The Tree's Winter Cloak of White
Tree's winter cloak of white dressing done
Surviving rays of a cold hazy sun,
Like soldiers in line, strong tall held fast
Roots grip mother earth's soil to last,
Icicles glint on perches empty state,
Leaving squirrels in trunks cosy and warm, as
Deer tarry in the forest glade, no rest since dawn.
With body clocks this spring in time will keep
Dormant leaf buds stay moist with dew to seep,
By magic the beautiful tree purifies the air to breathe
By those with luck that the dead axe men did leave.
Stretched branches silent wisdom tending mother earth's cool
With Centuries passed man's brain wakes to the logging fool,
Is the animal cry in the forest of the night
A call to all living things spelling their plight.
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Happiness Tree
someone has planted the happiness tree
with branches so strong with roots heavenly
its buds they grew rich and its leaves they grew wild
it grew in the wind where the children all smiled
its bark it was rich and it enriched each new day
the birds of the heavens nested inside its bay
where the spring buds burst daily
for each new spring brides day
the happiness tree offered sustenance and cheer
with ornamental blossoms that changed through the years
its growth was like succor to the robins that sang
whilst its strength was its beauty
a joy to behold when they stretched out their lungs
it grew in the woods amongst the sparrows and toads
the tramps slept beneath its branches so fine i am told
away from damp and the ground there so cold
whist the ducks they did paddle
amongst the owls and the swine
the happiness tree offered a haven at best
for lonesome night travelers n need of some rest
it welcomed the sun and occasional rains
though it smiled on the poor
plus those lost in pain
the happiness tree grew in the dales
its vision was welcoming to the moss and the fells
the squirrels ran amok there amidst its terrains
whilst the chorus of blackbirds sang their refrains
the happiness tree was destined to grow
with its welcoming branches and strong roots below
surrounded by grass and the meadows of morn
it offered a sanctuary to all natures new born
Leaf
A single season of life
Borne of spring’s dew, released on fall’s winds
Great oak’s life running through its veins
To the forest, a gift of motion and color
Great tree, expanding out, gripping its earth
Dancing slowly in the currents of time
In an instant, illusions of stillness
Basking in brilliant sunshine
Flowing feathers in the music of the night
Silt carried by water
Returning to roots once more
Trunk, branches, ever thinner, expansive
Ever softer, edges of fragility
Branches holding mirrors for tree’s image
From the tree, our image of leaf
From the leaf, our image of tree
Leibniz' monad reflecting the whole
poem by George Kassabgi
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The magic forest
At the Bois de Boulogne lies magic
Magic that cannot be evitable
Magic that lures people into the evergreen forest
In the forest, soft earth is like a comfy bed
Meadows of grass are green sheets for the bed
If you happen to lie down on the bed
The sunlight hugs your body gently like a mother
Your eyes are heavy weights, unable to keep your eyes open
You fall into the sweetest dream as time goes by…
Night walked into the forest as day walked out of the forest
The pale moon is like a glass eye of a witch staring at you
The dark magic falls into the forest
Lusty monsters fill the magic forest
And the magic forest falls asleep…
No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!
Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Once Upon A Winter Day
Once upon a winter day
Gray clouds passed swiftly across the sky
As shapely snowflakes fell steadily down,
Covering the land in a dazzling white
Leaving a winter calling card on the ground.
Once upon a winter day
The snow-edged creek silently wept
Near the shadows of the tall pine trees
Trimmed in a glittering white lace,
Creating an impressive display in the breeze.
Once upon a winter day
Branches drooped to the impassable road
Due to the weight of the snow.
Icicles hung from the dormant trees
In view of the shattered daylight glow.
Once upon a winter day
Nothing is heard but rubbing tree limbs
And a stray dog faintly barking,
The vibrant sound of a frightened deer,
A broken tree branch suddenly falling.
