It is strange to be single
I walk past vineyard of grapes,
see the struggle that the small avocado tree
has against the ripe
while a string of doves
on the telephone wire
looks cooing at me
and feel like the fallen tree
over which the hollyhocks, geraniums, carnations
and ferns are growing rampant and trailing
as if I am laid down dead as well
but still shoots
is reach high into the air
past the roof
like fingers to the sun.
It is strange to be single,
not to catch the view
of your sun filled eyes
and the dogs are following me
and the cats await me
and I am really lonely.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The only picture that I see
This morning I am waiting
on the light
to start the day
and thinking about something
to say to you
by electronic mail.
I am looking in and out
and seeing things in myself
as if I exist out of my body
and outside the two dogs
are walking up and down
the lawn
as if inspecting new flowers
blooming in the early morning
and they are sniffing
at geraniums and morning glories
which are growing wild.
The two cats are stretching out
on the bark of the fallen tree
ripping their nails into it
and trying to catch
the first rays of the sun
and still my life is empty
while you are away from me
and that’s the only picture that I see.
poem by Gert Strydom
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About A Fruitful Summer (Cavatina Sequence)
The oak size avocado tree had fruit
during the spring
and into summer, like small pineapples,
with some dropping
to the earth, bursting like hand grenades,
I was picking
from a ladder set on the cobble stones,
dropping down to mother the greater ones.
The two dogs had their fill from those broken,
the roof was struck
while some were falling down like rocks at night,
by some great luck
they just missed the neighbour's nearby car,
more I did pluck
for the neighbours, friends and the family
and they all tasted butter-sweet to me.
At the plum tree the birds were twittering,
the long ladder
swayed under me on the moist soft ground,
I did gather
buckets and boxes full, was startled
by a adder
that was green and hissed in the large tree
and I dropped down to the ground to be free.
The vineyard was full of Catawba grapes,
with their sweet scent,
their essence, filling the summer air,
evanescent
was the summer, but mother was happy,
she did present
to the ladies at church some baskets full,
while I met a girl that is beautiful.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Strange Tree
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
And this strange tree could not agree,
That if this tree could ever see,
A stranger tree it sure would be.
There’s a strange tree which topples me,
For this strange tree was tall, you see,
And then this tree would use its knee,
To break in three, the clouds who flee.
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
The northern tree, its branches free,
The southern tree, no limb to see,
For this strange tree, was strange, you see?
There’s a strange tree which I can see,
And this strange tree (against my plea)
Was sent to sea, its roots now free,
And now this tree… A ship is he.
End.
The Doves And The Tree
what i first see are the doves hovering on the tree
they are many and the tree looks as though its leaves are plenty
for one thing
the doves when they hover
they hover together
as a flock
and when they leave
they also leave together
as a flock
and the tree can do nothing about it
and thus it happens
the doves all left at the same time leaving the tree to the truth
of its existence
it has no leaves at all this summer
when hot is really hot in here
when all the doves fly away together
the tree
looks like the thin, worn fingers of a very old man
opening, stretching to the skies
praying for mercies
and what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The car of Johnny staying at home
The car of Johnny staying at home
takes the garden route
and the old green wheelbarrow creaks
while I fill it up
with weeds.
I pull a lever
and like magic sprinklers appear
in the garden
and the two cats
run moaning out of the water,
before the dogs
rollick barking in it.
I am angry with the Indian Miners, rats,
insects and snails
that eats holes out of my ripe tomatoes
and even wreck the spinach
before they are even ripe
and I wonder if I am farming
for myself and my darling
or the wild animals
and who really are going to eat the fruit?
There are sparrows and doves
in the branches of the pepper tree
that are peering and waiting
for me to throw out some seed
and it’s getting white hot
while the sun
rises higher in the sky
and I enjoy
dark red roses, purple irises
and orange, white and pink
geraniums that are all flowering.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lonely Tree
A lonely tree
On a lonely hill
Wishes to be
A forest still
Thou all alone
It dreams of more
Of seedlings grown
From its forest floor
Their branches growing
Ever climbing high
So feverish flowing
To reach blue sky
Covering this land
Beyond its view
A forest grand
All fresh and new
A sight to behold
It would surely be
A dream so bold
For such a lonely tree.
“closing thought”
A family is like a forest that continues to grow
From a lone simple seedling it outwardly flows
poem by Gordon Jerome
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A Old Ginkgo Tree Meditating on the Past at U of T
A ginkgo tree
The same period as dinosaur
Looking at the ginkgo tree
Meditating on the past as I saw
Oh! Old-time Canada I saw
A lemon tree
With rain dropping on the leaves more
Looking at the ginkgo tree
Meditating on the past as I saw
Oh! Old-time Canada I saw
A banana tree
With laker and growing throughout lake shore
Looking at the ginkgo tree
Meditating on the past as I saw
Oh! Old-time Canada I saw
A fern tree
With tropical rain forest and dinosaur
Looking at the ginkgo tree
Meditating on the past as I saw
Oh! Old-time Canada I saw
Feb 17,2008 Hormish Garden of Toronto 7: 00 to 9: 30pm
poem by Hormish Woo
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When Tree Branches Rub Against The Roof
When tree branches rub against the roof
the small bulbul runs past
during the afternoon hour
to the pool where it dives and rolls,
stretches out wings and shoot them out straight,
walking boldly up and down
stretches out wings,
stretches out wings
as he walks to and thro.
When tree branches rub against the roof
a light breeze blows,
while the sun burns hot as fire
and the neighbouring child calls
when the afternoon comes with its peace,
with thoughts from the past
when the afternoon comes,
when the afternoon comes
and sometimes I forget the present.
