The last thing I have, to offer you
Not long back
I was standing tall with
My branches spread
Upwards, downwards and
In all directions sideward
It was green all around my trunk
My leaves glittering in the bright sun
They fell just after winter
Only to strike again with full vigour
I used to blossom in yellow
With pendant like red dots in the middle
And my flowers shared in secret
The whispers of young lovers in my town
Some offered my flowers to their gods
And felt blessed by the divine
These flowers attracted insects
And colourful butterflies
Who returned intoxicated
Totally nectar drunk
I bore cherry red fruits
They were feast to sparrows
Squirrels and crows
Children of the town
Squeezed my fruits
And enjoyed the sweet flesh
Coated over the big seed inside
My branches housed nests
With young birds waiting for
Their mother's return to feed them
And my thin branches helped
These young birds launch their
First flights under their mother’s guard
At times over my dark rough bark
Snakes ran up to the nests
To prey on the eggs and young ones
I was happy never once these snakes succeeded
My roots were ever busy
Tapping soil nutrients and
Sending them up to each of my tip
My leaves waved and ensured
Regular flow of oxygen rich cool air
Adding comfort to those who chose
To rest a while beneath my mammoth shadow
It was all pleasure for me
To see many around me in comfort
With whatever I can offer to them
All these came to a sudden end
When an unkind lightning struck me
I received the shock of my life
A hot wave ran through the entire me
From the top to the root bottom
And what happened
All functions in me
Came to an abrupt end
My leaves turned yellow and brown
To leave me and they fell in silence
My branches dried and turned black
The fruits did not ripe
I started drying up with no more
Supply of water from the ground
I am stark naked standing like a
Threatening skeleton
Birds, insects and people
Do not visit me
Am I turning useless
But let people know I have some thing
Also to offer
Delay further not and cut me
Burn me and enjoy the warmth
Of my heat and of my burning heart
The last thing I have, to offer you
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
All birds must be by now back in their nests
All birds must be by now back in their nests
Sharing with their offsprings
The experiences of the day
And feeding them
With the fruits, nuts and worms
Selectively gathered
With love and care
So that they grow
And soon become strong and skilled enough
To fly on their own wings
They would have started teaching
Their young ones
How to mend the nests
Which twig would go where
Which spongy feather would go where
So that all can have a comfortable sleep
Telling the stories of the past
How the eggs those hatched them
Were protected from invaders
And how they were waiting for these young wonders
Come out breaking the shell
That housed them and helped them shape
Also cautioning them against
Dangerous hungry invaders
With the scheme to devour them
And not to venture into the wind
Before they are trained adequately
In spreading the wings
And in perching on branches
Without the fear of fall
Mom, you did not get us the fruits of this tree
A query from a young one
And mom said, wait two more weeks let the tree flower
And blossom with its orange flowers
Fruits appear within a month
Mom is living is just struggling
No, the dear one
Living is a challenge
Successful living is facing them with joy
Regardless of your overcoming
Or succumbing to the challenge
A clear demonstration of care and love
All birds must be by now in their nests
I am waiting at the local rail station
For the next train towards home
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For Yani
i see the seed inside you
and day by day it grows
into a tree both with flowers
and fruits and soon the birds
shall find your branches and
shall make nests on your twigs
and soon there will be eggs
and fledglings and soon
there will be children climbing
your treetops
and laughing and playing
under your shade
there will be travelers taking
rest on your roots placing
their spines against your trunk
only if you keep on writing
for art's sake, for yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Samuel Gardner
I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Sorrow
As if my sorrow knows no bound
Its roots are deep in my heart’s ground.
Its branches are high up in the sky
Its fruits are sweet no one can defy.
Its leaves are green as if it won’t die
It’s like a rain tree so it can cry.
Its flowers have very sweet fragrance
It attracts people from a distance.
Its flowers are no doubt colorful
God trims it with His gardening tool.
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Day In The Life Of A Tree
Feel the wind burn through my skin
The pain, the air is killing me
For years my limbs stretched to the sky
A nest for birds to sit and sing
But now my branches suffer
And my leaves dont bear the glow
They did so long ago
One day I was full of life
My sap was rich and I was strong
From seed to tree I grew so tall
Through wind and rain I could not fall
But now my branches suffer
And my leaves dont offer
Poetry to men of song
Trees like me werent meant to live
If all this world can give
Pollution and slow death
Oh lord I lay me down
No lifes left to be found
Theres nothing left for me
Trees like me werent meant to live
If all this earth can give
Is pollution
Trees like me werent meant to live
(oh lord I lay me down)
If all this earth can give
(my branches to the ground)
Is pollution and slow death
(theres nothing left for me)
Oh lord I lay me down
My branches to the ground
Theres nothing left for me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Outside The August Wind is Playing
Outside the August wind is playing
swinging branches up and down,
grabbing on flowers that are still standing
with fingers which are desiring
and I wait upon birds to appear again
after their around-the-world journey
while knobs are on the branches of fruit trees,
ready to unfold in blossoms
in early spring
but the cold is making its presence known
with ripe lying spread out in the early morning
while the winter season
is still doing its icy thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
New For Old
Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.