Once upon a winter day
The distant snow-covered hills
Loomed in the path of the gloomy sky,
Where the northerly wind briskly growled
As chickadees and juncos fluttered by.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Sad Oak
I’ve a sad story about a great oak that fell.
It now lies dead…a useless empty shell.
This oak once was the mightiest tree in this land,
Towering over others mired in rock and sand.
Its roots were deep and drank from rich soil
While others suffered in their unending toil.
Mighty oak’s trunk stretched toward the sky,
Unconcerned as the others continued to die.
Its branches held proudly to each healthy leaf,
Caring little of the forest’s deepening grief.
Why be concerned with this world of dying and weak?
They seemed to offer nothing the great oak would seek.
Then fate spoke to the oak, but its message was denied.
Suddenly climate started to change and the rains subside.
With no help from dead comrades, temperatures did soar.
Scant vegetation protected the earth’s life giving floor.
Had oak shared light, rain and riches of the land,
Sad oak and the forest would not be rock and sand.
So much had been given to this unique, mighty oak.
Sadly, its life ended before its spirit of giving awoke.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Tree's Will
Planted firmly, and sprouting seemingly too fast,
The result was strong and beautiful.
Roots growing through the soil and getting stronger each day
The tree grew taller than all.
Standing tall through the wind and the rain
The storms and the droughts, beholding strength with pain.
One day a storm came, and through the wind, through the rain
The tree fought and came through with scars.
Feeling beyond repair, the tree stood there, looking for the sun in a black abyss.
Remaining strong, hope lingered on, as the tree held to the earth.
Limbs snapped, leaves flew, and gashes were left in it's skin.
But still, the tree's will grew.
poem by Carli Gibson
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Winters advance...
In the dark of night the wind do'th blow,
Through the hills and the drifting snow.
The branches of an oak tree sigh and creek,
Raised above that silent snowy sheet.
Winter snowflakes soon come dancing,
As the winter storm it is advancing.
At first a few, but then so many,
When at first there were not any.
Engulfing a wintery slumbering earth,
In a snowy cotton across her girth.
Fashioning a crystal white snowy gown,
Woven from the whitest down.
Now covered in her pure white sheet,
Our mother earth has gone to sleep.
Her yearly rest forever taken,
When spring time comes she shall awaken...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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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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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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The Lure of Trees
I honour all trees well; but, best of all,
I love those scarred old veterans, proud and tall,
Gazing from eminences, kingly wise,
Across great sweeps of changing earth and skies;
Gazing with seeming scorn upon the race
Of midgets who despoil this forest place
The restless race of men who, with edged tools,
With fire, have come to serve the end of fools.
Well these patricians know their own high worth;
Well know their task in serving Mother Earth:
Beckoning rain-clouds sailing overhead
That earth may drink and living things be fed,
Clutching with myriad roots the precious soil
The sun or sudden flood else would despoil,
Bending to tempests, spreading to the sky,
Remote, untamed, unconquered till they die.
I know them in the rose light of the dawn,
Sharp-etched upon the hill-tops, boldly drawn
Against the light. I know them at high noon,
Their gleaming arms held up, as for the boon
Of life they offer thanks; know them at night
When, out against the moon's enriching light,
Some bold phalanger launches from their tops
And, like a falling leaf, swings down and drops.
And still come stupid men with axe and fire
Scattering death to serve some brief desire.
'More than our lives are forfeit,' says the tree,
'For as we go, so man's prosperity
Goes with us, till this once green, gracious hill
Shall thirst in vain, when you have wrought your fill.'
I love, I honour all those forest kings;
They are such wise, such proudly scornful things.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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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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A Tree of Ashes
The Tree Of Ashes
'You should have died at birth'
That's what his mother said
Had he died at birth
Maybe, many would be ahead
Soon, She's the one who's leaving
Going on her way
She will be the one who will be judged
On that her judgement day
He was the blame for all their ills
Although he knows not why
Maybe they all were right
And should have taken the time to die
He didn't die, he's still he's still here
What should we do with him?
