En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Prime Of Your Life

In the prime of your life you went to the grave,
Because you were robbed off by the remainder of your years!
And the pine trees and the acacia trees beard your witness,
But you were gone too soon like how a potter treads the down clay.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mystery Obscured

Far away from nothing,
The trees in the sky is what I see.
I hear the wind - it's coming,
Stirring up the pine trees.
I hear the ocean behind -
Smell salt in the air.
The wind it finally reaches me,
Mixing pine with salt air.
The sky is steely grey,
The sun obscured by clouds.
It casts a mysterious light,
On trees and ocean alike.

poem by Aimee Nell
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Be clay

Don’t be half-hearted about this –
be clay.

You know all about clay –
be clay.

Humble, submissive, reverent –
awaiting the Potter’s hands.

Enjoy that humility, that surrender –
feel already so near God.

Now the wheel begins to turn –
the Potter is here!

Feel His hands – the more you feel them,
the more you know the love in them.

Now you’re being shaped:
turned on the wheel like a dervish turns,

you’re becoming like that tall column of stillness,
rising from the centre of the whirling skirt;

still; in the memory of the Potter’s hands;
you recognise yourself who waited for you.

*

[leaning on the poems of Hafiz]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Among the Trees

I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for the one my heart calls for

I wonder lost among the trees
I see your light amongst the dark

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is brighter then the rest

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is out of my reach

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light comes closer

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is bright like an angel from the sky

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light fades away and leaves me alone

I wonder lost among the trees
Without a hand to guide the way

I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for my guiding light

I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost, alone

I wonder afraid of the world
Around me I look for the one

I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost and alone forever...................................

poem by kelly Martini
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Dawning

it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard

the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning

rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart

i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass
where i rest my weary soul

in my mind
i always remember you
on my side i can stll feel the warmth
of your skin

it simply dawned in me
the fire of yesterday
and the coldness was gone

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Exile

These hills are sandy. Trees are dwarfed here. Crows
Caw dismally in skies of an arid brilliance,
Complain in dusty pine-trees. Yellow daybreak
Lights on the long brown slopes a frost-like dew,
Dew as heavy as rain; the rabbit tracks
Show sharply in it, as they might in snow.
But it’s soon gone in the sun — what good does it do?
The houses, on the slope, or among brown trees,
Are grey and shrivelled. And the men who live here
Are small and withered, spider-like, with large eyes.

Bring water with you if you come to live here —
Cold tinkling cisterns, or else wells so deep
That one looks down to Ganges or Himalayas.
Yes, and bring mountains with you, white, moon-bearing,
Mountains of ice. You will have need of these
Profundities and peaks of wet and cold.

Bring also, in a cage of wire or osier,
Birds of a golden colour, who will sing
Of leaves that do not wither, watery fruits
That heavily hang on long melodious boughs
In the blue-silver forests of deep valleys.

I have now been here — how many years? Years unnumbered.
My hands grow clawlike. My eyes are large and starved.
I brought no bird with me, I have no cistern
Where I might find the moon, or river, or snow.
Some day, for lack of these, I’ll spin a web
Between two dusty pine-tree tops, and hang there
Face downward, like a spider, blown as lightly
As ghost of leaf. Crows will caw about me.
Morning and evening I shall drink the dew.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Buried Between two Trees

Back home again
in the yard
I used to play in

So many memories here
of days long ago
for memories, I hold dear

Saw the grave of old shep
the dog I loved so
in this yard, he followed me every step

He's buried between two trees you see
buried him in my brand new quilt
and my mother was really mad at me

In this yard, I would bathe him
many years before
his old eyes grew dim

His bed layed by the cellar door
with tall trees, all around him
oh memories, of the dog I adored

Memories of the time
that the meter man came
he hit old shep, that wasn't very kind

This old yard, was all shep had
he guarded it with his life
when he died, I was very sad

This old yard, now has in it,
a lot of beautiful flowers, all round
between two trees, he wouldn't mind a bit.

poem by Jim Foulk
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Pine Forest

Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face,
and I will stop and offer you to them,
but they cannot bend down.
The night watches over its creatures,
except for the pine trees that never change:
the old wounded springs that spring
blessed gum, eternal afternoons.
If they could, the trees would lift you
and carry you from valley to valley,
and you would pass from arm to arm,
a child running
from father to father.

poem by Gabriela Mistral
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C Is For Conifers

Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
If you see a Christmas tree or a stack of newspapers or a 2x4 frame of a house
It's probably made from pine trees and pine trees are conifers, that's what this song is about
Or if you see a plant in the shape of an elephant, or in the shape of a dog
It's probably a shrub, a conifer shrub pruned into that shape by someone
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds
Spoken: There are so many different kinds of conifer trees.
This is just a few of them: Spruce,
Hemlocks, larch, cyprus, juniper,
Fir, Douglas fir, cedar, yew,
Pine, the dwarf conifer,
And the great California sequoia redwood.
Most with cones for seeds, most with needles for leaves
C is for conifers, my kind of trees
Large junipers and fir, spruce, cedars and pines
C is for conifers, more then five hundred kinds

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Au Jardin

O you away high there,
you that lean
From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,
I am below amid the pine trees,
Amid the little pine trees, hear me!

'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
Well, there's no use your loving me
That way, Lady;
For I've nothing but songs to give you.

I am set wide upon the world's ways
To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,
But you never string two days upon one wire
But there'll come sorrow of it.
And I loved a love once,
Over beyond the moon there,
I loved a love once,
And, may be, more times,

But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.
Oh, I know you women from the 'other folk',
And it'll all come right,
O' Sundays.

'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?

poem by Ezra Pound
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A Little Wonder

the place just below the wind
trees undisturbed for so many generations
a pool from the eye of the deer
pine trees lining on the eyelids of the day
you are not around
and that is the time when i begin
to discover these things
solitude is the path that i have to tread now
wondering
where shall this silence take me

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Norfolk Pine Of Port Fairy

'Tis said they grow more than a metre each year
And they do seem to have grown since I was last here
The Norfolk Island pine of Port fairy they tower over all
Beside them most other trees look rather small.

Though not quite as tall as the mountain ash tree
They seem to grow well in the Towns by the sea
On either side of the streets by Griffith Island tall and evergreen
These beautiful trees in their dozens are seen.

As a feature of the Town in the Coastal Countryside
The norfolk pine of Port Fairy have become known far and wide
They do look quite graceful for want of a better name
And without them Port Fairy would not look the same.

A feature of Port Fairy for visitors to recall
The evergreen norfolk pine trees stand graceful and tall
Nature's beauty at her finest for Nature lovers to see
On either side of the streets that lead down to the sea.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Around the Acacia Tree

Vertical and pinnate, green leaves
And small flowers of yellow grow
Around the Acacia Tree.

Sun light drapes and the ground receives
The curtain's folding golden glow
Around the Acacia Tree.

The incense scent in the air weaves
The knitted root tangles below
Around the Acacia Tree.

Yet, now, from the bark, cloudy smoke
Lifts like a slumbering ghost awoke
Around the Acacia Tree.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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She Does Deserve Great Sympathy

Ageing Bella in the house at the corner outdoors she is not often seen
She was a potential swimming Olympian till a motoring accident she had at eighteen
Brought an end to her swimming career back in ninteen seventy three
And condemned her to life in a wheelchair she does deserve great sympathy.

She could not compete in the Olympics and swim her way into renown
And become the toast of the Nation and the heroine of her Hometown
It robbed her of her chance of having children she has never been any man's wife
one might say she was quite unlucky that accident ruined her life.

She is quite an attractive woman her brown hair flecked with strands of gray
She had spent years of her life in a wheelchair seven to ten years before her prime day
when I meet her she smiles and says hello but sometimes she looks rather sad
I can only empathize with her a terrible life she has had.

Thirty six of her fifty four years in a wheelchair since her widowed mum died five years ago she has lived on her own
Lady luck is surely against her a terrible life she has known
Confined to a wheelchair due to a car crash on the highway which robbed her of her chance of fame
In swimming she was a young champion and for herself making a name.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Wordfall

Among the dark trees these in autumn prime
rise under empty skies/Let colour leaven
the shadowed woods I wander through in time.

Red oak and bright sweet chestnut spread sublime
rich canopies for jay or squirrel, woven
among the dark trees, these. In autumn prime,

acorns and prickly chestuts challenge rhyme,
pale cases and their gilt-speared leaves enliven
the shadowed woods I wander through. In time,

late summer chills the landscape. As I climb
words dropp like a snow-warning, white as heaven
among the dark trees. These in autumn prime

their measures with the season, pulse and mime
and fall in hasty turbulence, panic driven
from sahdowed words I wander through. In time

drifts of their meaning overwhelm me. I'm
victim and foool of wordall in this haven
among the darkteres, thefse, in autumn, prime
the shadowed woods. I wander through, in time.

