The Wood Road
If I were to walk this way
Hand in hand with Grief,
I should mark that maple-spray
Coming into leaf.
I should note how the old burrs
Rot upon the ground.
Yes, though Grief should know me hers
While the world goes round,
It could not if truth be said
This was lost on me:
A rock-maple showing red,
Burrs beneath a tree.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Oddfellowship in Woodstock
Well tell a tale, it shall be brief
It is of rise of Maple Leaf,
From noble Olive Branch it sprung,
And its good deeds shall yet be sung ;
This Encampment, though in its youth,
Glories in friendship, love, and truth
Of all our lodges yet the chief
May be this youthful Maple Leaf ;
Built of good timber, it doth launch
Well worthy of the Olive Branch,
And though it only is a shoot
We hope that it will take deep root,
And soon be vigorous Maple tree
In Canada so broad and free.
And may its usefulness ne'er cease
Sprung from the Olive Branch of peace,
But comfort brothers in distress,
Widows and orphans it will bless,
And console them in their grief,
Protected by the Maple Leaf.
Poor travellers in the wilderness
They oft do suffer great distress,
But may no pilgrim get rude shock
Sojourning here in Woodstock.
poem by James McIntyre
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Burrs In My Pants
Burrs in my pants,
Thorns in my shoes.
Fishing this lake,
Just gives me the blues.
The fish are not biting,
And thats a fact.
Maybe it's time,
I headed back.
All that I got,
From my fishing trip.
Were burrs in my pants,
And sunburned lips.
I guess this fishing trip,
Was meant to fail.
When the burrs started sticking,
To my tail.
10/10/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Up In The Tree
What would you see, if I took you up
My little aerie-stair?
You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
Turned upside down in the air.
What would you do, up my aerie-stair
In my little nest on the tree?
With cry upon cry you would ripple the air
To get at what you would see.
And what would you reach in the top of the tree
To still your grasping grief?
Not a star would you clutch of all you would see,
You would gather just one green leaf.
But when you had lost your greedy grief,
Content to see from afar,
Your hand it would hold a withering leaf,
But your heart a shining star.
poem by George MacDonald
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Maple Leaf
I watched a maple leaf’s descent to ground.
It’s downward swaying motion, every now
And then a pirouette without a sound
Until it came to rest so gently down.
I asked myself: A life so brief and yet
So beautiful, is life to be defined
By lasting time and taken for granted?
To go around in circles disinclined
To find profundity-Sad existence!
Ah! But the leaf, its purpose foreordained:
To live a measured life, a subsistence
Profound in many ways and unrestrained.
To waste a lengthy life, so incomplete
I’d sooner live my life a maple leaf.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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Death beneath my feet
The dead brown maple leaves litter the path
Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping
From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath
Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting
And tellingly- stark reminder of death-
Companion through life all of us must face.
I tread over brittle corpses beneath
My feet in their final resting place
And I am reminded of my sister
Poor soul! Who died one chilly October.
I remember the maple leaves that stirred
Around my feet that day she was interred.
Lifeless entities swirling, hurling down
Atop her casket deep beneath the ground.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Fall to Earth
The stubborn little Maple leaf
held on when all its fellows fled.
They carpeting the ground beneath
a vast lushscape of gold and red.
Leaf held on through wind and rain,
the last survivor of its race.
Leaf held on past Turkey day
maintaining there its pride of place.
Then Leaf grew lonely, I suppose-
Like the summer's final rose.
Leaf envied then the flakes of snow
Who fluttered past to their repose.
Then, just as winter came to call,
Leaf felt a tug and then a snap.
Flying, tumbling on the winds
Fall to Earth. Fade to black.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Unknown Grief
Unknown Grief
Mark Kelly Wassenaar (AKA Wazzy)
You never expect to know the word grief
Until it comes to you
It comes in, like a thief
Then you take a critical review
Who really knows what grief is
It could be you, or me, or your teddy bear
If only we could see his
Come with me, I’ll give you a dare
All I ask is that you’ll see
What grief does to you and me
Maybe at the end we’ll all agree
That it need not be all for thee
Have you seen death of one or more
Have they been of love or worse
Does it cause a whole body war
Does it put you in a hearse
If all these apply to you
Maybe you know what grief may be
All this time you withdrew
It makes you feel like abductees
If you like, you may join my cause
Get together with your bands
To end all grief within our paws
To clear our enemy from our hands
poem by Mark Wazzy
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Twice The Maple Blushes
O, twice the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red;
She blushes in the Spring-time,
When aroused from Winter's sleep,
She finds herself all naked
And the gaping world apeep,
O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red.
