Death Of The Trees
My town is a place where
The rich tourists come,
With mountains and rivers
That glint in the sun!
Luxuriant beaches
Of ivory sand,
But all the jade forests
Now no longer stand!
There once were lush jungles
That grew dense and tall,
But woodcutters came when
The town was still small...
They hacked all the trees down
And shipped them away,
In huge merchant vessels
That sailed to the bay!
They went back to Europe
With precious hard woods,
Sold it as furniture
And other fine goods...
I wish I could travel
In time to the day
Before people cleared all
The forests away!
I wish I had seen them
Before settlers came,
The mountains and rivers
May still be the same...
Iron, Yellow, Black Wood
And most of all trees,
Don't sway any more in
The fresh coastal breeze...
This poetry is an adapted poem for
Lisa La Grange, her copyright,2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Related quotes
Mountain Peak
We came together on the highest mountain on this earth.
As years went by we separated into rivers
from the tears this mountain cried.
We all fell into different rivers flowing though
forests, rocks, and waterfalls.
No matter what season we came across
we continued flowing.
We are rivers that started in the mountains,
and rivers that separated as we went through
many waterfalls.
Sometimes we travel together,
and other times we travel alone.
Always remember that these same rivers
that travel many miles through the earth
are once again together when it reaches its final destination
the “Ocean”
So, rivers that started up high in the mountains
and then separated are united
again as a family.
poem by Felix Lugo
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Mountains Landscape
Thousand mountains around the parks,
A flock of birds flying high up the skies,
Above the misty clouds,
Above the sea and mountain cliffs.
A sudden appearance of rainstorm,
A heavy downpour flooded the lands,
Trees move and sway in the storm winds,
Water rapid gorging the rivers.
Lose self in the undulating valleys and peaks,
In mystical mossy forests,
Sprawling jungles trails and plantations,
classic tropical flowers, trees and farms
Lose yourself
In the mystical long rivers and waterfalls
In the mists over the highest point of the highlands
And re-discover yourself again.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
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Save Forests and Rare Species
The Franklin forests are extinct;
These trees of beauty are now rare;
No more are they found in the wild;
Their fragrant flowers tempt a child!
Last seen in 18 zero3,
By Altamaha river-side –
A deciduous tree or shrub,
It grows upto a twenty feet.
With leaves that change color by fall,
Its snow-white flowers are showy;
With golden yellow stamens free,
It is now grown in pots from seeds!
But nothing like the forests wild
Of Franklin trees that grew on own;
You could not find a path through them –
Home to wild animals many.
How Nature rears a forest dense!
–The secrets, no man deciphers;
The way they flourish in the wild,
No gardener can do like-wise!
As man destroys more forest trees,
For want of newer farming land,
Wild wondrous trees then cease to be,
And other species vanish too.
Deforestation is a crime
That has gone uncontrolled with time;
Rare species of trees, shrubs and beasts
Have been effaced from earth with ease.
The earth has lesser green cover!
’Tis growing bald, much more each day,
As forest trees are felled for wood,
At rates more than we ever should.
World’s rain-forests are turning scarce –
A cause of global-warming fast;
Landslides and floods are dangers new;
More species turn something of past!
Trees extract carbon-dioxide,
And make the air less polluted;
Wild beasts are on the rampage when
Their forest habitats are gone.
Save forests and afforest, man;
The clouds bring rain when trees ask for;
Wild beasts need forests for their homes;
Preserve forests in ways you can.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-23-2008
poem by John Celes
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Come, Come Stay With Us, This Is Our Paradise
on the other side is the coastal beauty
of sky blue clear seas and coconut palms
at the opposite of the other side one takes
the road leading to the green mountains
the forest trees are nest of birds and
the branches are playthings for monkeys
below the mountains are villages
sleepy and peaceful and cooler with
fresh air and flowery gardens
a vast expanse of rice and corn fields
rivers still teeming with fish
the people still opting for peace
this is our paradise. Come, stay with us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountains, Canyons, and Rivers
Mountains, canyons, and rivers.
In the material and abstract they're nature.
We never were receivers, nor givers.
We were never indecisive, nor were we sure.
Mountains, tall and grand,
Might one see it as an obstacle?
On the other side lies a land,
In abstract and material, is much like a miracle.
Canyons, deep and daunting,
Might one see it as a rift?
Separated from one so loved, you stand staring.
Stand upright from where you lie; I'll give you a lift.
Rivers, soothing in a mellifluous flow,
Might one see it as their life?
By dawn and dusk you row,
Through a flow devoid of strife.
Mountains, canyons, and rivers.
We've seen them as ourselves.
