California Winter
It is winter in California, and outside
Is like the interior of a florist shop:
A chilled and moisture-laden crop
Of pink camellias lines the path; and what
Rare roses for a banquet or a bride,
So multitudinous that they seem a glut!
A line of snails crosses the golf-green lawn
From the rosebushes to the ivy bed;
An arsenic compound is distributed
For them. The gardener will rake up the shells
And leave in a corner of the patio
The little mound of empty shells, like skulls.
By noon the fog is burnt off by the sun
And the world's immensest sky opens a page
For the exercise of a future age;
Now jet planes draw straight lines, parabolas,
And x's, which the wind, before they're done,
Erases leisurely or pulls to fuzz.
It is winter in the valley of the vine.
The vineyards crucified on stakes suggest
War cemeteries, but the fruit is pressed,
The redwood vats are brimming in the shed,
And on the sidings stand tank cars of wine,
For which bright juice a billion grapes have bled.
And skiers from the snow line driving home
Descend through almond orchards, olive farms.
Fig tree and palm tree - everything that warms
The imagination of the wintertime.
If the walls were older one would think of Rome:
If the land were stonier one would think of Spain.
But this land grows the oldest living things,
Trees that were young when Pharoahs ruled the world,
Trees whose new leaves are only just unfurled.
Beautiful they are not; they oppress the heart
With gigantism and with immortal wings;
And yet one feels the sumptuousness of this dirt.
It is raining in California, a straight rain
Cleaning the heavy oranges on the bough,
Filling the gardens till the gardens flow,
Shining the olives, tiling the gleaming tile,
Waxing the dark camellia leaves more green,
Flooding the daylong valleys like the Nile.
poem by Karl Shapiro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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California Dreamin'
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
Stopped in to a church I passed along the way
Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray
You know the preacher liked the cold
He knows I'm gonna stay
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
If I didn't tell her I could leave today
California dreamin' on such a winter's day
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
On such a winter's day...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...
song performed by by DJ Sammy from Heaven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Indestructible Tree.
Rugged desert_
an unbriddled melancholy wind blows
Scattering sparks of fire,
There is no tree in Shatil Arab,
only the simoom’s voice moans all around.
In the palace of the Sheikh, though,
a few khayyamesque gardens exist
on whose blue carpets you’ll find
the finest wine of the world
and an enamoured saki with her lovely eyes.
Oblivious of his tent and the far away horizon’s call
the intrepid Bedouin has taken refuge
in the soft white abode of sex
in the Sheikh’s khayyamesque gardens.
Outside all trees have been singed by fire,
not even a cactus grows
in the barren land.
And yet an indestructible tree stands there
in the bronze-hot red soil of burning Palestine,
a miracle-tree with soft and green and serene
and large leaves.
All the good winds of the world
blow on that tree,
all the birds of the world sing there
with the tune of the seven seas on their lips.
In the murmuring leaves of this tree
only one tune plays
only one symphony,
only one sacred hymn,
only the undying joy
of men gathered on a temporary sojourn
expressed in their cry;
Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!
Because of this the dark hand of the demon
rises from the setting sun
bent on destroying that tree.
They wont let a single tree live
in the third world.
And so, the arrogant demon blasts
the heart of this tree into shreds.
Missile after missile from their F16 military planes
hit the trunk of this tree
tearing it asunder,
and yet this tree does not die.
Hundreds and hundreds of Palestinians
pour on it their holy and fertile blood
in a bid to keep it alive.
The demon’s dark hands turn red
with the blood of the heroic martyrs.
Shunts of condemnation fill the air.
And their angry planes return to camp
after the onslaught is over.
But the indestructible tree still stands
and keep awake.
Breathing in the unlimited cool breeze of the sea
the tender young leaves of the indestructible tree
recites in silence the sacred incantation
of Freedom.
This indestructible tree will not die, never ever.
This indestructible tree cannot die.
-
poem by Shafiqul Islam
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The Olive Tree
Save for a lusterless honing-stone of moon
The sky stretches its flawless canopy
Blue as the blue silk of the Jewish flag
Over the valley and out to sea.
It is bluest just above the olive tree.