Once again the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red;
She blushes in the Autumn,
When she lays her robes aside
For the long, long sleep of Winter,
And finds naught 'neath which to hide,
O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red.
poem by James Edwin Campbell
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The Day The World Gets round
The day the world gets round
To understanding where it is,
Using all its found,
To help each other, hand in hand
The day the world gets round
To understanding where its gone
Losing so much ground
Killing each other, hand in hand
Such foolishness in man
I want no part of their plan - oh no
If youre the destructive kind
Now Im working from day to day
As I dont want to be like you
I look for the pure of heart
And the ones that have made a start,
But lord, there are just a few
Who bow before you,
In silence they pray,
Oh how they pray for the day the
World gets round
Using all theyve found
To help each other, hand in hand
The day the world gets round
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love & Maple Syrup
Love and maple syrup goes together
Like the sticky winds of winter when they meet
When lonely lovers come to rest
Beneath the trees they do their best
But still they cant be free
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
If you go into the forest, gaze up through the leaves
And see the sky thats almost wild
You must learn to understand
What makes the forest greet the man
Like a mothers only child
In the north when when winters claw
Relaxes now to keep the laws of nature in control
People come and stand in line
To rob the forest of her wine
But they dont feel the cold
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
Love and maple syrup goes together
Like the sticky winds of winter when they meet
When lonely lovers come to rest
Beneath the trees they do their best
But still they cant be free
Love and maple syrup shine like
Embers warm, like thoughts divine
They tell us it is spring
Love and maple syrup stir
The thoughts of people into words
Of songs that they can sing
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Watch The Moon From My Maple Tree
As I watch the moon
So quietly
From high above
In my maple tree
I see the stars
That shine all night
They speak to me
Making sure I'm alright
My life is hard
But I'm ok
Watching the show
With nothing to say
As the moon and the stars
Dance the night away
I sit and stare
Like I can't in the day
When I'm up so high
I feel so free
Happy and safe
In my maple tree
The moon is the sun
That shines in the dark
I can see it from bed
Or from way in the park
It helps me a lot
The moon is my guide
And 'I love that old tree'
I queitly sighed
poem by Miranda Van Yperen
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Village Of Hopes And Dreams
As we all come upon a death of a certain loved one
We all grief in the same way with our heads down.
As we all lose the championship,
We all grief in the same way with our heads down.
As we all fail a test, of which we tried so hard on,
We grief in the same way with our heads down.
As we all walk in the rain the same, so sad
The mood of the storm changes us
We all grief in the same way with our heads down.
As we all cry the same with blood-shot eyes, hoping no one sees us,
We all grief in the same way with our heads down.
As we all pray to God that this pain will stop,
We never think what we’ve down for him.
As I have lost something so great,
I lift my head to the sky
Pray to God that he will bless me with the opportunity
Of doing better next time.
As I learned from my elders the way you walk can tell a lot about yourself.
So I walk with my head up high, knowing God has sent his angels
To guide me in my path.
And if I did grief in the same way as others, with my head down.
I know that the Devil will be staring me down.
And as I walk home on this rainy day,
I pray that sunshine is on its way!
As I’ve cried in this stall,
I got on my knees and prayed to God to let these tears stop
With hopes and dreams I get from him,
Smiling each day because I know I am strong.
poem by Rachel Martin
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Hand-Me-Down!
got my hand-me-down boots,
and my hand-me-down jeans.
my broke down hand-me-down hat,
doing hand-me-down things.
my hand-me-down fire,
and my hand-me-down pot.
take a hand-me-down chair,
i'll share what i've got.
got some hand-me-down thoughts,
a couple of hand-me-down songs.
i've got a hand-me-down heart
that wont leave you alone.
we'll talk about hand-me-down freedom,
and hand-me-down truth....
in this hand-me-down world,
it's just me and you!
in this hand-me-down world....
paying hand-me-down dues!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eternal Grief
If grief should be complete
For one you once held dear,
Who turned a back and did you harm
And caused a numbing tear;
No more repent that grief today
Or shed that rock of fear
Than shake a spirit by the hand
Or welcome ghosts appear.