Find a stone to cast at him
You who are all without sin
There are two who squabble over things
Not theirs and never were
And two who could care less
For Frankincense and Myrrh
When she's gone, she'll be the last
Of that tree with broken branches
Spread over the earth, is this tree
The tree that's turned to ashes
A tree that could have been so strong
Instead of mean and ugly sorrow
This tree of life that will be gone
As quickly as tomorrow
Jim 2008
poem by James Casey
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The Ardennes Forest
Cup your hands to scoop up sleep
as you would draw a grain of water
and the forest will come: a green cloud
a birch trunk like a chord of light
and a thousand eyelids fluttering
with forgotten leafy speech
then you will recall the white morning
when you waited for the opening of the gates
you know this land is opened by a bird
that sleeps in a tree and the tree in the earth
but here is a spring of new questions
underfoot the currents of bad roots
look at the pattern on the bark where
a chord of music tightens
the lute player who presses the frets
so the silent resounds
push away leaves: a wild strawberry
dew on a leaf the comb of grass
further a wing of a yellow damselfly
and an ant burying its sister
a wild pear sweetly ripens
above the treacheries of belladonnas
without waiting for greater rewards
sit under the tree
cup your hands to draw up memory
of the dead names dried grain
again the forest: a charred cloud
forehead branded by black light
and a thousand lids pressed
tightly on motionless eyeballs
a tree and the air broken
betrayed faith of empty shelters
that other forest is for us is for you
the dead also ask for fairy tales
for a handful of herbs water of memories
therefore by needles by rustling
and faint threads of fragrances--
no matter that a branch stops you
a shadow leads you through winding passages--
you will find and open
our Ardennes Forest
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Mystic Journey: Earth 2
spring is pure potential. there's no
calculating how tall a tree will be,
how far its branches will stretch, how
each fork will unfold, how many
healthy leaves we will see. but
by summer we can measure the result.
pure potential has become actual.
contours of the trunk well-defined,
strength of the root system is visible.
through time the roots are intertwined
with other systems, and from then on
there's no dividing it from other trees.
the forest is a single, inseparable web.
but autumn will split two families.
despite the intermingling of their sap
one will become a shrivelled skeleton
of brittle branches, a stack of sticks.
for it, winter attacks in battalion.
overnight, all's white. ice chokes lungs.
sapless leaves are torn, one-by-one, or in
bunches from bared branches. twisting
in the gravity of an indifferent wind
to breathless unconscious snow they fall.
deciduous flee frost, their proud showing
hiding for a season beneath pitiless snow.
but for evergreens, winter is only a minor
vexation. they take no precautions at all.
the frozen gales of november hold no power.
one white february we buried gordon bentley*
six feet deep. in soil undisturbed for decades,
if not centuries, his solid oak coffin rests.
ever silent (except when shock of wind pulses,
rushes, crushes in waves) tall evergreen trees
guard two graves on a golden hill where pasts
began. in the beginning he hugged that ground.
at his end the same soil compasses him round.
* my father
poem by Doug Bentley
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My Mother's Keeper
Drowning in the abyss of depression
Profound beyond comprehension-
Alone in her plight
As a barren tree alone in the forest
Fallen by the wind on a stormy summer’s night.
There she lay upon her bed
Frighteningly silent and still
Her sobs were vigilantly quiet,
Though I could hear her tears screaming
Echoing within the confinement of my mind.
She lay still, her mouth open,
Though she didn’t speak-
Although the expression on her face
Spoke to me as terrifying and hopeless-
Upon the queen-sized bed
Her spirit, dying, her soul tortured and evaded-
There lay my mother.