You cannot find in twisted Italy
So straight a one; it stands not on a crag,
Is not humpbacked with bearing in scored stone,
But perfectly erect in my front yard,
Oblivious of its fame. The fruit is hard,
Multitudinous, acid, tight on the stem;
The leaves ride boat-like in the brimming sun,
Going nowhere and scooping up the light.
It is the silver tree, the holy tree,
Tree of all attributes.
Now on the lawn
The olives fall by thousands, and I delight
To shed my tennis shoes and walk on them,
Pressing them coldly into the deep grass,
In love and reverence for the total loss.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Karl Shapiro
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New For Old
Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.
poem by Adrian Wait
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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White Crosses
Well I packed all of my things into this blanket
To call this year to earn coyotes fill
Kiss my wife and kids goodbye choke back the quiver in my breath
And took my first steps into this corridor of death
If Im lucky I will make it to a drain
With 500 of my brothers, I would share the strain
Of standing in this boxcar praying for rain
Its the only the way we will quench our thirst
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
If we make it past the border, we will scatter
Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind
I will run until my color will not matter
Hopin I can find some work or possibly a friend
There are others who have made it here
They will show me how to find a job and a place to lay my head
And I cannot be concerned with dreams of my children
For there are 5 others in line for my bed
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
I will gladly pick your peaches or clean your hotel rooms
I will do the jobs American wont do
With cell phones to their heads and $700 dollar shoes
I will risk my life cause its all I have to lose
Let the devil in the mountains promise me a ride
Found an 18 wheeler and put all of us inside
And just outside of victory, 19 of us died
None of our bodies hit the floor
And so my wife she still wonders when Im coming home
The riches that I promised her for leaving her alone
I said I would send her all that I could save
But I ended up in California in an unknown grave
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses we are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
[repeat]
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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California Dreamin
[Inspired by Jose Feliciano's 1968 cover of The Mamas And The Papas hit of 1966]
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray.
I've been for a walk on a winter's day.
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.;
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
Stopped in to a church I passed along the way.
Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray.
You know the preacher liked the cold;
He knows I'm gonna stay.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray.
I've been for a walk on a winter's day.
If I didn't tell her I could leave today;
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
song performed by by Queen Latifah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Autumnale for M lady ernestine
The falling leaves dance in the breeze
and clothe the ground beneath the trees,
in autumn colours rich a rare.
The trees themselves will soon be bare.
Left no defence against the wind.
Their winter plans are well designed,
bare twigs and branches hold less snow
than useless leaves they have let go
The wintry gales to no avail
try hard but they are doomed to fail,
They can’t destroy the sturdy trees;
resisting with apparent ease.
Although they bow before the blast
they know that winter cannot last
The winds will die and fade away
the trees will they’re here to stay.
Spring will return the trees will green
as if the winter had not been.
The trees put on their new spring clothes
along with every plant that grows.
8-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Christmas Green Tree
All the trees shed their leaves
Stood under black dress
Everywhere white snows
Except Christmas green tree
Children played in the valley
Making Ice balls and stick
The black tree doesn`t open eye
Except Christmas green tree
Little stars glimpses on
With the trees waving head
Singing Carol on the way
Jingle bell and Santa Claus
The Only tree is stood in green
Horrible winter coolly days
Blessing infent`s Holy birth
Enjoy happy Praise the Lord...
poem by Vinod Kumar
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 10
It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling,
And no wind grieves the walls.
In the small world of light around the arc-lamp
A swarm of snowflakes falls and falls.
The street grows silent. The last stranger passes.
The sound of his feet, in the snow, is indistinct.
What forgotten sadness is it, on a night like this,
Takes possession of my heart?
Why do I think of a camellia tree in a southern garden,
With pink blossoms among dark leaves,
Standing, surprised, in the snow?
Why do I think of spring?
The snowflakes, helplessly veering,,
Fall silently past my window;
They come from darkness and enter darkness.
What is it in my heart is surprised and bewildered
Like that camellia tree,
Beautiful still in its glittering anguish?
And spring so far away!
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tapestry Trees
Oak.
I am the Roof-tree and the Keel;
I bridge the seas for woe and weal.
Fir.
High o’er the lordly oak I stand,
And drive him on from land to land.
Ash.
I heft my brother’s iron bane;
I shaft the spear, and build the wain.
Yew.