poem by Adrian Wait
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Tree
Although I grew up on a dry, infertile soil
I thank the 'Gardeners' by whose means I was sown
Shielded me from the heat, guarded against storms
And tended me until into a 'Tree' I've grown
Into a 'Tree' I've grown although not big and strong
The 'Fruits' I bore were sweet, pleasant to everyone
Did not leave a bad taste on other people's tongue
The leaves I wore were scant but provided a shade
To those who were weary and those who seeked relief
In my own little way, comfort to them I gave
Now I'm old and sapless, the leaves I had were gone
My branches and twigs dry, stretched towards the sun
Begging that I once more be given strength and life
So I'll be again of whatever worth I might
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Is Perhaps What Poetry Is All About
a seed thrown on the ground
beside a bush, it grows and you do not notice.
it is sad to say, neglect does not bother.
time is its ally, and it begins to feel its roots
and leaves.it dreams of fruits.
the seed is now a tree, and it summons children
to play, to climb its branches and to reap its fruits.
that is its only joy. To give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Nicest Season For One To Die
The nicest Season for one to die must surely be the Spring
When the Parklands wear their Wildflowers and song birds pipe and sing
And young birds are chirping in their nests and the sparrows all the day
Are busy under the house eaves weaving their nests of hay.
If I'm not burned to ashes then why not bury me
In that old graveyard on the hill preferably by a tree
Where in Spring birds will build their nest and sing their songs above where I lay
Though what happens to your remains when you are dead doesn't matter some do say.
We all belong to Mother Nature and to her we must return sometime
The reaper takes the young and old and those in their life's
prime
And since I too must die I hope 'twill be when flowers are in full bloom
In the prime of Spring when the air scent sweetly of Nature's own perfume.
Bury me in the Graveyard on the hill where peace is to be found
Beside a tree where birds nest and sing content in their home ground
A quiet place free of man made noise when Spring is in the air
In Nature's bosom I will rest beyond any living care.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To spring (in reply to John Keats)
When the last impact of winter disappears,
the sun starts to glow bright in its longing,
cold days are dissipated by sunshine
you arrive in your pretty enchantment
with joyful countenance,
in a dashing conquering,
causing everything to sprout new
skipping along like a young child capering,
then you spread you bridal gown out wide
run jolly and overjoyed
so that insects, birds unite with you rejoicing.
Everybody are swept away by your jauntiness
when blossoms are snow white, golden yellow, blushing pink on branches
insects, birds, the wind, the weather are in love with you, are your followers
as if everything in your presence have great joy,
I hear your voice in every whispering
while you hop along, spread your hair and are flaunting
as a girl, slender and pure bringing arms full of love
full of life, full of passion and still young,
you sing the whole day long
drunk with love
stretching your arms out to me, circling out wider.
For you, everybody sings a paean
the wind, birds and insects sing glad
as if you sweep the feet out from under everything
from the big enchantment, that everything living gets from you
as if your rule will never pass,
suddenly all living things are exuberantly free
and you are so innocent, so without suspicion,
but for me you stay a love child
blinding with your beauty
and even the first rain worships you
seeks pampering from you.
[Reference: To Autumn by John Keats.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I will love myself first
I am a flower
With a set of eight long petals
Shaped a bit long oval
Coloured sky-blue at the bottom
Turning bright-yellow at the top
And with long pollen sticks
White-headed peeping well out
I am an attraction to
Butterflies which keep probing
Me for the sweet nectar
I too attract insects
Very small in size
And which enjoy sliding into me
Along the slope of my petal
I hold for you a mild scent
That resembles the smell of jasmine
But because of the high ethanol content
In my fragrance
I smell with a fruitish tinge
While jasmine has a season to blossom
I am in blossom all through
Either it is winter, summer or raining
Lovers prefer me to rose
As I am big by look and thorn-less
Some devotees come to my bush
Every day and pluck me
And offer to Krishna
The God of the town
I appear much less in numbers
Compared to jasmine
But keep many garden corners
Smelling sweet with my
Special fragrance
I thought I am fine
And everyone else is also
Fine with me
Till that evening
Someone telling his lover
Not to pluck me
As he does not like the way I look
Next day morning
A mother was instructing
Her three year old son
Not to go near me
As my smell is allergic to him
It took just a day
For me to realize
There are so many others
Who have reasons for disliking me
Any way I cannot do anything
To change my looks
Or to change my scent
So determined was i
I will keep my colour
Looks and fragrance in tact
Whether people like it or otherwise
I will keep my glow
Whether insects get attracted or not
I am a creation of nature
I will enjoy being what I am
With all that nature has gifted me
And I will love myself first
Without bothering much
To know whether
Any one else loves me or not
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode To Spring
I
Lovely spring, like an enchanter freeing
the hard dry earth from being dead,
the first of your works I am seeing
while sprouts appear from winter’s bed
on branches blooming flowers glow
in colours of white, yellow, pink and red
while the early summer wind does already blow
more flowers are rising from the grave by your magic will
while your powers works high and low
from the marsh up onto the hill
and there is new life everywhere,
that comes so suddenly from your great skill
while insects, bees and birds flutter in the air
and not a single leave is shed
while in flowering you take great care
while like a princess you veil covers your head,
your wedding dress over all of nature is spread.
