The palm-trees
Palm-trees become frequent victims
Of thunderbolts!
Don’t grow tall like palm-trees;
Sprout and spread your branches …
poem by Asif Andalib
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Related quotes
Palm trees
There’s palm trees that grows in a row
down Nelson Mandela drive
and I wonder how they survive
and are full of life and vibrance,
while the one or other pest
destroys the rest of the palm trees
and eats them from the inside
and my neighbour’s palm
is yellow brown and dead.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Images
(1964) nina simone, waring cuney
She does not know
Her beauty,
She thinks her brown body
Has no glory.
If she could dance
Naked,
Under palm trees
And see her image in the river
She would know.
But there are no palm trees
On the street,
And dishwater gives back no images.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of Exile
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air;
no bird here can sing as well
as the birds sing over there.
We have fields more full of flowers
and a starrier sky above,
we have woods more full of life
and a life more full of love.
Lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
my homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Such delights as my land offers
Are not found here nor elsewhere;
lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Don't allow me, God, to die
without getting back to where
I belong, without enjoying
the delights found only there,
without seeing all those palm-trees,
hearing thrush-songs fill the air.
poem by Antônio Gonçalves Dias
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Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
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The Palm-Tree
Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm?
Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm?
A ship whose keel is of palm beneath,
Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath,
And a rudder of palm it steereth with.
Branches of palm are its spars and rails,
Fibres of palm are its woven sails,
And the rope is of palm that idly trails!
What does the good ship bear so well?
The cocoa-nut with its stony shell,
And the milky sap of its inner cell.
What are its jars, so smooth and fine,
But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine,
And the cabbage that ripens under the Line?
Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm?
The master, whose cunning and skill could charm
Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm.
In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft,
From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed,
And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft!
His dress is woven of palmy strands,
And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands,
Traced with the Prophet's wise commands!
The turban folded about his head
Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid,
And the fan that cools him of palm was made.
Of threads of palm was the carpet spun
Whereon he kneels when the day is done,
And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one!
To him the palm is a gift divine,
Wherein all uses of man combine,--
House, and raiment, and food, and wine!
And, in the hour of his great release,
His need of the palm shall only cease
With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace.
'Allah il Allah!' he sings his psalm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm;
'Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
Change the world with turning the palm
Change the world with turning the palm
Turning upside
Turning downside
Changing the world is not as hard as you think
Turning outside
Turning inside
Changing the world could be as easy as turning palm
Palm is opened
Palm is closed
Clap! Clap! Clap! The astonishing sound heard
Palm is hailed
Palm is hugged
When all people do it together
Yes, we can make a different
Change the world with turning the palm
Hide away smile
Erase away tears
Changing the world with a slight change of mind
The fate is cast
The fate unknown
Changing the world by turning others opinion
Palm is embracing
Palm is praying
Crack! Crack! Crack! A flicker of hope seen
Palm is waved
Palm is offered
When all people do it sincerely
Yes, we can change the world
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Harmless Gossip
An avenue of stately trees
whose branches meet high overhead
exchanging gossip with the breeze.
This is the way that rumours spread.
When lovers stroll beneath the moon.
The trees observe their every move.
They dance to day to the same tune
their forbears danced to when in love.
Though fashions change, some things do not.
The trees have seen it all before.
All that they’ve seen is not forgot
but added the their growing store
of gossip which the trees then share
with every passing breeze that blows.
The trees will spread it everywhere
to all and sundry I suppose.
Be very careful what you do.
Although no one can see.
Know that the trees are watching you
and they will share quite happily.
Everything that they have seen
with any breeze that happens by.
With consequences unforeseen
By trees and breeze or you and I.
When strolling in a moon lit glade
Beware the moons soft silver rays.
That stir the blood of man and maid
to think this is the time and place.
19/09/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Silent Music
Palm branches moving in the afternoon breeze,
rhythmically dancing with the other trees.
Swaying here and there with a tropical flair
to melodic music that isn’t there.
They sense Mother Nature’s inspiring touch
and display their thanks by moving thus.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Early Works - Trees
In fields of coloured leaves
there stand tall and noble trees
like statues in Trafalgar Square.
They stand straight and tall
with branches pointing
skyward in the air
these trees with noble flair.
Date unknown, probably 1960’s
poem by David Harris
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My beautiful flowering trees
My beautiful flowering trees
One day I shall buy some land
Plant countless seeds
And watch them grow
Into beautiful flowering trees
A cool breeze
Will bring me
Sweet fragrances
From a thousand flowering trees
I shall listen
To the songs
From birds perched
In the tall flowering trees
I shall play
With my children and theirs
In the vast expanse of green
Amongst beautiful flowering trees
One day I shall rest
Passing into oblivion
My ashes scattered
Amidst the beautiful flowering trees
by Ash (Rishi's Dad)
poem by Rishi Menon
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Remains Of The Night
Summer's Fog
Morning is not here yet
I cannot see
The sleeping town in front of me.
