Homecoming Traveller
Long branches stretched over the driveway
Felled by a summer storm
On the mailbox, a red flag calling
The newspaper late on the ground
Dusky foxes fled the fading light
And squirrels clung to the sides of trees
As he approached, with shiny shoes
Teasing the stones like hide and seek
Light flickered from the house ahead
A fairy cartoon through thin veiled lace
She sat by the table, alert, fair-faced
Lightly curled hair, eating slices of pear
Oblivious to the traveller outside
Who might come home at any time
From anywhere, destined to wander
Through the swaying doors of her life
As the day took leave, trees standing guard
He paused an instant to mark the reprieve
Fumbled his key and the old screen door
To receive her smile, by joy released.
poem by Frank Bana
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Autumn Woods
Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold,
In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown
The upland, where the mingled splendours glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone
In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,--
The sweetest of the year.
Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;
So grateful, when the noon of summer made
The valleys sick with heat?
Let in through all the trees
Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright?
Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze,
Twinkles, like beams of light.
The rivulet, late unseen,
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run,
Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.
But 'neath yon crimson tree,
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,
Her blush of maiden shame.
Oh, Autumn! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!
Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed
For ever in thy coloured shades to stray;
Amid the kisses of the soft south-west
To rove and dream for aye;
And leave the vain low strife
That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life,
And waste its little hour.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Willow tree by the lake
Willow tree by the lake standing tall since the day one
Home for birds and squirrels, place of fun
Breeze will come and play with her branches
Whistle at them before they move on
Any time, at mid day, at night or at the crack of dawn
Humming bird feeder and bird house hanging all over the tree
They swing back and forth and hang free
All summer it is a fun house as the birds come and go
Rabbits will hop around on the ground below.
Ducks will sit idle or sleep under her shade
Squirrels will carry food up the trunk, not afraid
During winter when nature sleeps no life around
Willow tree will shelter the birds, the squirrels
and even the worms under it's ground.
Many yrs ago I planted the tree, saw it grow day by day
Sat under it, wrote poems, it made me happy and gay
I know one day my time will be up and I will be gone
But my willow tree will still be here, singing with the wind at each dawn.
poem by Syed Karim
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I years had been from home,
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,--just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Home
Years I had been from home,
And now, before the door
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business, - just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Your dressing table in the hall
In the house in fifth avenue
I put a small pink white marble table
below a mirror in the corridor
with a bowl with flowers standing on it
that acted as your dressing table
and as a place of display
where I saw your face smiling back at me
while you were doing your hair
teasing with curling tongs
or reflections of the rows of paintings
with the wood floor fading into the distance
and now that mirror and table
is probably still there,
but you are living alone
in that big house
and will never again
smile back into my face.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Wander-Wander
Wander Wander where to go
This way that way I don’t know
Just keep walking forward stance
Take in views and capture chance
Two Herons here and horses there
Country wandering more than fair
Crossing style and jumping brook
Sit a while and take a look
See the water meander down
Watch a small frog jump around
Then move on and up the hill
Wild grass grows and always will
Wander Wander where to go
Down long lane and past hedge row
Light is fading now it’s late
A distant building I cannot wait
For the light that glimmers from within
It’s no public house, it’s a ‘real ale’ Inn!
