On Promising Fruitfulness of a Tree
A comely sight indeed it is to see
A world of blossoms on an apple-tree:
Yet far more comely would this tree appear,
If all its dainty blooms young apples were.
But how much more might one upon it see,
If all would hang there till they ripe should be.
But most of all in beauty 'twould abound,
If then none worm-eaten should there be found.
But we, alas! do commonly behold
Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.
They too, which hang till they young apples are,
By blasting winds and vermin take despair,
Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see
By blust'ring winds are shaken from the tree,
So that of many, only some there be,
That grow till they come to maturity.
Comparison.
This tree a perfect emblem is of those
Which God doth plant, which in his garden grows,
Its blasted blooms are motions unto good,
Which chill affections do nip in the bud.
Those little apples which yet blasted are,
Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.
Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see,
How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.
Those which the wind blows down, while they are green,
Show good works have by trials spoiled been.
Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree,
Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.
Behold then how abortive some fruits are,
Which at the first most promising appear.
The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show,
There flows, from much appearance, works but few.
poem by John Bunyan
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Busheled Together
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
Although on that one tree,
One may declare...
Them to have similar identities.
Upon tasting from those apples picked,
One will come to a core...
With seeds inside of it.
And delicious is a sweetness,
When the juice is licked.
But when busheled together from that one tree,
Some may have blemishes.
While others upon inspection may be blemish free.
And all of them have been witnessed,
To be the product of the same tree.
See those apples hanging ripe,
All yet to fall...
From that one tree.
Even though they appear,
To look the same...
If one should examine closer,
Each would have a unique and distinct...
Quality.
And when busheled together,
They are all apples.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Knowing Of A Tree
It is a good thing indeed
When someone plants a seed
And to watch and help it grow
So someday, it to be a tree.
It is a good thing in truth
When a tree brings forth its fruit
Or to shade someone's head
Or its branch be a robins nest.
It is good when a tree is used
By nature, or by me or you
To protect or shelter lives
For a tree; it never dies.
A tree is someone's home
A tree is someone's good book
A tree is never alone,
For to know a tree, all you do; is look.
It is good to plant a tree
It is good to plant a seed
For someday it will be grown
And a tree, will be known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Nearly Ripe
Nearly ripe, these green apples
hang heavy
from our bursting tree,
the warm evening sun
glinting through swaying branches.
They will be ready
in about a week.
Then I’ll slice them into sweet crescents
And their taste will dance upon your tongue
with all the secrets our tree has been keeping,
its living leaves,
its smooth, grey bark,
its very roots
grasping deep
into our dark soil,
and these glowing, green apples
I will make bare and white and moist,
a love offering like perfect wine for you,
and your taste will delight
in the sweet, green love
of the earth.
poem by Steven Federle
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God cares for all Creatures
The guava sapling planted has grown big;
The tree is laden with ripe fruits many;
How many can I pluck or eat each day?
Lie fruits unseen at heights, I cannot reach.
I see the parrots enjoy tasty fruits;
I see the squirrels gnaw the fine ripe ones;
I see bats with voracious appetites;
And many more fall down by force of winds.
God fills the tree with fruits for each season;
Man cannot eat all fruits the tree can bear;
God feeds each bird of the air with care;
He made them all and that’s the chief reason.
When God can feed His other creatures well,
So many human beings starve to death;
Oh, what a man-made tragedy, we see,
As tons of food goes rotten every day!
God loves all human beings even more
Than all His other creatures whom He made;
Both food and drink turn scarce by acts of men;
Why blame God for our misdemeanor, then?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-3-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Boys And The Apple-Tree
As William and Thomas were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side:
They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Thomas to William then cried:
'O brother, look yonder! what clusters hang there!
I'll try and climb over the wall:
I must have an apple; I will have a pear;
Although it should cost me a fall!'
Said William to Thomas, 'To steal is a sin,
Mamma has oft told this to thee:
I never have stolen, nor will I begin,
So the apples may hang on the tree. '
'You are a good boy, as you ever have been,'
Said Thomas, 'let's walk on, my lad:
We'll call on our schoolfellow, Benjamin Green,
Who to see us I know will be glad.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.
poem by Marchette Chute
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Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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From The Same Tree
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit....
From the same tree
the good fruit goes to the market
the bad fruit...to the soil.
From the same tree
is the reason for the lonely farmer
to wake up each morning
to see how the fruits grow well...
and is the reason for the lonely farmer
for not winning the heart of his beloved
who prefer the city life
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Upon The Barren Fig-Tree In God's Vineyard
What, barren here! in this so good a soil?
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Art thou not planted by the water-side?
Know'st not thy Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree:
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
Hast thou been digg'd about and dunged too,
Will neither patience nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Would, if on thee were found but one good fig,
Preserve thee from the axe: but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!
The utmost end of patience is at hand,
'Tis much if thou much longer here doth stand.
O cumber-ground, thou art a barren tree.
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Thy standing nor they name will help at all;
When fruitful trees are spared, thou must fall.
The axe is laid unto thy roots, O tree!
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
poem by John Bunyan
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Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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The Tree of Liberty
WE’LL PLANT a Tree of Liberty
In the centre of the land,
And round it ranged as guardians be,
A vowed and trusty band;
And sages bold and mighty soul’d
Shall dress it day by day:
But woe unto the traitor who
Would break one branch away.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty
For the vow that we have made;
May it so flourish that when we
Are buried in its shade,
Fair Womanhood and Love and Good,
All pilgrims pure shall go
Its growth to bless for happiness—
O may it flourish so!