poem by Adeline Foster
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Hiway Songs
When I walk the hill so high
Around the town where I was born
New york seems so far away
Though I was there just yesterday
I have played on my guitar
In coffeehouses, hall, and bars
Everyone that I call friend
Knows they will not be forgot
Trains and planes and rented cars
Singers, saints, and other starts
I suspect them every one
Theyll never change
Its too much fun
Just for now Id like to rest
In the shade of a maple tree
To the blue canadian sky
Ill say a prayer for the world out there
When I stand on my own sod
It feels so good to be home, by god
The winter wind has turned my head
But I always came up warm somehow
Bottles, beads, and cigarettes
And lovers that I aint found yet
Pickin with a friend till dawn
And singing all of those hiway songs
Just for now Id like to rest
In the shade of a maple tree
To the blue canadian sky
Ill say a prayer for the world out there
When I walk the hill so high
Around the town where I was born
New york seems so far away
Though I was there just yesterday
I would travel all my life
If loneliness was not the price
While headin north across that lines
The only time Im flyin
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Purple
I think I'm coming round
Coming round to way of thinking
Trying to find the ground
Somewhere new to stop us slipping
Always , always straight back down
Kicking out the fool
Theres no sense in us going under
Holding on to you
Trying to swim but we're treading water
Always , always straight back down
I think that you're the one , the colour never runs
A hand that heals me over , over today
You take away the grey , bring the colour as it fades
A hand that heals me over
Comfort in the sound
Lift the world from off you shoulders now
Lying on the ground ,
Staring up at a face that haunts you
Always , always straight back down
I think that you're the one , the colour never runs
A hand that heals me over , over today
You take away the grey , bring the colour as it fades
A hand that heals me over
Always , always straight back down
I think I'm coming round
Coming round to way of thinking
Always , always straight back down
I think that you're the one , the colour never runs
A hand that heals me over , over today
You take away the grey , bring the colour as it fades
A hand that heals me over ... again
I think that you're the one , the colour never runs
A hand that heals me over , over today
You take away the grey , bring the colour as it fades
A hand that heals me over
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under The Cedarcroft Chestnut
Trim set in ancient sward, his manful bole
Upbore his frontage largely toward the sky.
We could not dream but that he had a soul:
What virtue breathed from out his bravery!
We gazed o'erhead: far down our deepening eyes
Rained glamours from his green midsummer mass.
The worth and sum of all his centuries
Suffused his mighty shadow on the grass.
A Presence large, a grave and steadfast Form
Amid the leaves' light play and fantasy,
A calmness conquered out of many a storm,
A Manhood mastered by a chestnut-tree!
Then, while his monarch fingers downward held
The rugged burrs wherewith his state was rife,
A voice of large authoritative Eld
Seemed uttering quickly parables of life:
`How Life in truth was sharply set with ills;
A kernel cased in quarrels; yea, a sphere
Of stings, and hedge-hog-round of mortal quills:
How most men itched to eat too soon i' the year,
`And took but wounds and worries for their pains,
Whereas the wise withheld their patient hands,
Nor plucked green pleasures till the sun and rains
And seasonable ripenings burst all bands
`And opened wide the liberal burrs of life.'
There, O my Friend, beneath the chestnut bough,
Gazing on thee immerged in modern strife,
I framed a prayer of fervency -- that thou,
In soul and stature larger than thy kind,
Still more to this strong Form might'st liken thee,
Till thy whole Self in every fibre find
The tranquil lordship of thy chestnut tree.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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I Sit Beneath This Tree
I sit beneath this tree,
Bared beneath the moon,
I'm touched by it's coolness,
I'm loved by it's light,
I sit beneath the tree,
The world can see my scars,
The hollow where my heart layed,
And where my soul escaped,
Then in my hand the dagger,
In your hands my heart,
As it quickly slows,
The necklace round my throat,
Slowly drips down my chest,
I sit beneath this tree,
As you hold onto my hand,
My soul it tries to fly,
With wongs broken from guilt,
I sit upon the earth,
As you hold my hands and plea,
Plea for my forgiveness,
Before the darkness takes control,
Plea for my love,
Before I journey to my grave,
I sit beneath this tree,
As you pain my death,
With your guilt and no forgiveness,
I sit beneath this tree,
As my soul it walks away,
Towards loved gates of Hell.
poem by Holly Heron
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Of delicate poems
These poems speak their minds
Be it grief
Be it bliss
But what matters most is that these poems
Have minds of their own
And they do not just listen, and absorb
Or absurd, but what matters most of all
I repeat
For emphasis
For you who like to see
The stone saints along the pedestal
Remembered as you say
By the ravages of the times,
Is that
These poems have minds of their own
And they have mouths that speak,
So delicately, that they have threads
Like tendrils that entwine
A fence
Like it is making love and you watch
It with contempt
But as I see your face
You watch it with envy,
Really, these delicate poems, now speaking
More of grief
Of lamentations
Like a woman veiled and wailing then singing
The most beautiful song of the lost,
Her husband dead
One of the time’s war’s casualties
A grief in a song
And you shall hear it, a grief in a song,
Reverberating through the winds of change
Inside your ear
There are no ballads, or odes to your
West wind
There are none, for in truth, in this world
The ballads are outdated
Run over by the grief of the many
Some even still untold
Waiting to unfold
And you are there, how insensitive!
Telling them to have a grip of something else
Why not walk your dachshund?
And watch it pee beside a tree and
There you watch with so much glee!
poem by Antonio Liao
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