Dark down the windy dale I grow,
The father of the fateful Bow.
Poplar.
The war-shaft and the milking-bowl
I make, and keep the hay-wain whole.
Olive.
The King I bless; the lamps I trim;
In my warm wave do fishes swim.
Apple-tree.
I bowed my head to Adam’s will;
The cups of toiling men I fill.
Vine.
I draw the blood from out the earth;
I store the sun for winter mirth.
Orange-tree.
Amidst the greenness of my night,
My odorous lamps hang round and bright.
Fig-tree.
I who am little among trees
In honey-making mate the bees.
Mulberry —tree.
Love’s lack hath dyed my berries red:
For Love’s attire my leaves are shed.
Pear-tree.
High o’er the mead-flowers’ hidden feet
I bear aloft my burden sweet.
Bay.
Look on my leafy boughs, the Crown
Of living song and dead renown!
poem by William Morris
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The last sunshine
The cold breeze
with icy freezing fingers
brushed leaves freezing
against the windowpanes.
Rain fell from a cold grey sky
seeping trough everything,
driving the freezing winter in.
I tried to lock the winter out
closed French louver windowpanes
and to only let
the much too timid sun in.
Outside the evergreen bay leave tree
that had been blown over
in a summer storm
have sprouted new long stems
covered with green leaves
already growing higher
than the roof
moving to and fro
as if rocked by the wind.
Distance is locking you out
and in your mind
we are growing apart
and are in a winter
of the heart
and you are sad
and read a farewell
in my lines
although I am still trying
to catch the last sunshine
of that which lies
between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Storm
Growling and howling,
An uninvited guest,
Arrives with different seeds and leaves,
From unknown land,
And sprinkles them in the fields,
From these seeds come out, Beautiful flowers
And then delicious fruits,
Then the wild spirit moves for another land,
With her departure she predicts
The arrival of rain,
As there is a commotion in the Bay of Bengal,
The clouds laden with vapour rise from
The Bay and make us wait for their arrival,
And in few days rain covers every part of land,
A heavy downpour washes the whole landscape,
The gardens, the mountains, the valleys
All wear new and beautiful look,
The storm leaves such a glory after her.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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A Cradle In Bethlehem
Traditional German
O TANNENBAUM
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blatter!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blatter!
Du grunst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit,
Nein, auch im Winter, wenn est schneit.
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blatter!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
Wie oft hat mich zur Wiehnachtszeit
Ein Baum von dir mich hoch erfreut!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
Du grunst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit,
Nein, auch im Winter, wenn est schneit.
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blatter!
English Translation
O CHRISTMAS TREE
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
With faithful leaves unchanging;
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
With faithful leaves unchanging;
Not only green in summer's heat,
But also winter's snow and sleet,
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
With faithful leave unchanging.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
Of all the trees most lovely;
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
Of all the trees most lovely;
Each year, you bring to me delight
Gleaming in the Christmas night.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
Of all the trees most lovely.
Not only green in summer's heat,
But also winter's snow and sleet,
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
With faithful leave unchanging.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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The Holly-Tree
O reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen,
Wrinkled and keen;
No grazing cattle, through their prickly round,
Can reach to wound;
But, as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize;
And in this wisdom of the Holly-tree
Can emblem see
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, -
One which may profit in the after-time.
Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear
Harsh and austere;
To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserved and rude;
Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.
And should my youth - as youth is apt, I know, -
Some harshness show,
All vain asperities I, day by day,
Would wear away,
Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The Holly-leaves their fadeless hues display
Less bright than they;
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree? -
So, serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng;
So would I seem, amid the young and gay,
More grave than they;
That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly-tree.
poem by Robert Southey
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O Stubborn Leaf
Alone, suspended high above the ground,
On barren limb, defying season’s change-
O stubborn leaf! Was I to winter bound,
Was I a hapless slave to winter’s rage,
I’d set aside this ghastly rake,
Climb your bough and give it a shake,
Bring you down to where broken leaves are found.
But in my heart I share your stubborn hold,
Resisting winter’s scourge upon the trees.
I cherish fall, the brilliant days of gold
And red, such colors dancing in the leaves,
Not fading brown from winter's freeze,
Falling, rotting, filling the eaves,
Till every trace is buried in the cold.