Sonnet: A Sterile Person
I am a river-bed that’s dry for long;
There was no rain in the mountains up-stream;
Neither is there melting of snow, bird-song;
Utterly shattered is my watery-dream.
I am a barren desert formed from ground;
My lips are parched as rains can never come;
My verdure gone, men look at me dumbfound;
A sea of sand, I cannot one welcome.
I am a tree with leaves and no flowers;
I am a tree with flowers, yet no fruit;
I have not changed despite many showers;
Oh, how I wish I could sever my root.
But live I must despite my barren life!
For my soul’s sake, suffer I must more strife.
7-1-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amazon
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the gift you are and the john denver collection - sunshine on my shoulde
Ums. a live version appears on the wildlife concert album.
There is a river that runs from the mountains
That one river is all rivers
All rivers are that one
There is a tree that stands in the forest
That one tree is all forests
All trees are that one
There is a flower that blooms in the desert
That one blossom is all flowers
All flowers are that one
There is a bird that sings in the jungle
That one song is all music
All songs are that one
It is the song of life
It is the flower of faith
It is the tree of temptation
It is the river of no regret
There is a child that cries in the ghetto
That one child is all children
All children are that one
There is a vision that shines in the darkness
That one vision is all of our dreams
It is a vision of heaven
It is a child of promise
It is the song of life
It is the river of no regret
Let this be a voice for the mountains
Let this be a voice for the river
Let this be a voice for the forest
Let this be a voice for the flowers
Let this be a voice for the ocean
Let this be a voice for the desert
Let this be a voice for the children
Let this be a voice for the dreamers
Let this be a voice of no regret
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon The Barren Fig-Tree In God's Vineyard
What, barren here! in this so good a soil?
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Art thou not planted by the water-side?
Know'st not thy Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree:
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
Hast thou been digg'd about and dunged too,
Will neither patience nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Would, if on thee were found but one good fig,
Preserve thee from the axe: but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!
The utmost end of patience is at hand,
'Tis much if thou much longer here doth stand.
O cumber-ground, thou art a barren tree.
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Thy standing nor they name will help at all;
When fruitful trees are spared, thou must fall.
The axe is laid unto thy roots, O tree!
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain-tree
Rain-tree
The rain-tree is of cassia family -
Like an elephant it stands on the road, clothed
With thick green foliage, dark against the sky
All along the Bandra-Kurla road in Mumbai.
You have to exert a little and see
Over the top to see the nazuna-type
Of pink flowers sitting above the foliage
In plentiful numbers, with up-thrust pink hairs.
Unlike the African tulip in front of ONGC
At Bandra Flyover visible from the distance,
Here the pink and green does not show off
As rain-tree flowers don’t advertise themselves.
Unlike copper-pod’s bright yellow flowers
The rain tree flowers don’t weave a carpet:
I’ve never seen the flowers on the ground below
Nor do they wither on the tree, how I wonder!
In monsoon rains, the leaves shine specially,
Transparent drops falling on walkers below,
Or with a thud on the racing car bonnets too,
Some choose to fall on road to rise a bit upwards.
I have not understood why it is called rain-tree:
Are they attracted, peacock-like, to the rain-clouds,
Or does the rain-bird which drinks water straight from heavens
Prefer this tree, and inspire Kalidasa to write Meghdoot?
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Arbor Amoris
I have a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit;
Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,
And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead
Plant any tree, save this alone.
Ah, yet, for long and long enough
My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,
I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put
In garner, for the bitter bread
Whereon my weary life is fed:
Ah, better were the soil unsown
That bears such growths; but Love instead
Will plant no tree, but this alone.
Ah, would that this new spring, whereof
The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,
I might have succour and aid of Love,
To prune these branches at the root,
That long have borne such bitter fruit,
And graft a new bough, comforted
With happy blossoms white and red;
So pleasure should for pain atone,
Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead
Plant any tree, but this alone.
L'ENVOY.
Princess, by whom my hope is fed,
My heart thee prays in lowlihead
To prune the ill boughs overgrown,
Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead
Another tree, save this alone.
poem by François Villon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: the Drumstick Tree
The drumstick-tree I thought was dead and gone
Is fully clothed by green leaves and flowers;
The bees are active and some fruits are born;
The tree awaits August’s Monsoon showers.
