En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Of Caterpillars and Childhood

We were childhood playmates
Way back in the late fifties
She was sort of a retardate,
We children were not aware of this.

One day we climbed a guava tree
And Celia (that's her name)
Tried to climb the tree with me
How we enjoyed that racing game!

On a stronger branch I sat
My brother climbed the other
As Celia climbed I noticed that
Green caterpillars were all over!

I jumped off that tree so fast
And my brother followed suit
Celia tried to get off, alas!
A caterpillar stuck to her foot.

She held to a branch in fear
Her hand crushed the green thing there
With a scream she let go, oh dear!
She fell on her back with a holler!

Her grandma came rushing over
As we laughed at the silly crying
But out came our angry Mother
And we were in for a big scolding.

Looking back I have my regret
I have not been able to say 'Sorry'
My friend was one I will never forget
So for her, I write this little story.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Tree And The Branch

the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging

the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it

the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it

angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit

a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Caterpillar

Dangling down its silken thread,
A caterpillar came;
From atop a branch of tree,
After her feeding game.

Little did it think that there,
A leafy twig green stood,
While it began to descend down,
Dancing across the air.

It jumped in fright upwards from where
It attempted to fall;
The leafy branch too followed it,
And formed a bottom wall.

The Caterpillar sensed the leaves,
And found them succulent;
Alighting gently upon it,
It romped home happily!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-5-2008

poem by John Celes
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Celia

Cherry, cherry,
glowing on the hearth,
bright red cherry….
When you try to pick up cherry
Celia’s shriek
sticks in you like a pin.

When God throws hailstones
you cuddle in Celia’s shawl
and press your feet on her belly
high up like a stool.
When Celia makes umbrella of her hand.
Rain falls through
big pink spokes of her fingers.
When wind blows Celia’s gown up off her legs
she runs under pillars of the bank—
great round pillars of the bank
have on white stockings too.

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.

Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don’t believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.

It isn’t a dream….
It comes again and again….
You hear ivy crying on steeples
the flames haven’t caught yet
and images screaming
when they see red light on the lilies
on the stained glass window of St. Joseph.
The girl with the black eyes holds you tight,
and you run… and run
past the wild, wild towers…
and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet
and little frightened dolls
shut up in the shops
crying… and crying… because no one stops…
you spin like a penny thrown out in the street.
Then the man clutches her by the hair….
He always clutches her by the hair….
His eyes stick out like spears.
You see her pulled-back face
and her black, black eyes
lit up by the glare….
Then everything goes out.
Please God, don’t let me dream any more
of the girl with the black, black eyes.

Celia’s shadow rocks and rocks…
and mama’s eyes stare out of the pillow
as though she had gone away
and the night had come in her place
as it comes in empty rooms…
you can’t bear it—
the night threshing about
and lashing its tail on its sides
as bold as a wolf that isn’t afraid—
and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave
and pull it around to the light,
till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone
and goes away without end.
Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers.
Celia tucks the quilt about her feet,
but I run for my little red cloak
because red is hot like fire.

I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…
…Celia saying
I’d beg the world with you….
Celia… holding on to the cab…
hands wrenched away…
wind in the masts… like Celia crying….
Celia never minded if you slapped her
when the comb made your hairs ache,
but though you rub your cheek against mama’s hand
she has not said darling since….
Now I will slap her again….
I will bite her hand till it bleeds.

It is cool by the port hole.
The wet rags of the wind
flap in your face.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Celia

Celia, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;
Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen.

How cruel Celia's fate, who hence
Our heart's devotion cannot try;
Too pretty for our reverence,
Too ancient for our gallantry!

poem by Alexander Pope
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The Old Cherry Tree

My mind is full of one old cherry tree,
Whose branches I climbed as a child in quest
Of my then slumbering identity.
Remembrance finds my pastoral friend drest
In rich green shimmering with silver flame,
The dusky cherries bursting with the life
And love that saturate the cosmic frame.
Leaf, branch and fruit are wounded not with strife,
But shine with nature's unencumbered joy.
Instructor of the soul - o tree of love -
You were in mystic union with the boy;
The man to bursts of lyric thought you move.
Alas, the canker reappears anon,
And minds me that the storm of hate howls on.

poem by William Wolff
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Christmas Story 'believe

she was awoken with a loud thunderous sound
she jumped up and looked around.
it can't be santa claus? it just can't be.
mommy did'nt even have money to buy a tree.

she heard the sound one more time
and upon her roof they did climb.

the little pitter patter of hooves
above her head
made her turn and jump out of bed.

she ran to the window and
looked to the roof
she wanted to tell her mother
she did have the proof.

she saw something red
moving to the chimney
then she knew it had to be.
that santa claus is not only
in our hearts and minds
and will live throughout all time.

all children are supposed
to be asleep.
but through half closed eyes
they would peak.

she then heard the sounds in
the room below.
as she opened the door very slow.
to her surprise there was a tree
decorated 'oh so beautifully'.

and there under the tree
there was gifts galore
who would think - that they were poor.