And through realization in form of shivers,
We see sentience in us that delves.
poem by Leonardo David Tay
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Forests Of Growing Green Gold
living forests
touristic gold mines
if market mined
diverse flora fauna
sources of memories
seed imaginations
sold not once
as deforestation
but countless
times as living
life tapestries
creative webs
children of forests
bless all eyes all
hearts spirit seen
“weep child
the mighty totara
is (blade) fallen
no longer
forests thick
stretching
120 feet high
above life dense
canopy bird song
broad leaf trees
linear sharp
pointed leaves
(grew) dark
green-brownish
female totara
flowers red swollen
nut embedded”
who will
replant sacred
forests?
who will come
centuries on to
watch totara grow?
living sacred
ancient forest giants
were timber
sold when tourism
was life sustaining
growing green gold
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Quotation from ‘Land Rape Earth Rape’ by Terence George Craddock
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mother Earth
The sun shines down on you today
don't let it fade away
hear all of Gods' creation sing
while we watch the children play
we come before you and pray
oh great spirit in the sky
Mother Earth holds on to me
deep in her soul
and I just can't let her go
as she sets me free
On this mountain I stand
I hold out my hand
and I thank you
for everything you do
for the mountains and the trees
the deserts and the breeze
What the beauty of tomorrow could bring
if we just let the rivers flow
to walk softly
touch it all so gently
and give back what belongs to her
If we would only let the trees grow
cherish what was once a sacred land
then we would'nt have to watch her die
(spiritwind-2003)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Truth... Demands An Audience
i keep watching
old people dying...
with unspoken living,
trembling on their lips.
truth...
demands an audience!
the silent screams
of mountains and rivers defiled.
even the trees whisper,
the sad hurt of poverty.
the wind cries of justice,
in the empty rooms of god.
do you tire of this flame?
wish i'd go away?
give it time,
even my footprints will disappear.
trees will fall,
mountains will crumble.
and the oil raped rivers
will stink of death.
hungry mouths will go unnoticed.
without faces or names.
cities full of empty buildings
will murmur in the night.
and nothing will return
to claim it's just reward.
the unmarked stone stays silent...
even the silence tastes bitter!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Malaysiana - Rejang River
POETRY IN PROGRESS
I never knew you are a giant
until i went around the country
i saw the Klang and Gombak rivers
in Kuala Lumpur and and were surprised
to learn that they even called them rivers
arent them really just little rivers or streams?
the ones we put pavements over at the old market in Sibu
malaysians should see the Sarawak and Rejang Rivers
to know what Sarawakians mean by rivers
that would be a real integration of
geographical standads and how we see things
when after a rain and the sun begins to set,
a walk at the Rejang Esplanade does feel like
on a beach, the water lapping and splashing
the cool and fresh air revitalising the lungs and body
at sweet and pulpy pineapple town Sarikei
and sugary green orange town Bintangor
and at Kerto where vases and colourful pottery
are moulded out of the Rejang quality clay
Poetry in progress
(to be continued)
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Day My Soul Flew Free
Undaunted by troublesome burdens
On a day when clouds darkened the sky
I unburdened my soul and let it fly
No earthly bondage was able to hold
My spirit was soaring and feeling bold
Behold all the beauty you're able to see
At the time of my travel the world was still free
Nor draught or destruction plagued the land
But a calm perfection catered by hand
God's unsoiled planet and all its land
Snow covered mountains and trees so tall
My heart felt like bursting taking in all
The rivers flowed flawless and unabashed
Silent forests and waterfalls splashed
Meadows and valleys in sunlight bathed
Upon my return my soul just wept
Seeing so many landmarks unkempt
The raw earth was hurting in terrible distress
Over many years there was no gain
And the earth whimpered in pain…
poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Forests of the Heart
Deep within the forests of the heart,
Resides a town lit by fireflies.
Dwellings built within the trees,
All beneath the starry skies.
Homely lights amongst the foliage,
Bridges and ladders a plenty.
Rustling leaves cure the soul,
As the beams creak gently.
Hark, the herald sparrow sings!
It twitters from Oak's limb.
The river gurgles round the bend,
And along it the fish do swim.
But with the song of the stream,
comes the whisper of the trees.
With the tale of the undergrowth,
Comes the ballad of the breeze.
The moonlight reaches the forest floor,
To show the fairies atop the stools.
With leaves for their rowboats,
They sail across the silver pools.
Deep within the forests of the heart,
Resides a town lit by fireflies.
Dwellings built within the trees,
All beneath the starry skies.
poem by Stephanie Dower
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Come Home My Son, Come Home
As I travel across this country
the land that I love best
with its snowy peaked mountains
that lay out of reach in the west.
The rivers and the lakes
where nature grows at its best.
The forests and the plains
that each has their part
in the land I love the best.
I write from a distant shore
with dreams of coming home again
ever always on my mind.
Seeing once again friends
from a long, long time ago.
The land that I live in is not to my desire.
My home is ten thousand miles away,
and each time I see it,
it’s like the birth of a new day.