Copyright © 2008 Ray Feasey
poem by Ray Feasey
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I Saw An Old Image In My Mind - Noah's Ark
I saw an old image of my mind Noah's Ark
Fading in the wilderness of the sky
I touched the land with my dreams
And nothing I knew said it was real-
I heard the sounds of songs of delight
And remembered the Creator in the days of my youth-
I listened to the poems long in the hearing time of my mind
And I waited as I wondered why and we are all destinies not struggling to be free-
I thought I lived
They were branches of other trees
An old man’s folly can never capture -
The first wonder of an infant eyeing through branches the lips of the sky -
We are wonders and dreamings and seemings and always being beyond what we are not-
And when our lives are done in this last world
God who made branches and trees and Noah’s ark and the leaves of the first land
Will remember to make us see again,
As if we were always Light and more Light and Still more Light
Heading out again through another lost wilderness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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Hurricane Rita
Pine tree's standing oh so proud
The wind was blowing really loud
The red sand blowing every where
The pine trees breaking, I was there
They were snapping like a tooth pick
In Laporte they said get out quick
Me and three dogs, we had to leave
It's was a day's trip, you wouldn't believe
Never had driven out of the city
On the road forever, what a pity
Got to my brothers, late the next night
The storm had turned; we were all a fright
We couldn't stay in the trailer house
Wouldn't be safe for the smallest mouse
Cars broke down on each side of the road
Each carrying their belongings, what a load
Over heated and running out of gas
We all had to leave in such a great mass
We could only drive five miles per hour
Waiting for this storm, who would devour
Winds whipping and snapping the trees
Was much more than a summer breeze
Lights went out and heat began
We were so hot couldn't turn on a fan
Didn't have the gas to get back home
Sun so hot, like a mirror on chrome
Won't have gas for a month they said
It made you wonder why you fled
Husband came and brought me gasoline
Got home so fast, as if on caffeine
They all have electricity finally
That's where i'll go if I ever flee!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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The Elevator
I was on the ground floor
and I wanted level five.
I pressed the call button
and waited for it to arrive.
It arrived with no one in it,
so I entered and closed the door.
It took its time to get going,
then slowed for the next floor.
The doors hesitated then opened,
but no one was there,
but I definitely felt a presence
and a disturbance in the air.
I was standing still and anxious
when the lift shook from side to side.
The doors closed and up it went to three
where the doors opened wide.
Again no one was there waiting,
but I felt someone get in.
Movement in the air and floor
was most unsettling.
I was overwhelmed and nervous
as it approached level four.
It stopped, but no one was waiting,
just like the stops before.
The elevator paused for a second
and I swear someone got in.
I was certain that I heard whispering
as the elevator set off again.
The space felt uncomfortably eerie
cold, but very much alive.
The rotten egg smell made me sickly,
as we went passed level five.
The light suddenly turned to darkness,
and I could see forms and shapes.
They were pushing each other violently,
as we approached level eight.
I pressed the emergency button,
but we still passed eight, nine, and ten.
At level eleven the elevator stopped…
then began to go down again.
At eight the elevator came to a halt
and everyone but me got out.
The darkness became light again,
so relieved, I gave out a shout.
The elevator continued downwards
and stopped at the ground floor.
An old lady and her dog waiting to enter,
but I couldn’t exit the elevator door.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Summer Light...
Summer Light -Thru the Trees
Summer Light - Spotted Me
Summer Light - Palest Gold
Summer Light - Bright and Bold
I Saw Summer Light Descend
Summer Light, Made Shadows Bend
Summer Light, On An Emerald Pond
I Reached Out… It Touched My Palm
Summer Light, It Fell Like Powder
Or a Floating Incandescent Feather
Came Down, Like A Sheer, White Swan
Summer Light – Lifted Wing-Like Arms
So Sunrays Slanted – Shone-Misty
Summer Light-Beams, Embraced Me
Warm, Wonderful Summer Light
Touch Me Tender, Solar- Might
Summer Light, When I Was Lost
Summer Light, Found Me Before Frost
Summer Light - None Else Looked For Me…
Summer Light Said, “I Always See…”
I Love Summer Light
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Trees
Green with spendour when Summer's here,
Brown contender in Autumn's sphere,
Bare the branches in Winter's embrace,
New growth created, when Spring shows her face.
Stalwart trunks, with many years standing,
Leaves when over, steadily landing,
Branches swaying in the breeze,
How I love all kinds of trees.
Forests of green, where they all meet,
Swaying together as they all greet,
Each morning, when the light appears,
Each growing slowly over the years.