I see the tree growing so fast each morn;
My eyes perceive not the blossoming act;
How well does Nature heal its parts much torn;
Human beings are blind with eyes- the fact.
So, numerous small birds visit the tree,
To eat the flowers that gets dropped nearby;
The tree makes the backyard look so lovely;
Some Millipedes remain and will not die!
The tree looks resurrected, simply great!
God gave a new lease and a newer date.
7-31-2000
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hill slope
Down on the hill slope a tree was there with flowers on it,
Season came and season goes,
it remain there with shade and fruits to give,
Small wood pecker or big owl,
all were there as it was there home to live,
One day a wood cutter found it useful to him,
he thought it to cut and takes its wood to sell in city,
birds and squirrel on tree helplessly saw the tree,
they tried to make noise,
but it didn't affected the woodcutter in the need
he cut down the tree to take the wood,
the tree on hiill slope became log of wood,
weak protest of bird and animals,
on it was not enough,
to save the tree.
tree full of life became silent as saying what was my fault,
is it only there right to live,
but yes its true only humans here,
are powerfull and can do anything to live and win,
hill slope became barren and dry like desert
poor tree however it was home for many
didn't found the place on to live on earth.
the reason it don't understand
why it is weak and meek.not able to
survive and get its right to stay alive to give shade and life to others.
poem by Hemu Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Just An Ordinary Tree
My existence
start from a little piece of seed...
First, I was bury on the ground...
Then, I showed my two cute leaves up in to world...
But it didn't end just like that...
I grow... more and more...
With love, hope and care,
I became a tree...
Tree with many leaves,
if you need some shady circumstance...
Tree with a strong wood,
if you need me to make a good wardrobe...
Tree with a tight root,
if you want to make a solid foundation...
Tree with a sincerely pray,
if you need a support...
Tree with an everlasting presence,
if you need a friend beside you forever...
Tree with a dry branch,
if you want to share your tears...
Tree with a pure dew,
if you feel thirsty...
Tree with a warm wind,
if you get cold and alone...
Tree with a full color's flowers,
if you feel your life so black and white...
Tree with many hopes,
if you lost your dreams away...
But... after all,
I'm just an ordinary Tree...
By: Tree
22 May 2007,7: 02 PM
Why can't we...?
River flows
Only in one direction
And knows its destination
Yet,
Those by the banks
Thrive and prosper
Why can't we be
Like the river?
Tree bears fruit
And gives shade
For none in particular
Yet
Knows not its fruit
Or its shade
Why can't we be
Like the tree?
Rain rains
For earth to regenerate
The seed to sprout
And plant to bear leaf
Yet
Knows not the life
It recharges
Too many hands
On too many things
Do we have desiring
Name, fame and bounty
And suffer
We end up in
Rain of tears
With no shade to protect
We flow direction-less
Allowing our core
To wash away!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: A Tree When Trimmed…
The tree with withered leaves and branches dry,
When cut close to its trunk and trimmed all neat,
Suddenly turns verdure when rains the sky,
As sprouts begin to cover it from heat!
The growth of tree resumes with rapid speed;
The canopy of leaves show beauteous flow'rs;
Rejuvenated looks the tree indeed!
And fruits aplenty ripen with the show'rs.
The human body too behaves like-wise;
We have to cut our hair and pare our nails;
And fasting helps to throw away all vice;
And loss of limb removes all pride and tails!
Some sacrifice is needed to look great;
And it is better earlier than late!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 26-02-12
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blasted Fig-Tree
One aweful word which Jesus spoke,
Against the tree which bore no fruit;
More piercing than the lightning's stroke,
Blasted and dried it to the root.
But could a tree the Lord offend,
To make him show his anger thus?
He surely had a farther end,
To be a warning word to us.
The fig-tree by its leaves was known,
But having not a fig to show;
It brought a heavy sentence down,
Let none hereafter on thee grow.
Too many, who the gospel hear,
Whom Satan blinds and sin deceives;
We to this fig-tree may compare,
They yield no fruit, but only leaves.
Knowledge, and zeal, and gifts, and talk,
Unless combined with faith and love,
And witnessed by a gospel walk,
Will not a true profession prove.
Without the fruit the Lord expects
Knowledge will make our state the worse;
The barren trees he still rejects,
And soon will blast them with his curse.
O Lord, unite our hearts in prayer!