When tree branches rub against the roof
birds peck around everywhere
while moments are lingering
as leaves blow to the ground,
and I think of God as if He is here,
while the shades bring a kind of tranquillity
and I think of God
and I think of God
and find some deeper meaning to life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Two Cats
Two Cats
One up a tree
One under the tree
The cat up a tree is he
The cat under the tree is she
The tree is witch elm, just incidentally.
He takes no notice of she, she takes no notice of he.
He stares at the woolly clouds passing, she stares at the tree.
There's been a lot written about cats, by Old Possum, Yeats and Company
But not Alfred de Musset or Lord Tennyson or Poe or anybody
Wrote about one cat under, and one cat up, a tree.
God knows why this should be left for me
Except I like cats as cats be
Especially one cat up
And one cat under
A witch elm
Tree.
poem by by unknown author
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The Flask of Time
There is a single leaf flying
in this my autumn gloaming,
a leaf fluttering light
as if being orchestrated
by your words in flight
rushing to my inner ear;
'I have fallen in love
with another you said.'
My leaf stammered,
swaying in its downward flight
unable to remount the tree,
terrified to crash the ground
suspended forever there
as was also true of your words;
better to not reach my inner ear
better to not have my leaf touch down dead.
Between us all these years
neither war, nor peace;
we existed in the troubled middle ground
purgatoried, unsensed, fluttering, leaf bound
frozen between tree and ground.
Now you have burned our tree down-
lit the leaf and made it flame-
and pulled from under us the very ground.
No matter the dead leaves, the burning tree
no matter the absent ground
these things will
in turn return
for the seasons never-end.
Therefore, I shall take my sip of sorrow
sipped slowly from my Flask of Time
and await
the Spring.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Tree Mouse
Wherever you go, you’ll see them
assorted coloured tree mice.
They can be white, black, red and grey.
I must admit I have never seen one
with poker-dot spots,
by now your asking
what the heck is a tree mouse.
Well they are bushy tailed rodents
that love nuts and fruit and other assorted things.
Like a cat, they’ll raid a dustbin or two.
They scamper across our lawn
come the summer time
even do a high wire act
when cables are off the grown.
They tease the neighbourhood cats
with their arial displays
saying come and catch me if you can.
Knowing full well the poor cat
is no tightrope walker.
They are cheeky little fellows
and you cannot help watching them.
If you have a bag of peanuts
and your not quick enough
they will climb down your arm
help themselves, then grab the lot.
Some people call them a pest
and I know a few cats
would agree with that.
Personally, I get great pleasure
watch the tree mice play.
11 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Things Clear Only to Me
The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.
It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.
The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!
Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!
Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.
To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.
Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!
The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.
Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.
There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.
I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.
Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.
I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.
Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.
Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!
This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.
I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.
A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.
On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.
I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.
The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.
The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…
Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.
Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!
poem by Elisabeth Hines
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Sunday Afternoon
Three yellow cats up a tree.
Our fire-red grill is still cold.
We're tossin' horseshoes and
watching blue dogs
circle three cats up a tree.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Skin
Underneath my skin, is another skin
Underneath my bones some other bones
In which you have walked
And still walk
Underneath this tree grows another tree
In which you have grown
In which your roots have sewn
These shoots that rise up
Carry me nearer to you
I walk into your past
Breathe inside of your days
And your heart holds mine
Each beat
A sign that you are still living
Underneath these stones
Are your living stones
That will not die
I walk into your past
And live always in your presence
I carry you under my skin
Shaped by the dust of your bone
Born from the seed of your love
Carried on the wind
I carry you under my skin
Into the skin of another
Into the flesh and the blood of a lover
And you will live on
In the root of the tree
In the fruit of the flower
On and on
Held in the heart on another
I carry you under my skin
And always you are here, with me
poem by Yvette Smith
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Walk On (Keep On Movin')
Walk on
Keep on walking and don't look back
You gotta keep on down the track
The future's yours to shape and mold
The past is past beyond control
So walk on
Walk on
Baby walk on
Walk on
Walk on
You gotta struggle up them hills
To realize the downward thrills
When night confuses where you are
Then just look up at that guiding star
So walk on
Walk on
Baby walk on
Baby baby let me walk with you (walk on)
Baby baby let me walk (walk on)
The wind may blow the sky may fall
But if you're strong you'll go through it all
And just as long as your aim is true
There'll come a day your goal's in view
So come on
Baby baby let me walk with you
Baby baby let me walk
Keep on moving
Keep on grooving
And when you reach where you belong
You'll find it's where you first started from
And through it all you're still the same
You swear it's them not you who's changed
So walk on walk on walk on
Keep on moving
Just Keep on moving yeah
Better keep on moving yeah
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk On
Walk on
Keep on walking and don't look back
You gotta keep on down the track
The future's yours to shape and mold
The past is past beyond control
So walk on
Walk on
Baby walk on
Walk on
Walk on
You gotta struggle up them hills
To realize the downward thrill
When night confuses where you are
Then just look up at that guiding star
So walk on
Walk on
Baby walk on
Baby baby let me walk with you (walk on)
Baby baby let me walk (walk on)
The wind may blow the sky may fall
But if you're strong you'll go through it all
And just as long as your aim is true
There'll come a day your goal's in view
So come on
Baby baby let me walk with you
Baby baby let me walk
Keep on moving
Keep on moving
And when you reach where you belong
You'll find it's where you first started from
And through it all you're still the same
You swear it's them not you who's changed
So walk on walk on walk on
Keep on moving
Just keep on moving yeah
Better keep on moving yeah
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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When the sky domes dull blue
When the sky domes dull blue,
with doves cooing on the roof,
peeping at you through tree branches,
when finches gambol at their nests,
the sun beacons you sparsely through leaves,
a kind of silence comes, a type of serenity
that forever penetrates into your soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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