From the Great North Road,2007

poem by Sally Evans
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The Old Acacia Tree

Neither daylight nor the darkness
See how silently I wander.
Not on mountain, nor in valley,
Does an old acacia ponder.

The acacia solves all mysteries,
Tells my fortune while I tarry.
I shall ask the tree to tell me
Whom O whom, am I to marry?

Where will he be from, O Acacia,
Is it Poland, Lithuania?
Will he come with a horse and a carriage
Or with staff and sack will he appear?

And what presents will be bring me -
Necklace of pearls and coral flower?
Tell me, will he be fair or dark-haired?
Still unmarried or a widower?

If he's old, my dear Acacia,
I won't have him, please don't try me.
I'll tell my father; you may slay me,
But to an old man do not tie me!

At his feet I'll fall and with tears I'll cry;
To an old man do not tie me.

poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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The Trees are High

The trees are high as after they have storms
Their produce is low, and their height also forms.
The tree has branches entering the sun and might,
May destiny of a life be in the brain of someone alright.

Life may obstruct life if lifting the stones
Shall penetrate the massive population of bones.
Push him then into the grave, where they die,
The tree is sacrificed, and he must die to beautify.

The living plants are no objective in our hearts,
The trees have enough acquisition of knowledge and charts.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Perfect Adultery

Nature’s game awarded the clay
To the potter’s neighbour
Who desires it not.
The potter finds his clay perchance
And longed to possess it whole, malleable and wet,
And when he does, it will become
A perfect adultery,

To the potter’s house she
Will go, to be molded whole and happy,
The potter is a good man they will say
But, good men though gentle and civil,
In things of love and romance, sometimes,
The animal in man takes over
And when it does, the potter’s act to claim his clay
Will become a perfect adultery,

When a woman young and inexperienced
Is lured into a marriage of baby making
By a man above his prime and manipulative,
When she’s abandoned in a romance of half moon
Per twelve circle,
She will yearn for love young and adventurous like hers’
To escape the boredom and loneliness of a single mother married,
When she abandon herself in a romance of young-full
Lover,
It will become a perfect adultery.

When a man gentle and pure
Falls into the hands of a woman that nags
In a matrimony of distrust,
When he stays away and befriends alcohol
And in his lighter brain finds a woman easy
And seductive,
He will submit to her bareback rough ride,
He will long for this escape at will
And when he does,
It will become a perfect adultery.

When adult-try relationship
Become a game of deceit and suspicion,
When couples seek an escape with another
Seen as compatible and trustful
And religion preaches sin of the flesh,
And nature thinks otherwise,
And the couples do their thing
Because separation is hard to get
And hypertension knocks at the door,
When they close their eyes in a romance
Of anything goes, it will be termed a
Perfect adultery,
Perfect adult-try?
Perfect adult-teen?
Perfect adult-tur?
Perfect adult-thorn
In the flesh?

©May,2010

poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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Archibald's Example

Old Archibald, in his eternal chair,
Where trespassers, whatever their degree,
Were soon frowned out again, was looking off
Across the clover when he said to me:

“My green hill yonder, where the sun goes down
Without a scratch, was once inhabited
By trees that injured him—an evil trash
That made a cage, and held him while he bled.

“Gone fifty years, I see them as they were
Before they fell. They were a crooked lot
To spoil my sunset, and I saw no time
In fifty years for crooked things to rot.

“Trees, yes; but not a service or a joy
To God or man, for they were thieves of light.
So down they came. Nature and I looked on,
And we were glad when they were out of sight.

“Trees are like men, sometimes; and that being so,
So much for that.” He twinkled in his chair,
And looked across the clover to the place
That he remembered when the trees were there.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Life and The Trees

when you sit upon a
rattan rocking chair by your window
and you see the trees that you have planted years back
it comes into your mind that
they all need the required
pruning and trimming,

after-which you reflect upon your life
and too they are some kind of trees that needs precisely what you think
is right, though it requires
pain.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Perception

Lips of clay tend to bleed
my kisses.
And the distant moon treads
softly on the spent passion.

A private crimson
blunts the whiteness of moon.
The birds-
step out from the fog.

Last moments -
of the bell to announce
the schizophrenic flesh
sailing like snowflakes.

A primordial fear -
was destroying the profile of man.
Here it goes-
the spiritual enigma.

A blast
of stunned silence:
I am collecting pebbles
from the trees.

poem by Satish Verma
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