The cities are filled with people
and in the countryside; you can breathe in the fresh air.
The more I dream about it,
the more I wish to be there.
It is not the land of my birth,
but the place that I call home.
That distant country keeps calling to me
come home my son, come home.
31 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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A Golden Memory
When I was a young child
about five to seven years of age.
I noticed the neighbour's trees
were dirty and sooty and black.
Black with smoke chimney coal dust.
The bark was ugly dirty and black
the leaves were ugly dirty and black.
And barely green if at all in most places,
except a little on the side facing the sun.
The sun I saw as a beautiful yellow light.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were really tall shrubs, but I was but still
a young child, with much to learn in this world,
ruled by mean men. Magic and the elfin language,
still danced like sparkling stardust in my eyes.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were so sad dull black lifeless and ugly.
I took a bright yellow lively house paint.
And painted the trees yellow bright golden yellow,
in all sad places I could short armed easily reach.
But I also got paint on my hands face clothes.
In my wonderful joy I got paint on my clothes.
My apparently best going to town best clothes.
My mother punished me for painting the trees.
And the leaves a bright joyous yellow colour.
For making a small part
of this dull adult world.
A golden magical shinning
bright fairy glade place.
For painting making a small part
of this dull adult fading world.
A golden orb magical shinning
bright mystical fairy glade place.
For trying to make the tired
world a better magical place.
Thus were childhood dreamers
often beaten into submission.
By those who failed to see
the divine presence in dreams.
By those who failed to see
the magical sparkle in dreams.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Poet is under the sun
Poet is under the sun
With the air
On the earth
eager for light
In the water
And connecting link
With the sky
And we know
The abode of a poet
Is his poem
We know the world is
His playground
The birds the animals
The forests the mountains
The rivers the seas
Are his partners
And we are searching
His identity
Alas!
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Contrast
The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but
here is the shore of the one ocean.
And here the heavy future hangs like a cloud; the
enormous scene; the enormous games preparing
Weigh on the water and strain the rock; the stage is
here, the play is conceived; the players are
not found.
I saw on the Sierras, up the Kaweah valley above the
Moro rock, the mountain redwoods
Like red towers on the slopes of snow; about their
bases grew a bushery of Christmas green,
Firs and pines to be monuments for pilgrimage
In Europe; I remembered the Swiss forests, the dark
robes of Pilatus, no trunk like these there;
But these are underwood; they are only a shrubbery
about the boles of the trees.
Our people are clever and masterful;
They have powers in the mass, they accomplish marvels.
It is possible Time will make them before it
annuls them, but at present
There is not one memorable person, there is not one
mind to stand with the trees, one life with
the mountains.
Submitted by Holt
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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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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Mountains Speak
I peer at mountains and they speak to me.
They claim dominion over all that they see.
They serve as foundation and nectar for trees
That in turn are havens for birds and bees.
Then nourishing fauna and gorgeous flowers
Can offer a creation with limitless powers.
On their walls forests of foliage are amassed
Giving precious oxygen consumed just as fast.
More than ever mountains have something to say,
I hear them screaming,
"Treat us better or dearly pay."
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Laurels Of Green
Trees filled with starlight
Wise rivers in the root of life
Cedar leaves banners of Solomon
White pine laugh with the elves
Poems of the ancient sequoias
Whispering forests by the sea
We are the fallen race of men
They have not been banished
They are free with no guilt or shame
They know no war like strife of man
They speak of the fire from above
We walk softly on velvet moss
Wild flowers, apple orchards, ferns
My darling have you heard?
Lets go out tonight in the moonlight
Blueberries grow free and wild
Eagles filled with grace and joy
Oak and basswood, grapevines
The grass awaits the savory rain
Solitude walks in the morning dew
Have you seen the magic islands?
Decorated with lavish palm trees
Coconuts, pineapples, breadfruit grow
Sandy beaches lit with tropic sun
Volcanoes rise like spires of mystery
Paradise by a sea of green blue dreams
Beads of seeds with spells of shamans
A crown of green that rules the night
Hear tides crash into the mountains side
Rain forests with tendrils of Eden
Tread on bareback mountains gloom
Where winds sing pure and free
Steep as love near precipitous gorges
Beauty walks amidst clouds and rainbows
Waterfalls fill with pristine melting snow
Streams feed the rivers of unyielding myth
Forests of shining green fill the valley
Stars glisten through the pines of night
Like ancient eyes that guard the earth
This land is filled with a mystic glow
Lovers of the great father sun
Old like legends of gnomes and moonbeams
No guile or pretense no masks to wear
Violets, peonies, orchids and the rose
Lilies on ponds and fields
Graced with the voice of song birds
Breezes in your hair of gold
Tales of the winds of old
When the trees ruled in gentle peace
Lovers need the laurels of green
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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