leaf—at love—turned back—
Her very Hat—
And this worn shoe just fits the track—
Herself—though—fled!
Another bed—a short one—
Women make—tonight—
In Chambers bright—
Too out of sight—though—
For our hoarse Good Night—
To touch her Head!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel cole capo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street. [d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street. jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street. he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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