A refreshing air comes from the west
Palm trees stand in the fog
While contemplating
On what is left of the night
I hear sounds of birds.
Bare feet
And the house's roof is cold
A little bird
Comes flying and lands
On the long palm's frond.
It gazes toward me
I feel it is asking
What happened?
Why didn't you sleep last night?
poem by Khalid Albudoor
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Of Mere Being
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor,
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Song of the Trees
1
WE are the Trees.
Our dark and leafy glade
Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries.
Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run:
In burning zones, we build against the sun
Long centuries of shade.
2
We are the Trees,
Who grow for man’s desire,
Heat in our faithful hearts, and fruits that please.
Dwelling beneath our tents, he lightly gains
The few sufficiencies his life attains—
Shelter, and food, and fire.
3
We are the Trees
That by great waters stand,
By rills that murmur to our murmuring bees.
And where, in tracts all desolate and waste,
The palm-foot stays, man follows on, to taste
Springs in the desert sand.
4
We are the Trees
Who travel where he goes
Over the vast, inhuman, wandering seas.
His tutors we, in that adventure brave—
He launched with us upon the untried wave,
And now its mastery knows.
5
We are the Trees
Who bear him company
In life and death. His happy sylvan ease
He wins through us; through us, his cities spread
That like a forest guard his unfenced head
’Gainst storm and bitter sky.
6
We are the Trees.
On us the dying rest
Their strange, sad eyes, in farewell messages.
And we, his comrades still, since earth began,
Wave mournful boughs above the grave of man,
And coffin his cold breast.
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
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Bangkok
Gotcha!
Hey sucker let me outa here!
Hey, man!
Bangkok on a sunny day
The rain has washed the blood away
Thousand of veins left in the streets
But I cant wash away the red points
On the sheets of the hotels
And the cheap rooms
Of the cheap whores
Under palm trees
Under palm trees
My brain is running in circles now
I gotta cure the pain somehow
Theres a coloured cloud in front of sun
And a face is trying to cheat me
And to take away the fun
And the killer troups of the dea
Have just brought my friend away
In the stuff that dreams are made of
In the stuff that dreams are made of
Stuff that dreams are made of
Hey, hey, hey!
Stuff that dreams are made of
Stuff that dreams are made of
Hey, hey, hey!
Stuff
Stuff that dreams
Are made of...
song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little palm tree, stop crying, you child is the tall palm tree.
Sonnet: Grow Trees
The branches cut the wind fierce to a breeze;
The leaves break sunlight into chequered beams;
The shade of trees affords all travelers peace;
The wearied ones sleep ’neath the trees in dreams!
And birds too build their nests on branches high;
The squirrels eat their berries with great joy;
The trees make verdant all landscape near-by;
And attract rain in which children enjoy!
Trees make the earth greener and beautiful,
Adding oxygen to the air we breathe;
Preserve its trees, man! Nature is grateful;
The leaves and flowers can make us a wreath.
Trees are so useful to mankind always;
’midst good trees, men have spent their earthly days!
7-14-2002
poem by John Celes
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Goodbye Sky Harbor
"Is tomorrow just a day like all the rest."
How could you know just what you did?
So full of faith yet so full of doubt I ask.
Time and time again you said don't be afraid.
"If you believe you can do it."
The only voice I want to hear is yours.
Again.
I shall ask you this once again.
And again.
He said:
" I am but one small instrument."
Do you remember that?
So here I am above palm trees so straight and tall.
You are smaller
song performed by by Jimmy Eat World from Clarity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadows And Tall Trees
Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night
Walls of white protest
A gravestone in name
Who is it now
It's always the same
Who is it now
Who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees
Just living disguise
I walk sweet rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window
Discoloured pain
Mrs. Brown's washing is always the same
I walk street rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
(Out there)
Do you feel in me...
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling
Is love like a tightrope
Hanging from the ceiling
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and Tall Trees
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Trees Are, I Am!
Just trees will grow in shapes that please,
My shapes do grow like limbs;
Eyes see, ears hear - abilities!
But trees possess just whims.
Where trees are, I am! So you are
The one with limbs, the one
Who swears with words always bizarre,
Phrases of prediction.
The plants called trees are super-wise,
The stalks are trunks profound,
Their limbs and roots also advise,
The trees are aboveground.
poem by Naveed Akram
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