Sentinels of the land they survey,
Strong and upstanding in every way,
Graceful, mighty, powerful and fine,
Tall and sleek just like the Pine.
The Oak, Ash, Sycamore and Lime,
The Rowan, White Beam and Silver Birch sublime,
Each one giving of their glorious best,
To the World - The World's been blest.
What would we do without our trees,
Don't cut them down, will you please,
Remember how they give us shade,
From the sun, within the glade.
Stand and study these majestic creations,
Upright descendants of past relations,
Their dignity, against all weathers,
If it were us, we'd lose our tethers.
But these gallant trees require our care,
They give oxygen, in the air
That we breathe, so, if we want to survive,
Let us keep our trees alive.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Weather
Overnight: a light fall of snow.
Sitting on the couch
observing through the open blinds
the way the wiggles of white
clung precariously but stubbornly to the thin
branches of the sleeping trees
made his ankles chilly;
Sounding like a duo
between a dishwasher and a garbage disposal
sung over the the chorus of a garage door opening
he sang (both parts)
covering the singers on a CD
which only rarely skipped.
Behind the sink she munched an apple out loud
stirred her cup with a deafening clink
immune-even oblivious
to his efforts. The
problem was obvious.
'I have read, ' she said
'that rubbing the CD with a banana
fills the pits so it no longer skips-'
and waited to hear how he might reply.
'It sounds like something we might try, '
he said, after a bit,
'but not right now.'
'But not right now, ' she echoed,
in relative agreement,
'but not right now.'
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Don't You Have Something Else To Do?
Okay.
I'll pretend I am curious.
Why are you peering over your fence,
With binoculars?
It is obvious what you are doing.
And those neighbors have moved.
'You don't know everything.
I happen to be observing,
The activities of rare squirrels.
Grey in color and munching on pine nuts.
And...
I am not looking at 'that' house at all.
Okay?
Nosey.'
I see.
And...
Would they happen to be sitting,
Eating dinner...
In the living room of our other neighbors,
Living across the street...
Who invited their friends over?
Because those 'rare' squirrels,
Should be eating their nuts in the trees.
Shouldn't they?
'They just ran behind that house.
Don't you have something else to do?
Besides spy on me.
Ssssshhh.
Someone's getting a divorce.'
Oh?
Since you're into reading lips.
What else are those 'squirrels' discussing?
'You need to learn how to mind your own business.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Equalizer
In a small hut on the hill
Lived a poor man named Bill
He could not spell it made life hell
At times there was no wood in the shed
The family went many times hungry to bed
But when he sat under the old Linden Tree
He had this feeling of being free
His gaze would wander over mountains and dales
Feeling tired but forgot what ails
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
There comes a time when all is fair
But the lord of the manor was stroking his hair
His hand cradled a delicate crystal glass
A dozen red roses stood in a vase
On a table filled with food to delight
The view from the window a beautiful sight
His coat was pure silk the shirt out of lace
His mind from the wine in a haze
He lived in splendor every day of his life
Not caring for others strife
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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St James Infirmary
I went down to the st james infirmary
Saw my baby there
Stretched out on a long white table
So sweet...so cold...so fair
Let her go...let her go...god bless her
Wherever she may be
She can look this wide world over
But shell never find a sweet man like me
When I die want you to dress me in straight lace shoes
I wanna a boxback coat and a stetson hat
Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain
So the boysll know that I died standing flat
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Mark (Chapter 13)
While coming out of temple’s area,
One of his disciples said to Jesus,
“Look Teacher, what stones; what buildings! ”
And Jesus said, “There will not be one stone
Left upon another, that’s not thrown down! ”
While sitting on Mount Olives, some asked Him,
“What sign will appear when things come to end? ”
But Jesus said, “See that you’re not deceived.”
Many will come in my name to deceive.
When happen wars, it will not be the end.
Kingdoms and nations will fight each other.
