Fallen Oak
That storm took down my neighbor's oak
and smashed the light post too.
They fell across and blocked our street,
So no cars can get through.
Once lofty branches block the walks-
(That tree was very tall.)
The slab of concrete at its' root
was lifted by its fall.
The tree and post are obstacles
With which we must contend.
The victims of a fury
we can scarcely comprehend.
How fast the darkness did descend-
The rain in torrents fell.
We heard the crack of splintered wood-
and crashing steel as well.
The North part of our street has light.
a Sodium Vapor Glow.
But south, the Darkness quick descends,
There no cars dare go.
My house, for now, still bathed in light
Our tree survived the storm.
But darkness was made visible
by a sudden touch of Fall..
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cul de sac
At the parking
of the Ok-bazaar / Shoprite in Springs
a one-way street runs out
straight into a traffic light
that cuts a T
into two directions.
This morning the traffic light
is blocked
by a crowd of rioters
that comes from the right side,
from where I want to go.
The police block the road
to the left with a car
and some policemen walk along
with the uprising.
There’s a foreman, instigator
or head man
walking in front
and he hops up and down
and shouts something to me
and he comes straight in my direction
and it looks as if the devil is in him
with a crowd
of revolting barbarians following him.
Nobody is going to drill me
with bags of rubbish
and tree branches
or throw pieces of glass
in front of my tyres
and the light is red
and the rioters are half mad
and my motorbike has a lot of power
and its boss cannot wait.
The policeman says stop
but can hardly
look out for himself
and what about me?
I drive past
going straight for the leader
and give a lot of gas,
my motorbike
can cut fine corners,
although it’s past the back
of a police car.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tree
When the sun goes down
I have my first drink
standing in the yard,
talking to my neighbor
about the alder tree
rising between our houses,
a lowly tree that prospered
from our steady inattention
and shot up quick as a weed
to tower over our rooftops,
where it now brandishes
a rich, luxuriant crown.
Should we cut it down?
Neither of us wants to --
we agree that we like
the flourishing branches,
shade like thick woods.
We don't say it,
studying our tree in silence,
but we know that if the roots
get into the foundations
we've got real trouble.
John goes back inside.
Nothing to be done in summer --
not to those heavy branches.
I balance my empty glass
on top of a fence post.
In the quiet early dark,
those peaceful minutes
before dinner, I bend down
to the flower beds I love
and pull a few weeds --
something I've meant to do
all day.
poem by Richard Jones
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The tree that knew me.
My tree will know it all
The tree of my childhood
With the endless branches
And the many whispers
Time that it can only measure
My tree remembers
The boy with the wind in his hair
The boy with the crazy laughter
The boy with the fear of living and of lifes unknowns
The boy I used to be
Before the internet or the mac
Playstation Nintendo and games that attack.
My tree remembers me
Clinbing its branches into the sky
Hung on its strong limb
A swing
Of rope and wood.
Telling me I should
Swing as high as I could
Touch the weightless sky
On the magical piece of wood
I can fly and pierce the sky.
My tree remembers
Red Light
Green light
Outdoor street light
Before
My first crush or even a kiss
Dodgeball
And street baseball
Red rover
Red rover
Please come over
And play
Hide and seek
Take cover
And be meek
In my tree
Is everything I want to be.
Imaganary places
People
Creatures
And mystical things
High In my tree
I can see the world
But no one can see me...
My tree remembers me
The boy I use to be
My tree does not know what happened to me
My life has no room for fasanations of fantasys
Now complacted full of responsibilities
I have no time
To many dead lines
My tree looked at me
And said this is where you should be..
One day I drove hurriedly by.....
The pain of progress has its cost
And my tree has lost its spot
It was no longer needed for shade and play,
And its slow pace way
Was its end.
In my heart that tree and me are not appart.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Fallen Leaves
A gentle
breeze
blew leaves
upon your
tree.
They clung
to the
branches,
refusing
to
surrender.
A violent
storm
appeared,
beat
against
your
branches.
