Labour — Capital — Land
IN that rich Archipelago of sea
With fiery hills, thick woods wherein the mias
Browses along the trees, and god-like men
Leave monuments of speech too large for us,
There are strange forest-trees. Far up, their roots
Spread from the central trunk, and settle down
Deep in the life-fed earth, seventy feet below.
In the past days here grew another tree,
On whose high fork the parasitic seed
Fell and sprang up, and finding life and strength
In the disease, decrepitude and death
Of that it fed on, utterly consumed it,
And stands the monument of Nature's crime!
So Labour with his parasites, the two
Great swollen Robbers, Land and Capital,
Stands to the gaze of men but as a heap
Of rotted dust whose only use must be
To rich the roots of the proud stem that killed it!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Related quotes
No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!
Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind
did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem
the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me
the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood
i made them all, but now, they are on their own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Samuel Gardner
I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Big Tree
Big tree
Standing tall
Against setting sun
Majestic silhouette
Geometer's delight
Deep rooted trunk
Branches reaching the sky
Tree depicts life...
Every leaf
Shape so unique
Defining tree family...
Magical colors applied
By Creator's bold strokes
With the brush of seasons
Amazing panorama spreads out
Everywhere and all around.
Flowers spring out
Beauty and fragrance
Magical transformation
Into fruits
Nature transports seeds
To far off lands
It's a new cycle
Trees..forest...life.
Big tree
Stands still
Stands waving
I keep watching
Its far reaching ways
Tree gives us life
Tree gives us shade
To rest and contemplate.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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The Sleep Tree
The tall sleep tree
dreamt that she could be
an Olympian in the shed.
With firm roots planted deep
like thick giant feet,
but the sky fell down
on her head.
And an unknown blight
screwed its sin way in
at the base of her
rich earthen bed;
while the healthy bark that
was alive grew thin,
and the bible was
all that she read.
But the blight was bad
and to her chagrin
other sleep trees to
which she was wed;
couldn't help for they
were like co-joined twins
with their veins
being poisoned by lead.
Then tree doctors came
to sew up her skin,
and pour vials of
chemical meds;
yet the cancer grew
till it blended in,
and she knew that
whatever they said
all her hope was lost
and blown on the wind,
and her dreams flew away
fully shred.
poem by Sara Fielder
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A Sower Went out to Sow
It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep,
and when the sun rose it was scorched, and it withered for lack of roots.
Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it.
But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.'
for the Lord speaks
in parables
in the same manner that
we
who try to become poets
shall too
speak in
metaphors
sometimes
to please you
i shall only
speak
those words that
you want to hear
and not the
truth
thereof
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sad Oak
I’ve a sad story about a great oak that fell.
It now lies dead…a useless empty shell.
This oak once was the mightiest tree in this land,
Towering over others mired in rock and sand.
Its roots were deep and drank from rich soil
While others suffered in their unending toil.
Mighty oak’s trunk stretched toward the sky,
Unconcerned as the others continued to die.
Its branches held proudly to each healthy leaf,
Caring little of the forest’s deepening grief.
Why be concerned with this world of dying and weak?
They seemed to offer nothing the great oak would seek.
Then fate spoke to the oak, but its message was denied.
Suddenly climate started to change and the rains subside.
With no help from dead comrades, temperatures did soar.
Scant vegetation protected the earth’s life giving floor.
Had oak shared light, rain and riches of the land,
Sad oak and the forest would not be rock and sand.
So much had been given to this unique, mighty oak.
Sadly, its life ended before its spirit of giving awoke.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Sonnet: On Separation
Which tree forever stays with leaves same, old?
Its branches, roots and trunk-size, changing keep;
It has its days of silver and of gold;
The crown and roots keep spreading, wide and deep.
The fruits it bears do vary in their size;
And number, taste that age and seasons make;
It has a period when it stands so nice;
The gnawing environs, its life does take.
Yet, people praise the tree in fruition stage!
And curse it when adverse conditions strike;
Nevertheless, none can prevent it age;
Men too are treated by this world alike.
All through his life, man too can't be the same;
Why praise the rising Sun, yet Sun-set blame?
poem by John Celes
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An uncreative medicine
no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.
The Forest Vine
It grew in the old wilderness—The vine
Is linked with thoughts of sunny Italy,
Or the fair hills of France, or the sweet vales
Where flows the Guadalquivir. But this grew
Where, as the sunlight look'd through lacing boughs,
The shadows of the stern, tall, primal wood
Fell round us, and across the silent flood,
That wash'd the deep ravine. The pauseless lapse
Of ages had beheld no change in all
The aspect of that scene; or but such change,
As Time himself had made; the slow decay
Of the old patriarch oaks, and as they fell
And moulder'd on the earth, the silent growth
Of the young sturdy stem, that rear'd itself
To stretch its branches in their former place.
