These little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their whisper of joy in my mind.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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The Poet Tree
Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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0018 Man Raking Leaves (re Jim Morrison lyric)
The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete.
walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves.
This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku
or maybe a Japanese film -
dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man -
that evokes autumn
too near the heart
to need a title
the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake.
then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo
from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees
in the forest all around.
then the first tickle in the nostrils
of burning leaves which
the two-year old scrunching through the trees
hand in hand with older sister
will remember all his life
like the silence between
two lines of a haiku or
the silence of the moment when the seasons turn.
and who can say
what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees
slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown
to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze -
what the trees feel
as the incense of their, their, burning leaves
steals like a last caress
for each such faithful
lover?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Voice
`
leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard
leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound
leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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His Dream
The rustle of leaves,
The patter of tiny feet,
The whisper of the river,
The stillness of the air,
The squeak of little creatures,
The flap of feathered wings.
These are the things
That surround him.
He gazes beyond his world
And wonders how
These beauties came to be.
Everything is music to him,
Though not to us all.
Some say that he is insane,
That he doesn't hink straight,
But they don't understand
The ways of his mind.
He dreams of days
Where everyone would enjoy
The simple bliss of life itself.
He dreams of a world
Where all that we hear is music,
A world much like his own,
But where there is no heartache.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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The Old Fool In The Wood
'If I could whisper you all I know,'
Said the Old Fool in the Wood,
'You'd never say that green leaves grow.
You'd say, 'Ah, what a happy mood
The Master must be in today,
To think such thoughts,'
That's what you'd say.'
'If I could whisper you all I've heard,'
Said the Old Fool in the fern,
'You'd never say the song of a bird.
You'd say, 'I'll listen, and p'raps I'll learn
One word of His joy as He passed this way,
One syllable more,'
That's what you'd say.'
'If I could tell you all the rest,'
Said the Old Fool under the skies,
'You'd hug your griefs against your breast
And whisper with love-lit eyes,
'I am one with the sorrow that made the may,
And the pulse of His heart,'
That's what you'd say.'
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Day After Day
She lives in a house
That reflects her state of mind,mind
Organised chaos
In this labyrinth she hides,hides
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day
Pink fluffy dinosaurs
Are almost back in town,town
Pulling all the strings
That will finally bring her down,down
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Living Leaves
The leaves seem to take on a life of their own,
As, along the ground, they’re bounced and blown.
They run rings around my rapidly pacing feet;
Pulsating, moving, as if dancing to a musical beat.
Along the ground, the leaves skip and skitter,
As they’re blown around by the wind so bitter.
Each other, they sometimes appear to chase,
As they run around, with such a great haste.
With me, the leaves seem to be playing a game,
But they are very boisterous, and not at all tame.
Devoid of moisture, they’re as light as a feather,
And are lifted effortlessly, in this windy weather.
Some of them take flight through the air like kites;
Often soaring up to the most remarkable heights.
They zoom all around: so much higher than me;
Seemingly thrilled that, at last, they’re finally free.
Endless energy, the leaves seem to have acquired:
If we ran around like that, we would soon be tired.
The long dead leaves, all brown, with edges curled,
Are whipped up by the wind, and tirelessly whirled.
The leaves perform such a merry little dance;
Up into the air, they now do leap and prance.
To each other, they seem to whisper and rustle,
As, along the streets, they now hustle and bustle.
Following their freedom, they seem keen to explore.
They’re totally undiscouraged by the wind so raw.
More and more leaves excitedly come out to play
As. along the road, I carry onwards, on my way.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Fast thoughts
Siren
Rumble of traffic
Rustle of wind
Singing of birds
Noise of the tv
Cracking and creaking of conservatory
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rattle of paper
Thoughts
What will this time bring?
What is the phone rings?
Why can't I rid of this hung-over feeling?
What are they doing
And what is he thinking?
Should I feel guilty for sitting and sinking?
Should I be working?
For test that are lurking
What should I wear for work when I'm flirting?
Should I be flirting?
Working my shirt
And being their shine when I know that they hurt?