as she started to look around
at the fireplace he was found.
he was having the milk and cookies
that were left that night.
' oh my gosh what a beautiful sight'.

he then put his finger to his nose
and just like the book
up the chimney he rose.

she went back to her room, and climbed
back into her bed, said her prayers
and laid down her head.
she awoke the next morning
thinking it was a dream.
when she heard her mother scream.

how is this possible? how can it be?
'all these presents, and with a tree.'
as she ran to her mothers side
the tears started to fill her eyes.

i don't know who did this? i have no clue
and i don't know what i should do.
she then told her what she heard
and saw the night before
when she opened up her bedroom door.

as we opened up the first package
from under the tree
we saw a metal frame with one word.
BELIEVE
now we put this question to you.
do you believe? is this story true?

poem by Louis Rams
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What Celia Saw in the Back of a Spoon

Celia looked at her reflection
In the back of the spoon;
Her face was blown outward
As if captured on some balloon.
It almost made her laugh;
The memory of it;
How she and her sister Sassy
Would do that as kids,
Before the dark days,
Before her death in a bath.
That drowning, that sad death.
Sassy's husband had beaten her
Black and blue and green
And she'd hide herself away
So as not to be seen.
But she'd seen her,
Seen the bruises
Like smudged tattoos,
The closed eyes,
The swollen lips,
The hardly able to talk words
Pushing through the mouth
To say: he says he loves me still.
Celia stared at her reflection,
The way her own mouth was distorted,
Her lips blown up, her eyes enlarged,
Out of proportion.
She almost laughed,
But something about Sassy's sad death
Made her stifle any guffaw
That may have broken free
From her distorted reflected jaw.
There was the time she'd seen her
Undressing for bed when she stayed
Because Sassy's husband (the weird freak)
Was off on business, some big deal,
Needing to be pulled off,
And she saw the black and blueness
With tinges of green
Along her naked flesh,
The buttocks welted
Where he had belted.
Sassy had said nothing,
Had not noticed Celia looking,
Had not thought it unusual
To be unclothed as such
Away from other's peering eyes.
Now Sassy was dead;
Found in the bath;
Drugged out, wrists slit,
Having drowned recorded.
But he had driven her over the edge;
He had bullied and beaten
Like some spoilt cruel child
An unwanted toy.
Celia turned the spoon over
And put it down.
No more desire to laugh,
Just fond memories of Sassy
Before her death in the bath.

poem by Terry Collett
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A Broken Branch, A Fervent Tree

Such compassion and beauty be,
With the comfort strongly felt,
A friendship intensely made,
By the obstacles both sides have dealt.

I have no life without my other half,
No laughter unfeigned, no smile undelayed,
Immensely crafted into a bond,
So resilient and true, yet not dismayed.

I am a branch without a tree,
If I'm not with you, I fall, I am unbalanced,
You are my inner strength, my inner warmth,
A clandestine unglanced.

Such a friend you are,
A friend that one could never imagine,
A feeling of mirth and undeniable care,
As warm as a joyful grin.

I am a branch without a tree,
Incomplete without a tree,
I am the branch, you are the tree,
A broken branch, a fervent tree.

- a poem for Lorena -
- a poem for CHULCZ -

poem by Nashy Lamen
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Men in Green

Oh, there were fifteen men in green,
Each with a tommy-gun,
Who leapt into my plane at dawn;
We rose to meet the sun.

We set our course towards the east
And climbed into the day
Till the ribbed jungle underneath
Like a giant fossil lay.

We climbed towards the distant range,
Where two white paws of cloud
Clutched at the shoulders of the pass;
The green men laughed aloud.

They did not fear the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest
And hung from ropes invisible
With lightning in its breast.

They did not fear the summer's sun
In whose hot centre lie
A hundred hissing cannon shells
For the unwatchful eye.

And when on Dobadura's field
We landed, each man raised
His thumb towards the open sky;
But to their right I gazed.

For fifteen men in jungle green
Rose from the kunai grass
And came towards the plane. My men
In silence watched them pass;
It seemed they looked upon themselves
In Times's prophetic glass.

Oh, there were some leaned on a stick
And some on stretchers lay,
But few walked on their own two feet
In the early green of day.

(They did not heed the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest;
They did not fear the summer sun
With bullets for their breast.)

Their eyes were bright, their looks were dull;
Their skin had turned to clay.
Nature had meet them in the night
And stalked them in the day.

And I think still of men in green
On the Soputa track,
With fifteen spitting tommy-guns
To keep the jungle back.

poem by David Campbell
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Tonight I Climbed The Wall

(alan jackson)
Our room was filled with silence
I guess wed said it all
I dont when Id seen our bedroom
So long I cant recall
Wed built this thing between us
Im not sure whats the cause
So I sallowed all my pride
And tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
And took her by the hand
Wed come too far to fall
Couldnt stand to see it end
So tonight I climbed the wall
Makin love is so much sweeter
When you love the one you hold
After all these years of holdin her
Youd think by now Id know
Now as we lie here together
All our troubles seem so small
Just these satin sheets between us
Cause tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
And took her by the hand
Wed come too far to fall
Couldnt stand to see it end
So tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall
Tonight I climbed the wall

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tree And The Breeze

Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree

The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?

poem by Amy Parkinson
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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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Y.. Tree of Life

The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch

The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.