The wild flower stretch'd its tender petals out,
Lending strange brightness to the forest gloom;
The fleet deer toss'd his antlers to the breeze,
Graceful and shy; and when the sun went down,
The tangled thicket rustled to the tread
Of the gaunt wolf—just as in former years.
But the red hunter was no longer there;
And the bright flowers were no more twined to deck
The brow of Indian maid.
We stood beside
A fallen oak; its aged limbs were spread
Prone to the earth, uptorn by the rude wind,
And perishing on the soil that once had fed
Their giant strength: clinging around its roots
And its decaying trunk, a grape-vine wreathed
Its fresh green foliage, draping the still grave
With its luxuriance—meet garniture
For such a sepulchre! a sepulchre most meet
To wrap the bones of the old forest race!
For we had checked our idle wanderings
To gaze upon the relics of the dead—
The dead of other ages! they who trod
When that fallen tree was fresh in its green prime,—
The earth that it now cumber'd; they who once
In savage freedom bounded through the wild,
And quaff'd the limpid spring, or shot along
The swift canoe upon yon rushing wave,
Or yell'd the fierce and horrid war whoop round,
Or gather'd to the council fire, or sprang
With proud firm step to mingle in the dance,
And vaunt of their own triumphs;—there they lie,
Brittle and time-blanch'd fragments! bones—dry bones!
Prison'd for lingering years beneath the sod,
And now that the strong wind hath torn away
The bars of their dark cell, restored again
To the clear sunshine. It seems strange to think
That those wan relics once were clothed with life—
Breathing and living flesh—and sprang away
O'er the green hills at morning, and at eve,
Return'd again to the low cabin home,
And found its shadows happiness.
That dust—
Gather some to thee—the keen eye can mark
No difference from that spread widely round—
The common earth we tread upon; yet this
Once help'd to form the garment of a mind
Once wrapp'd a human heart, and thrill'd with all
The emotions of man's nature; love and hate,
Sweet hope and stern revenge—ay, even faith
In an undying world.
So let them rest!
That faith, erring and dark as it might be,
Was yet not wholly vain. We may not know
Of what the dark grave hideth; but the soul,
Immortal as eternity itself,
Is in the hands of One most merciful.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Land Rape Earth Rape
Who cares what colour your skin
when you land rape earth rape
cut down pristine life giving forest
in the name of corporate profit
leaving but dust legacy mudslides.
Weep child the mighty totara is cut down fallen
no longer forests thick stretching 120 feet high
above dense canopy bird song broadleaf trees
linear sharp pointed leaves dark green-brownish
female totara flowers red swollen nut embedded.
Weep forests are ripped apart globally
who will purchase trees preserve forest
purchase inheritance diverse ecosystems
leave tress growing for children to explore
for friends descendants future generations?
Golden Totara your bark pattern is earth skin.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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HEart EartH
Beautiful is the smile
That catches every glimpse
No wonder its Nature's art
Sign of the Happy Heart
Sweet are the Fruits that trees bear
Green is the Grass, the land may wear
No wonder its Nature's art
Sign of the Happy Earth
Walking the paths of life apace
Trying to make your own space
Fulfilling the dreams that are innate
Heart is where inner feelings originate
Strong, deep roots hold high trees
Grow free and bounty, as One sees
Seasons change and nothing is strange
Everything change and age
What seems truly beautiful
Needs to be beautiful within
What flourshes and nourishes everything
Needs to be flourished and nourished
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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Sequoia Trees
Trees so long that it makes a city look small.
Yet they make the Empire state building look tall.
People can climb this massive trees in the winter or the fall.
I saw pictures of people climbing one Sequoia like a mountain.
One of these days I want to climb a Sequoia tree.
I think these trees will last until the end of time.
No one should ever cut them down in their prime.
The Sequoias bark is so thick that it protects itself against fire.
They can last long winters in the Sierra.
Thick bark serves both causes which makes it unwilling to expire.
The fact that they are continually growing is very profound.
Theses trees are so tall and round.
Most people cant see the sky from the ground.
None should chop it down because it will fall
to pieces on the forest floor.
Try to make wood from those trees and you will be poor.
These famous trees are disease resistant.
One Sequoia is called the President.
On earth this is the second greatest tree giant.
The Sequoias are Americas living monument.
I find the Sequoias so hard to describe,
because they are so magnificent.
Thanks God for creating trees that cause so much excitement.
Moonlight Sonata
The cold winter can not destroy the miraculous invincible seeds.
The germination fundamentally changes them in the earth's maternity.
It is a new life running time when the cold snow irreversible recedes,
And a new spring embraces the deep mysteries of the magical fertility.
When the seeds germinate, they always throw out a few anchor roots.
Those splintered cracks of deep roots trying to hide inside the soils.