Till felled by gold as bards have told,
In the Old World once it grew,
But there its fruits were ever sold
And only to the Few:
But here at last, uncurs’d by caste,
Each man at Nature’s call
Shall pluck as well what none may sell,
The fruit that blooms for All.
By gold ’twas felled as bards have held
In the Old World where it grew,
But here the power that there dispelled
Its life shall be its dew:
The evil bout of Time is out,
And gold no more a thrall,
Shall here but build for Truth and gild
The fruit that blooms for All.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty,
And the men who shall defend
Its glorious future righteously
For this all-glorious end—
That happiness all men to bless
Out with its growth may grow—
Our Southern Tree of Liberty
Shall flourish even so!
poem by Charles Harpur
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Good Tree
the good tree
bears a lot of fruits
and when it is time
for the picking
of the ripe ones
there are no questions
of who you are
and what do you deserve
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fruits Of The Tree
What fruits we have!
Glittering with evil,
To shed innocent blood,
Shining with greed,
And we end in comfort that lasts only a moment
What fruits we bare!
Lost in ambition and passion
That we preach prosperity and success
As if they last an eternity
Swelling with pride that lasts a stint
Fruits of the tree
That the master has planted.
They can choose to ripen, or to stay raw!
They can choose to rot, or to stay ripe!
But, every fruit stands the test of time.
In the end, Ripe with truth and love,
Victory is imminent.
Rotten with deception and hatred,
Destruction waits:
The fruits from the tree of life
poem by Timothy muggaga
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There Is No Substitute For What Is Present...
to view an apple in the internet
or climb an apple tree with many ripe apples
in cyberspace
they are nothing
compared to the ripe mango in my hands
to a virtual love that is described as true
love making vicarious
that is nothing compared to a kiss
that i planted on your
cheek of
peach
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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August
THERE WERE four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.
The leaves caught gold across the sun,
And where the bluest air begun,
Thirsted for song to help the heat;
As I to feel my lady’s feet
Draw close before the day were done;
Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.
In the mute August afternoon
They trembled to some undertune
Of music in the silver air;
Great pleasure was it to be there
Till green turned duskier and the moon
Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.
That August time it was delight
To watch the red moons wane to white
’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;
A sense of heavy harmonies
Grew on the growth of patient night,
More sweet than shapen music is.
But some three hours before the moon
The air, still eager from the noon,
Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;
Against the stem I leant my head;
The colour soothed me like a tune,
Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grew
More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew
Between the round ripe leaves had blurred
The rind with stain and wet; I heard
A wind that blew and breathed and blew,
Too weak to alter its one word.
The wet leaves next the gentle fruit
Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root
Felt the mould warmer: I too felt
(As water feels the slow gold melt
Right through it when the day burns mute)
The peace of time wherein love dwelt.
There were four apples on the tree,
Gold stained on red that all might see
The sweet blood filled them to the core:
The colour of her hair is more
Like stems of fair faint gold, that be
Mown from the harvest’s middle floor.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Mango Tree And The Children
the mango tree
blooms on the month
of May
fruits are heavy
soon
on all its branches
is opulence
Comes June
the children come
with their sticks
and slings
and stones
the mango tree is
hit once again
and all the fruits
fall to the
ground
the children
have all the fun
saliva flows from
tongues
dipping in
salt
as early as that
they know what fun is
by hurting those
that fruit so well
by taking the fruits
beyond
what they actually
need
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sailor's Garden
There's a soft wind singing in the idle rigging,
High tide splashing, and a young pale moon,
Lights in a window and a fiddle jigging
Over and over there the same short tune.
Oh, was it the tide along the ship's side sighing,
Or was it the sighing wind that breaths and blows,
Came like a voice across the deep crying,
Set my heart a-thinking how my garden grows?
Five years ago it was I planted roses,
Five years ago (the bush is grown a tree):
Five years ago, and once I've seen my posies,
Five years ago - and once they bloomed for me!
I was home in Spring, bloom was in May then,
Birds all were building and buds were on the tree!
When the birds were flown, oh, I was far away then;
When the rose was open I was far at sea.
I was home in autumn; winds of cold November
Shaking the leaf that shivered on the tree;
Brown leaves that sighed of sorrow to remember
Flowers that had fallen and I far at sea.
Oh, many are the roads that lead you here and yonder,
Oh, many are the ways about the world that go;
But the longest way of all's the sailor's way to wander
To the good North Country and an Isle I know.
Oh, many are the winds about the seas a-singing,
Oh, many are the songs they sing both night and noon:
But whether it be good or ill that they come bringing
The best of all's the wind that blows us home in June.
Home, home in June - and soon to be a-going;
Home, home in June - we may not long remain;
Home, home in June, just to see the garden growing,
And then fare you well till you greet us home again.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
Apple Seed
Spring is here
love it so dear.
Being an apple seed,
and doing my good deed.
Keeping the doctor away,
for many years this tree will stay.
Just waiting for picking time
and watching workers as they climb.
Seed to apple so sweet
working so hard what a feat.
Apple cider to apple pie,
selling apples for people to buy.
Being an apple seed
and doing my good deed.
Being picked off this tree
from this place I will flee.
wrote 4-30-07