On each of us thy Spirit send;
That we the fruits of grace may bear,
And find acceptance in the end.
poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Picture
THERE are times when a dream delicious
Steals into a musing hour,
Like a face with love capricious
That peeps from a woodland bower;
And one dear scene comes changeless;
A wooded hill and a river;
A deep, cool bend, where the lilies end,
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
And I lie on the brink there, dreaming
That the life I live is a dream;
That the real is but the seeming,
And the true is the sun-flecked stream.
Beneath me, the perch and the bream sail past
In the dim cool depths of the river;
The struggling fly breaks the mirrored sky
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
There are voices of children away on the hill;
There are bees thro' the flag-flowers humming;
The lighter-man calls to the lock, and the mill
On the farther side is drumming.
And I sink to sleep in my dream of a dream,
In the grass by the brink of a river,
Where the voices blend and the lilies end
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
Like a gift from the past is the kindly dream,
For the sorrow and passion and pain
Are adrift like the leaves on the breast of the stream,
And the child-life comes again.
O, the sweet sweet pain of a joy that died—
Of a pain that is joy forever!
O, the life that died in the stormy tide
That was once my sun-flecked river.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: In Frustration
I want to break the sand castle I made;
I wish to bring the bird-nest down from tree;
I want to burn even the Everglade;
I wish to divorce now and become free.
I want to crush the piece I painted long;
I wish to break my sculptures of life-time;
I want to burn my first pretty love-song;
I wish to roll in greasy mud and slime.
I want to tear the book I loved to read;
I wish to hit my car against the wall;
I want to live in vices and misdeed;
I wish to undo my achievements all.
All this I feel because I’m frustrated,
When I would want to do things I hated.
8-19-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain
Thoughts of rain at sunset
Clouds of rainbow blue
Thoughts of sun on sand-dunes
Where the seabirds flew
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of leaves in autumn
Falling from the trees
Thoughts of hoaring tree tops
Leading to the sea
This was our season, no lies and no pretend
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of springtime rainfall
Touching flowers that bend
Thoughts of wind in willows
Days that never end
This was our season, but sorrow waited round the bend
For my love left with the rain.
Rains the way you move now
Sun the way you seem
Leaves the way you wonder
Flowers the way you dream
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Last, the Lime-Tree Bears Fruits!
A lime sapling I found grew up in wild,
In ten years’ time to be a tree quite big;
For long it stayed dwarf-like: refused to grow,
As caterpillars ate its verdure leaves.
And not a flower or a fruit it bore!
Insects built nests and spiders spun cob-webs;
Its roots stood ’midst gravel and rocky mud;
Red-ants made home till ant-powder was put.
How sad it was to see the lime-tree’s fate!
The rain and sun nurtured it despite odds;
And one day when I stared at her foliage,
Amazed I’as to see it covered by fruits!
There is a time for everything on earth;
‘There is a season for all things, ’ God says;
The keys to success- patience and strong faith;
God will decide when all things fruition best.
One never knows when God uses someone;
One never knows when God does miracles;
One never should look down upon others;
God has a plan for everything He makes!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-11-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Our Indian Jawans
For days and nights, they stay awake on end,
Trekking, marching, trudging, climbing terrain;
And strain their eyes to shoot and thus defend,
In marshy-land, forest, snow, sun or rain.
Though life was luxurious in times of peace,
’Tis war-time now, how life has become sad!
With scanty food, drink, clothes but much disease,
They move about some turning nearly mad.
This is the life of our Indian Jawans!
A life of sacrifice for country’s sake;
None can predict who lives/ dies, when peace dawns;
Each soldier fights with heart and soul, not fake.
Hats off, salute and sing a song of praise!
They die to make us live with happy face.
5-29-2002 by Dr John Celes
dedicated to my brothers in the frontiers
who die so that we may live!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Tree Listens To The Tumult Of Distant Storms?
'And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.'
-Ezra Pound, American,1885-1972
That flamboyant tree
gave us shade,
Remember once
Under the burning Sun.
But now the branches
fall often?
Flowers never bloom,
So how do you expect
sweet fruits?
Birds changed their usual route
for better orchards.
And the hollow tree shivers
even to a small drizzle.
Though the tree dreams of a refuge
unless the friendly termites
does anybody interests of an old barren tree?
to my West bengal poet friend Pranab!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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