Disturbing
the
leaves.
They
held
firm,
until
they
couldn't
hold
any
longer.
The
pressures
of life, so
great
they fell
away
crying.
poem by Heather Burns
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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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Very Deep In The Dark Moonlit Night
Very deep in the dark moonlit night
I still hear the sound of doves
where the whole night they coo, whisper and laugh;
I see the yellow moon glowing as a sickle
where it hangs high above the horizon,
there are thunderbolts lashing thundering,
in blinding flashes of blue-white light
with the doves scattering scared over the roof
when the storm walks nearer through the tree branches.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Wet City Night
Light drunkenly reels into shadow;
Blurs, slurs uneasily;
Slides off the eyeballs:
The segments shatter.
Tree-branches cut arc-light in ragged
Fluttering wet strips.
The cup of the sky-sign is filled too full;
It slushes wine over.
The street-lamps dance a tarentella
And zigzag down the street:
They lift and fly away
In a wind of lights.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Green Man
The story I am about to tell
is about a man who fell down a well.
His real name was Costaswell
that was until he fell down the well
where the night before
in the shadows of the moon
someone tipped gallons
of green paint down the well.
Then poor Costaswell fell in
and when he popped his head out.
Everyone thought he was an Alien.
You all know the type,
a green man from Mars.
Someone called the army in,
they asked where his spaceship had landed.
He said he did not have one
and he did not come from Mars.
Now poor Costaswell is better know
as the green man
who did not come from mars,
but from Hampton Court.
Now when he walks down the street
dogs come and raise a leg up
as they think he is a tree.
Kids drag their mothers to come and see
the green Martian from Hampton Court.
Everyone is wondering now
in the winter what will he do,
will he turn a light green
or will he turn blue.
10 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Pixy and the Grocer
How bright the room seemed! It was as if a ray of light came from the book, a luminous tree whose branches spread out across the ceiling. The leaves were fresh and green and on each branch flowers bloomed and fruit hung. The flowers were faces of young maidens, some with radiant dark eyes and other(s) with clear blue ones. The fruits were sparkling stars. All the while the most beautiful music could be heard.
...................
He [the pixy] experienced greatness. He saw what we see when God, disguised as the storm, walks across the turbulent ocean. He cried without knowing why he cried, but found that in those tears happiness was hidden. "How wonderful it must be," he thought, "to sit under the magic tree together with the student." But that was not possible; he had to be satisfied with looking through the keyhole.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Surroundings-14
Wedding
Wedding
Opposite house
People throng and throng flocked
Nose blocked-canopied street perfumed
Street blocked
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Oaks
Oaks are big, sturdy trees,
giving great shade in summer,
lining the way to the university
where students walk
with each other romantically
but in winter with the pouring rain
and strong storm winds blowing
they can be menacing
with branches falling on parked cars
crashing roofs, shattering windows
even more sinister
they kill students in winter,
tipped and uprooted
crashing down on a car
travelling in the road
blocking off a entire street
and there’s uneasiness
around a dead oak tree
with its long roots protruding
lying like a fallen giant
as if it’s wood is fit for coffins,
pallets holding nuclear bombs
and not fit for furniture,
cabinets, floors and barrels
that it’s used for.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Our street light
there we would sit
under the street light
free from the dark
just you and me
having a laugh
talking bout the good times
talking bout the bad
however messed up our lives were
watever pain we were in
the street light would heal us and set us free again
it was our getaway
it was our thing
the street light brought us together
the street light brought us the end
i still remember that street light like that special glow you had my friend
the street light brought us fun
the street light brought us love
the street light brought us warmth as we lay and look at the stars above
i was happy under the street light
as i knew you were too
comforting each other was all we used to do
the street light may be faded
the street light may be dull
but lets just remember the street light kept us going strong!
poem by Brad Brown
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The Willow Tree
In the graveyard stands a willow tree,
You can hide within its branches,
And it will keep you safe,
And it will keep you warm,
And it will keep all your demons at bay,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
As I look out through its branches,
I see people crying for their loved ones,
Tears rolling down their faces,
I want to shout to them,
And let them in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
But I can’t, I can’t let them in,
Even though I know their suffering,
Because it’s the living that hurt you,
And I don’t want too be hurt anymore,
So only my dead friends are in here with me,
I like the willow tree,
It sets me free,
And safe within its branches it cradles me,
The willow tree.
poem by Darren Harris
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In The Middle
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Better way
He used to sandpaper the tips
of his fingers until they
caught no silk.
