Grass Cutting
Today a hundred yards of green lawn
along the river promenade,
interspersed with small trees and bushes,
are ready for trimming.
Fifteen men and women
with strimmers, baskets and long-handled brushes
are given the job of creating great clouds
of fine green and brown dust,
interspersed with sitting and laughing
in a circle in the shade,
to give the heat of the day a chance to fade;
a not unpleasant communal occupation.
This would cause a sensation,
or even provoke outrage
in England, where one Council Worker
must do it all on the minimum wage.
www.bamboo-leaves.com
poem by Brian Taylor
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A lane in England
In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.
Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.
In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road
and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road
and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Trees and Plants
Plants and trees
So green so green
The kitchen is the leaf
And the root is the chief
They give us flowers to decorate
And also to celebrate
They give us paper from their wood
And they are found in the woods
With their help we can make whatever we want
From a rubberband to a pant
We don't need to pay tax or fees
To borrow from our lovely trees
They protect us from diseases
That would make us ill
All the carbondioxide
They always take in
Some people cut trees
For things like table and chair
Not knowing what pollution
They are doing to the air
Forests are turning from green to brown
Animals' faces are always with a frown
So let's make this place from brown to green
By planting more saplings and trees
poem by Deepika Ganesh
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A Testament
The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.
I pause a moment…
Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.
Why must I lament?
The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.
A fool is content.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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You need to know that a member of Congress who refuses to allow the minimum wage to come up for a vote made more money during last year's one-month government shutdown than a minimum wage worker makes in an entire year.
quote by William Jefferson Clinton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating -
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Place Of Romantic Mood!
Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?
poem by Ramesh T A
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The national minimum wage has not been increased in 9 years. By year's end, 21 States across America will have a minimum wage exceeding the Federal minimum wage.
quote by Sherwood Boehlert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Path into the bushes
There’s a road like out of a dream
or a fairy tale
that twists into the bushes,
but it’s white and pure
with innocence where it snakes
into the undergrowth
and the sky is open
and blue white to the horizon.
I walk pass a great white tree
with orange brown leaves
that rises above me
and a long dried out tree
of which the branches
reach like fingers into the air.
I follow the path
to the long blue gum trees
that are covered
with dark green leaves
and the odour of the trees
and the wood
hangs heavy in the air
and there’s something concrete
that’s stronger than a dream
[Reference: Wooded landscape by Mandi. Look at the painting on my web page: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1413_Path_into_th e_bushes.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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California Hills in August
I can imagine someone who found
these fields unbearable, who climbed
the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,
wishing a few more trees for shade.
An Easterner especially, who would scorn
the meagerness of summer, the dry
twisted shapes of black elm,
scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape
August has already drained of green.
One who would hurry over the clinging
thistle, foxtail, golden poppy,
knowing everything was just a weed,
unable to conceive that these trees
and sparse brown bushes were alive.
And hate the bright stillness of the noon
without wind, without motion.
the only other living thing
a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended
in the blinding, sunlit blue.
And yet how gentle it seems to someone
raised in a landscape short of rain—
the skyline of a hill broken by no more
trees than one can count, the grass,
the empty sky, the wish for water.
poem by Dana Gioia
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Drought
Right through the veldt the grass are dried out yellow,
almost everything under the eye,
the sun burns trees and bushes,
whirlwinds blow red dust clouds high into the air
and it looks as if every bush and tree is stripped of leaves,
the sky is blue and open with all clouds missing
on farms cattle, bucks and sheep are bellowing and bleating
and farmers come to a confession
that all things comes from the hand of God, gather in towns
where they admit the dependence of man
where everything comes to a halt
and they pray to God for rain.
Even the most prominent people pray
while atheists sit in the bars
drinking tot after tot while moaning about the heat
and on the horizon lightning slams down white
while it’s pressing hot clouds gather
before a enormous rainstorm erupts,
a thunderbolt falls on the porch of a bar
rain rattles on the zinc roof
the thirsty red dust flies into the air with big drops falling,
are filled overnight with knee high green grass
and the animals that are feeding in the fields
go plumb to the markets.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Vivaldi, concerto for flute
Children playing on a green playground
Mothers watching
Closely watching
The faces of children
Smiling
Cool air
Green leaves brown leaves yellow leaves
Soft wind
Leaves falling down to the slow soft wind
Children running
Chasing each other
They are playing
A mother feels the soft wind
Cool air
And sees the trickles of leaves
Blending green brown yellow
With sunshine as canvass
Nature and human figures of mothers and children
Blending
Amazing
What a beautiful painting has God
In quick short brushes
Effortlessly with perfect strokes did make
The frame is laughter of children.
I am taking the whole picture for home.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Green Leaves Come again
WHEN green leaves come again, my love,
When green leaves come again,--
Why put on such a cloudy face,
When green leaves come again?
'Ah, this spring will be like the last,
Of promise false and vain;
And summer die in winter's arms
Ere green leaves come again.
'So slip the seasons--and our lives;
'T is idle to complain:
But yet I sigh, I scarce know why,
When green leaves come again.'
Nay, lift up thankful eyes, my sweet!
Count equal, lost and gain:
Because, as long as the world lasts,
Green leaves will come again.
For, sure as earth lives under snows,
And Love lives under pain,
'T is good to sing with everything,
'When green leaves come again.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Ancient Hills Of Toora
The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.
To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.
The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.
The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Deep In Nature
Green everywhere and as far as the eye could see
Green plants, green leaves
A small river, with a boulder or two
And the sky so beautiful with blue
I lay back and let myself dream
It's so quiet and peaceful i never want to leave this stream
That is my idea of peace in nature, do you not agree?
poem by Jonathan Kjaer
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Green Delight
Green Delight
The green pastime
pastures sweet and tame
up in smoke today
sticky small green leaves
let me bit you up
we'll hit the streets
and fly like kites
colours soft and blue
pastel gel
me and you
go well together
lamb and shine
we melt ice and time
shelter me
peaceful green delight
you grow to please me
tease me
release me
enter me
satisfy me
green parade in my brain
I'm so alive
in the wonder of life
I love you
green delight
poem by Sara Winters
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Brown green leaves need
Bamboo has need of space
Beauty has left this place
haiku by Is It Poetry
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Trees
Green with spendour when Summer's here,
Brown contender in Autumn's sphere,
Bare the branches in Winter's embrace,
New growth created, when Spring shows her face.
Stalwart trunks, with many years standing,
Leaves when over, steadily landing,
Branches swaying in the breeze,
How I love all kinds of trees.
Forests of green, where they all meet,
Swaying together as they all greet,
Each morning, when the light appears,
Each growing slowly over the years.
Sentinels of the land they survey,
Strong and upstanding in every way,
Graceful, mighty, powerful and fine,
Tall and sleek just like the Pine.
The Oak, Ash, Sycamore and Lime,
The Rowan, White Beam and Silver Birch sublime,
Each one giving of their glorious best,
To the World - The World's been blest.
What would we do without our trees,
Don't cut them down, will you please,
Remember how they give us shade,
From the sun, within the glade.
Stand and study these majestic creations,
Upright descendants of past relations,
Their dignity, against all weathers,
If it were us, we'd lose our tethers.
But these gallant trees require our care,
They give oxygen, in the air
That we breathe, so, if we want to survive,
Let us keep our trees alive.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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