A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!

So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work

With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.

A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.

poem by Aufie Zophy
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Our Tree

When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.

When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.

When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.

When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.

poem by Marchette Chute
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All About Two Friends

Two true friends they were.
A kite and a sparrow living in a tree.
They chit-chatted all day long
And forgot the rest of the world.
None an nothing could separate them

There came a dark and short man once
Who smiled and smiled at the sparrow and
Said aloud, 'It can`t be, how is it that you are here now?
The sparrow turned pale and looked at his friend, the kite.
The little man was looking into a foliage now.

Two true friends they were.
The kite murmered into the ears of his friend,
'Fear not my friend, I shall take you to another tree high and tall
And save you from this dark and short brute..come with me'.
As they flew off unto a far away tree, the'brute'down still smiled.

Two true friends they were.
The kite made the pal sit on a tall branch and said,
'It`s safe here, let me go back and ask that brute who he is? '
The bigger winged beauty flew back to old tree and the'dark brute'
And he hovered around both for some time.

The dark and the short man heard the kite speak,
'Who are you to speak to my friend and why did you speak such words? '
The smiling 'brute'said, 'Oh bird, I am the god of death and as per my book
Thy friend, the sparrow should be on the top of a far off tree
And should have been eaten by a huge snake by now, and therefore alone
I spoke to your friend words'.

Shocked, the flew back to the tree high and tall,
His friend the sparrow was not there on any branch!
Down across the shrubs was moving a big python after feasting on the prey.
The kite flew off unto the skies infinite next.
He and his late friends were two true friends.

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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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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Thru The Eyes Of A Child

When I was a child I climbed the tallest tree that I could find
To see all the beauties that GOD left behind.
I've never been to any snow capped mountain
Or ever climbed the highest peak
But he shows me words and lays them at my feet.

I see the baseball field where my friends and I would play
And I see the patch of grass where my head would lay.
I see myself laying there as the world passes by
Counting every cloud that's high up in the sky.

I feel the summer breeze as it passes through my hair
Ever so gentle- much more than I could bare.
I climbed up higher at least sixty feet above the ground
Just so I could hear all those familiar sounds.

The birds singing tunes to delight the ears
Wiping away all those childish fears.
I gazed across the park taking in all the sights
Watching younger children in the sprinklers
Jumping with delight.

I felt myself getting light headed, but not because of the height
But because of the words which I knew I could not fight.
So I climbed down from the tree, and said a little prayer
For the words he had given me
I knew that I must share.

This was my first inkling for what was in store for me
That was when I knew- I had to write poetry.

poem by Louis Rams
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The innocence of a tree shaken into guilt

my legs, running but not touching the ground
my hands as if I was tying a very tight tie
thousands of blood vessels trapped
I used to love that tree

My legs helped me climb the tree
my hand helped me tie the knot
thousands of thoughts trying to escape at once
My cat used to love that tree

My friend helped me down from the tree
my friend also undid my tie
thousands of breaths all at once
no nobody likes that tree

I nearly died, the tree did.
The tree didn't do anything
but it got chopped down anyway
an eighty three kilogram burden within one high branch

poem by Geof Lusins
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Put On Your Green Shoes

Gather round children and you will hear
The sound of a cricket crying in your ear
Thats mother nature, shes crying out loud
This old earth needs some loving now, so
Chorus:
Put on your green shoes
Put on your green shoes
Mother nature, shes calling to you
To put on your green shoes
Put on your green shoes and walk with me
Well go around back and plant a tree
Help it grow and you will see
The way the world was meant to be
Chorus
Wonder how the world would be
Without the shade of a redwood tree
Without all the fish, the birds and the bees
Springtime would be lonely, so
Chorus

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sycamore Tree

A rainbow appeared across the sky
Like a promise
A covenant
Shinning on high
I waited and watched Making sure I could see
Climbing the branches of my sycamore tree

A star shone bright
Symbolizing
Signifying
The importance that night
Men followed it
As I watched happily
Sitting atop my sycamore tree

A white dove descended from the clouds
With a voice
And a light
Amazing the crowds
Water and word
I watched and thought of what it could be
From the tallest branch of my sycamore tree

From a tree like mine a cross was formed
Spitting
Beating
Some laughed while others mourned
I knew there was something I could do
But I was afraid of what would happen to me
So I stayed put, hanging on tight to my sycamore tree

Three days later a butterfly appeared
Alive
And vibrant
Then to my tree it finally neared
It seemed as though it was speaking to me
Speaking of life eternally
So I followed the butterfly as far as I could see
Then I quickly climbed down the branches

Joyully leaving my sycamore tree

poem by Emily Caudill
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