He brushed his teeth,
then he combed his hair,
parted it on the wrong side.
Forty-five years
and three hundred and sixty days
he still has no better ways
to say, 'I love you'.
He goes for walks around the pasture
by the pond and up the bank
and past the dead pine tree
struck by lightning
whose branches have fallen off
and lay around the ground
He walks by without a sound
wishing he could walk on and on.
His soul walks by without a sound.
poem by Midnights Voice
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The skyscraper establishes the block, the block creates the street, the street offers itself to man.
quote by Roland Barthes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cars Are Cars
Words & music by paul simon 1983
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Similarly made. similarly sold
In a motorcade. abandoned when theyre old
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Engine in the front. jack in the back
Wheels take the brunt. pinion and a rack
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
But people are strangers
They change with the curve
From time zone to time zone
As we can observe
They shut down their borders
And think theyre immune
They stand on their differences
And shoot at the moon
But cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Drive em on the left. drive em on the right
Susceptible to theft in the middle of the night
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
I once had a car
That was more like a home
I lived in it, loved in it
Polished its chrome
If some of my homes
Had been more like my car
I probably wouldnt have
Travelled this far
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Would You Stop It? !
Would you let that love that's happening...
Be for you that fills a need?
Or would you stop it,
From not happening.
Would you stop it from not happening?
Would you let that love that's happening,
Be for you that fills a need?
Or would you block it,
From not happening.
Could you block it from not happening?
Conflicting feelings...
Bring on its own pain.
When one turns down what's needed
And they can't admit the needing.
Conflict of feelings,
Is...
What no one needs.
Not a conflict that has meaning,
With some feelings felt unseen.
When one turns down what is needed
And they can't admit the need.
Would you let that love that's happening...
Be for you that fills a need?
Or...
Would you block it,
From not happening?
Would you stop it from not happening,
If we both admit the need...
And let it happen.
Would you let that love that's happening...
Be for us what we need.
Or would you let that love that's happening...
Not to be seen.
Would you let that love that's happening...
Be for you that fills a need?
Or would you block it...
From not happening.
Or would you stop it from not happening.
Not to be ever seen.
Or would you block it from not happening.
Not to feel or be seen.
Or would you stop it from not happening.
Not to be ever seen.
Or would you block it from not happening.
Not to feel or be seen.
Would you let that love that's happening...
Be for you that fills a need?
Or would you block it...
Not to feel or be seen.
Or would you stop it...
Not to be ever seen.
Or would you block it...
Not to feel or be seen.
Or would you stop it...
Not to be ever seen.
Would you stop it? !
To block it.
I'm moving on...
'Cause my feelings felt can not be stopped.
I'm moving on...
'Cause my feelings for you can't be blocked.
I'm moving on...
'Cause my feelings felt can not be stopped.
I'm moving on...
'Cause my feelings for you can't be blocked.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Family Is Like A Tree
A tree is like a family it starts
out very small but it soon begins
to grow and the family too also
grows.
The tree starts out with small branches.
A family ita a child.
as the years go by they have all
grown together.
Soon the tree has been generated with
new branches and too the family expands
not with branches, but generations.
.Their both so much a like in so many
ways., if nurtured and taken care of
they both will grow straight. and tall.
And generate many new branch
and many more generations too
come as the tree grows old
some branches will die and fall off.
When the generations of a family
get old they too will die off.
But both will leave something of
themselves behind.
.
To live on for many generations of
life and many generations of branches..
GAYLE GOFF
2008
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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