Earthquakes and famines will be beginnings;
Watch out for they will hand you to the courts;
In synagogues, you’ll beaten be!
Because of me, you will suffer a lot;
But Gospel must be preached to nations first.
Do not worry what you must say ahead.
Just say what’s given to you at the hour.
The Holy Spirit speaks for you, not you!
Siblings will hand one another to death;
Children will rise against their own parents;
You will be hated by all just for me;
Who perseveres till end will be ones saved.
When you see desolation standing then,
From Judea one must flee to mountains.
The one on his house-top must not come down;
He must not enter house to get things out;
One in a field mustn’t come to get his cloak.
Woe to pregnant women, nursing mothers;
Pray that this happens not in winter time;
Those are the days when tribulations come,
Those never have been since God’s creation;
The Lord shortened the days to save souls more;
Don’t you believe if told, “There’s Messiah! ”
False prophets will work wonders to mislead;
Be on your guard. I’ve told you all ahead!
After those days, the sun will become dark;
The moon will give no light and stars will fall;
The ‘Son of Man’ in clouds will come in power;
His angels will gather His elect all,
From end of earth to end of unseen sky!
When leaves on fig-trees sprout, ’Tis summer near!
These things will show that He is near at gates;
This generation will not pass, I say,
Until these things have fully taken place.
Heaven and earth will pass but not my words;
Only the Father knows the day and hour!
Be watchful and alert; you don’t know when;
Like man going abroad, leaving his home,
And servants with work, Gate-keeper ‘on guard’!
When the house-lord returns, you do not know.
Let him not come suddenly, while you sleep!
What I say to you, I say to all, “Watch! ”
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-20-2007
poem by John Celes
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Fading Like A Flower
In a time where the sun descends alone
I ran a long long way from home
To find a heart that's made of stone
I will try, I just need a little time
To get your face right out of my mind
To see the world through different eyes
Every time I see you oh I try to hide away
But when we meet it seems I can't let go
Every time you leave the room I feel Im fading like a flower
Tell me why
When I scream there's no reply
When I reach out there's nothing to find
When I sleep I break down and cry
Cry, yeah
Every time I see you oh I try to hide away
But when we meet it seems I can't let go
Every time you leave the room I feel Im fading like a flower
Fading like a rose
Fading like a rose
Beaten by the storm
Talking to myself
Getting washed by the rain
It's such a cold cold town
Oh, its a such cold town
Every time I see you oh I try to hide away
But when we meet it seems I can't let go
Every time you leave the room I feel Im fading like a flower
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faded Words Among the Footprints
Mystic beneath the moonlight beckons
Forever humbled at my feet
The shooting star that rises in the heavens
To only fall upon the light of flint and bone
To break away the burdens of the flesh
Within the light of Heaven's soul
Am I forever humbled by the swaying in the breeze
As the lonesome traveller
Comes to pass amongst us in the trees?
For now the light has faded
Beneath the beat of Heaven's wings
The sound of angels singing
Within the depths of my very heart
As the tears fall from the heavens
Will my soul be swept away?
In the distance there's a beacon
That lights the passage of my way
Only in the shadow shall I wait
For the light of the rising day
Swept away by life's sweet sorrow
Beneath the light of Heaven cleft
Where I wait within the light of gentle slumber
Where the footprints leave no mark
Be still my beating heart for I am forever humbled
By the light within my soul
poem by Darryn John Murphy
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Season After Season
Rustling leaves must be sounding like autumn,
Judging the ground we walk, and also
How we trudge along life after death
Has happened to the summer season of Joy.
Leave us when it is winter, as it is cold,
As the fright from temperature is solid,
And the life is barren and it is desolate -
Where trees are like the weird sort, the terrible sort.
It is now Spring, when life carries a deal
Of much greatness, of greater forgiveness.
There is light in the branches to liven our hearts
And fill us enough for summer; we had the sun again.
poem by Naveed Akram
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