II
Your helpers are busy with a big commotion
while into the air with pollen they surge,
while your kingdom stretches over land to the ocean
and from existence, time’s verge
to earth you have constantly life given
with happy awakenings from winter’s dirge
constantly to supreme beauty you have striven
as if by magic coming from fortune’s height
and away you have the touches of winter driven,
away you have swept that dark dying night
while rain fell water are flowing in streams,
back you have brought frivolity and sheer light,
you have turned whimpering screams
into the magic of coming summer dreams.
III
Where you come there is no fear,
no suffering that you bring,
only the jolly songs that one hears
as more and more flowers are awakening
coming to the summing of what joy should be
while your presence is gorgeous and striking,
a gift with love that is coming totally free
while you rush about at great speed,
to nature are bringing growth and tranquillity
coming at a time of dire need
to transform over night when winter is gone
while unseen suddenly you proceed
bringing fruits and the summer on
as of all seasons you are the loveliest one.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tree Is My Animal
Tree is My Animal 7/09
Tree is my animal
And I burst forth from the soil
Past root, worm and grub
Unfurled now my leaves seek mother sun
Nourished and illuminated
I stand neath Methuselahs
Father old and true
Aged moss (ancient moss)
Comforts and warms me
Vines find shelter and comfort along my bones
Mother sun still sings
And centuries have past
But as a new nest appears in my arms
Oh I know I have much to go
And I am now Methuselah
And stand next to my father old and true
And watch as my young sapling grows neath me
My love is alone
I am alone
I stretch to touch her leaves and tickle her branches
My poems I send on the wings of birds, butterflies and bees
I feel the scent of her in the perfumed pollen born on wisps of wind
Wherever you are my Love
I will find you
Though seeds may scatter
And leaves grow few
Though centuries may pass
Here I stand
Now
Tendrils touch
At long last
A Moorish lattice of leaf and bark
Filigree
A canopy of lovers to shade
Lovers from the unwanted gaze of mother sun
Our songs sung by birds at play in our tender union
Our union complete
Til centuries wither our bones
Then to earth
A loamy death to share
This union and
Alone no more
poem by Guillermo Veloso
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode To Bird Watching
Now
Let's look for birds!
The tall iron branches
in the forest,
The dense
fertility on the ground.
The world
is wet.
A dewdrop or raindrop
shines,
a diminutive star
among the leaves.
The morning time
mother earth
is cool.
The air
is like a river
which shakes
the silence.
It smells of rosemary,
of space
and roots.
Overhead,
a crazy song.
It's a bird.
How
out of its throat
smaller than a finger
can there fall the waters
of its song?
Luminous ease!
Invisible
power
torrent
of music
in the leaves.
Sacred conversations!
Clean and fresh washed
is this
day resounding
like a green dulcimer.
I bury
my shoes
in the mud,
jump over rivulets.
A thorn
bites me and a gust
of air like a crystal
wave
splits up inside my chest.
Where
are the birds?
Maybe it was
that
rustling in the foliage
or that fleeting pellet
of brown velvet
or that displaced
perfume? That
leaf that let loose cinnamon smell
- was that a bird? That dust
from an irritated magnolia
or that fruit
which fell with a thump -
was that a flight?
Oh, invisible little
critters
birds of the devil
with their ringing
with their useless feathers.
I only want
to caress them,
to see them resplendent.
I don't want
to see under glass
the embalmed lightning.
I want to see them living.
I want to touch their gloves
of real hide,
which they never forget in
the branches
and to converse with
them
sitting on my shoulders
although they may leave
me like certain statues
undeservedly whitewashed.
Impossible.
You can't touch them.
You can hear them
like a heavenly
rustle or movement.
They converse
with precision.
They repeat
their observations.
They brag
of how much they do.
They comment
on everything that exists.
They learn
certain sciences
like hydrography.
and by a sure science
they know
where there are harvests
of grain
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!