The sight of my phone
The look of my nails
The book in the background
The newspaper tails
The siren inside
The rumble of words
The rustle of fear
The screaming of thoughts
The need to be free
The cracking and tapping of anxiety
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rustle of paper
Thoughts
Feeling unhealthy
Fearing the stealthy
Working right now
To one day be wealthy
Making a million
Or giving up bread
The siren of nothing
So loud in my head
Should I get up
And make myself stand?
Make use of this book
This pen in my hand?
Instead I will sit
For a minute of two
And be glad that one day
I'll have nothing to do.
poem by Peggy Pollock
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Sonnet XXIX: I Think of Thee
I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee,as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXIX
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xxix
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Whom have you left behind - Original by Rabindranath Tagore
O my mind
Whom have you left behind?
So my days are over
But I find peace nowhere!
O my mind
Why you forget the way to go back!
How can you reach her door know her track!
I lend ear to the river’s water!
My soul is stirred by the leaves’ whisper!
O my mind
It seems I will find her out somehow
If I can read mind of flowers now!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Thoughts Mind Soul Echoes
thoughts like children
scatter from our mind
thoughts were part of us?
thoughts came from us?
thoughts live beyond us?
thoughts outlive our lives?
thoughts mind soul echoes
haunting fragments of mind
light shines through prisms
separates into colour bands
thought trails sunset colours
spectrum ribbons thoughts
spiral into keen conceptions
meaning insight discriminates
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Wisper Your Secrets
Whisper your secrets into my skin,
Come out clean, I'll hold your sin.
Whisper your secrets to my lone heart,
Before our sin's poison gets a head start.
Whisper your secrets into my hair,
And each strand will hold a care.
Whisper your anger into my pale hands,
Hate in my fists only you you understand.
Whisper your anger in my fragile mind,
Let anger simmer over time.
Whisper your anger into my head,
And I'll repeat every word you said.
Whisper your love into my palms,
And you will feel my calm.
Whisper your love into my lips,
And we'll lose ourselves in ignorance bliss.
Whisper your love into my soul,
And I'll show you something beautiful.
Whisper your secrets into my ear,
And know not a soul will hear.
Sonnet 29 - I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
XXIX
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Purple Glitter.....An Ode To Writers
When blackened skies shroud
Purple thoughts are thrust
As sprinkles of glitter dust
Up through the atmospheric pressure
To islands of pixies
Who share
Clouded thoughts and wishful dreams
As silent screams
Fall on ears
As bloody tears
Recite out loud or whisper
Of autumnal leaves
Crisper
Are the icicles which dance through eyes and minds and lips
Softer
Are the tears that flow
Through meandering streams of minds which weep
Than the thoughts of ones
Own......
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Riding Changing Pursuit Thoughts
sometimes he rides his thoughts like bicycles
sometimes thoughts like the allure of a whisper
sometimes thoughts like the scent of a candle
sometimes thoughts like the purr of a motorcycle
sometimes thoughts like screaming engine race
sometimes thoughts like thunder lightning flashes
sometimes flash fire thoughts comets igniting the sky
sometimes riding morning breaks punctuates paradise
sometimes morning breaks spread encircle entire earth
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Closing Heart
A lonesome whisper
Amid an almost empty room
The dim light hides nothing
It only pertains the mood
Thoughts play upon reasoning
From where there is no reason
A hearts beat beckons answers
To the unrequited question
Too long another’s touch
Another’s heart had been evasive
The anger and the sadness
To all the things and possibilities
That have fallen away to nothing
Consume the mind entirely
A lonesome whisper
A thought seldom heard
Call for the heart to close and hide
So it may never again be hurt
So it closes to the world
An end to opportunity
The whisper of this heart
Love shall never be
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Whispers of trees
Trees whisper of the coming winter
Leaves mutter among themselves
Seasons silently steal upon us…
As Falling streams from rocky shelves
Soft sibilant sighs, indistinct…incoherent
Nature’s voices, spoken through the dells
It’s the trees whisper… of the coming winter
The voices of Trolls, faeries and elves
Branches freeing…captive leaves fleeing
Limbs bleakly waving…in poignant farewell
Listen closely! …to the trees soft whisper
Of places of mystery…where legends dwell
Trees whisper the coming winter
Voices elusive…secretive as well
Hear the murmur of the wooded heart…
muted tumble of an acorn shell
Trees whisper…coming winter…
Tales that only trees can tell
poem by David Whalen
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If nothing touches the palm-leaves they do not rustle.