The tall trees need deep roots and branches to bloom and to bear fruits,
While the whole land receives and nurtures the life it essentially contains.
When the divine spark leaps from the divine hand to the human hand,
Making the human roots so deep as they can face the stormy time,
Moreover, taking an ultimate shape in the law of the very green land,
While life becomes a moonlight sonata, life which is always sublime.
© Marieta.Maglas 2010
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The symbiosis
Your man and my woman
Stand there as two trees above,
We both, as their roots below,
Feed each other to nourish
Our trees above to flourish.
Unaware, they, too, aren’t in anguish.
Is not it fit for us to cherish
In that because of you, me and
Because of me, you, grow rich
In our luster to entice our partners?
One can fence the shoots;
Can one, the roots?
One can guard the bodies.
Can one, the hearts?
29.06.1999 Pala29.06.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Women trees
The hidden flowers of the trees
In their bud breasts
Waiting their colored blooming
In cups
On their old branches
The moss growing on the trunk
Like green thighs
On their very thin old cracked crust
With swelling whitish scattered areolae,
Buzzing bee in their tree honeycomb
Like a voice of the heart letting out its sorrow
Aerating their roots with softer mysteries
Growing up above the ground
Their knee roots allowing the inflow of life
To the fibres
Those trees
Like wooden women statues.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Sonnet: By God's Grace, the New Dean is One Year Old!
Most trees that grew around were cut for wood!
Just one escaped, as massive was its trunk!
If cut, it would have yielded timber good,
For, it was huge enough for making plank!
The campus has been efforested now –
The buildings seen from outside with much ease;
That one tree looks gorgeous all the more, wow!
It seems to live for years without disease!
The same soil, rain and sun nurtured all trees;
Just one managed to grow surpassing rest;
It brought the wood-cutters down on their knees!
It won the race on earth and stands the best!
God treats alike all creatures, great and small;
’Tis each one’s choice to heed the divine call!
Dedicated as a thanksgiving to the one living, loving God
By Dr.Celestine A. Raj Manohar MD.,
Dean, IRT-PMC, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-11-2009
poem by John Celes
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Madness of Deforestation
Natures Majestic Trees still, mighty,
Clawed feet grips mother earth deep,
Together holding ground as their own,
Reaching tall breathing out for others life to keep,
Vying for canopy rights, claiming the high blue sky.
Morning sunshine paints its mascara tints,
Shading green, lighting brown glinting green,
A pleasure to see the sea of leafy glints,
Amongst this growing life stands a dead giant
Like a floundering sailing ship in the cruel sea
Now a wonderful perch for the crows choir singing
“NO TREES NO ME, NO TREES NO THEE, ”
Stark dead arms reach out leafless, fingers pointing
Death comes slow to the giant that held the earth together.
Crows cawing out their signature song piercing the silence,
With their timeless silhouettes of black feather.
“Look what do you see besides this dead tree,
Caw caw, caw caw caw!
Uproot them are all for a mirrored vision of thee,
You cannot play with Mother Nature’s law.
After dearth there is no earth!
poem by Ken e Hall
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After the Massacre
'The real point of the contemplative life has always been a deepening of faith so that our union with God is experienced.' Thomas Merton
Close to the ground
there is darkness.
Deep shadows
fill the spaces,
trunk to trunk.
They cling,
spread wide roots,
hold on,
resist
the savage pull
of night;
but higher geese
shout praise
as brightness lifts
their strong wings.
Trees nod,
and raise high branches
to faithful God,
positive flame
making bright
hidden day.
poem by Steven Federle
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Lector thaasen
I read once of a flower that lonely grew,
Apart, with trembling stem and pale of hue;
The mountain-world of cold and strife
Gave little life
And less of color.
A botanist the flower chanced to see
And glad exclaimed: Oh, this must sheltered be,
Must seed produce, renewing birth,
In sun-warmed earth
Become a thousand.
But as he dug and drew it from the ground,
Strange glitterings upon his hands he found;
For to its roots clung dust of golden hue;
The flower grew
On golden treasure!
And from the region wide came all the youth
To see the wonder; they divined the truth:
Here lay their country's future might;
A ray of light
From God that flower!-
This I recall now even while I mourn;
The Lord of life has lifted him and borne
From mountain-cold and wintry air
To fruitage fair
In warmth eternal.
For where the roots were of that life replete,
What gleams and glitters! See, they ran to meet
The shafts of wisdom's goodly mines,
The gold that shines
In veins of God's thought.
Now he is lifted up, to light are brought
The riches he to guard so faithful sought.
The treasures of our past are there,
And glintings rare
Of future riches.
Come, Norway's youth! Unearth to use the hoard
That round this heaven-borne flower's roots was stored!
To you his message! Hear and heed!
Achieve in deed
His dream and longing!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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