Ordered not to leave this room,
And to follow her if she rose from her suicidal state
To stop her if she made any attempt to take her life-
I was her nurse and assigned to be her keeper-
On a beautiful afternoon in early May
I could hear the chorus of a nightingale outside the window,
If I were to turn to look out this window just to see
Cherry trees blossoming on this spring like day-
If my mother were to die if I were to leave this room or simply
Turn my head to admire the mystical beauty of the spring-
I would be held responsible-
I feel not only my mother’s agony, But my own as well,
Tears are welling up inside of my eyes-
Reddened and bloodshot from last night’s sobbing-
Life has been unfair to my mother but
I feel also that God has slighted me-
For I was assigned by my own father to be my mother’s keeper-
I felt a fatefully horrific pain nearly strangling me-
Truth and fear being beyond belief, as
I was only twelve years old.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Help me reach my mother, sweet earth
I was a bright shining
Green leaf
Attached to the tall tree
Standing by the side of a busy road
I know no one would have noticed me
As each one has an important reason
For ignoring my presence
But, now I am a
Brown dry leaf
Lying on the pavement
And over me a number of people
Pass and again none took a note of me
Each moving vehicle, big or small
Flushes over me
A harsh wind
That keeps me airborne
For a short while and
I am getting displaced frequently
Making me feel
I am unwanted and I have no place
Of my own on this great earth
I was quite busy when I was attached to the tree
If you look at me
You can see prominent veins
Which kept supplying water to
Each cell of mine
And my cells in turn
Were very active
Producing carbohydrates
From the trapped carbon dioxide
Making use of the sunlight
With the help of the green chlorophyll
Compacted in them
Very importantly
Breathing out oxygen as a bye-product
For the benefit of human beings
I dance with the wind
However, mild or wild it may be
And never had I thought I am going to be
Separated from my tall tree
I came out of fresh branch
Tender, soft and silky
Nutrients flowed in me
And I reached my full growth
In a fortnight’s time
I was proud as I was almost
On the top
Receiving full sunlight
Cool breeze keeping me comfortable
I kept doing my job
And I thought I would continue this
Through my entire life time
After three months
Supply of nutrients dwindled
Water availability reduced
I started turning yellow
The twig holding me on to the branch weakened
And a strong wind made
The unkindest cut
And fell from the tree
Floating in air for sometime
And being carried away from my mother tree
I looked at her from a distance
I heard her yelling
“Sorry my child
Your time has come
And one day I too will fall
Do not worry
Mother earth will take care”
Since then I am in search
Of my new mother
All these days I am either on
A cement-slab paved pathway
On a tar-topped road
Where is my mother earth
With her sweet soil
That will silently devour my nutrients
For recycling them to
Standing vegetation
And help me have a
Peaceful, but beneficial death
Dear any one
Who knows and appreciates my plight
Help me reach
My mother, sweet earth
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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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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Winds of Change Will Blow Some Day
Nothing will stay forev’r the same:
Sky, earth, land, sea, vale, mountain, air;
The honest souls, why should all blame?
Let things happen, why should we care?
The sky will change and come will rain;
The soil with seed will sprout again;
A plant will grow quite speedily;
A mighty tree will stand truly!
With roots so deep, good fruits to reap;
And branches stout and strong will peep; .
And it will live a hundred years,
And lauded be, much more than peers.
And give all shade, yet not be paid;
While birds build nest and gladly rest.
The world will say on its D-Day:
Oh, what a tree and go away!
Yeah, things are done by word of God
In heaven, earth by same one Lord;
The world today though unfair be,
Cannot stay so for long surely.
For, winds of change will blow some day,
And truth will have its final say;
And acknowledge will people all:
’Tis best to heed to Maker’s call.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-8-2001
poem by John Celes
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When the Sun hide to shine
early morning, of the 13th month of November, the roar
of the sea wake me up, and the gloomy sunny day, hit my
darkness sight, as the moist of the forest dried my sweat
hides in the shadow of the wonder of the sun
fears and surprises meet everyone in the road, wondered
and lighted its candle in the home as it stood, all have
something to say but nobody want to listen, i want to cry,
yet everybody is busy, until i came to my senses and make
my own way
walking in the dark, while my eye can't see, holding my
breathe though the oxygen is free, numb my feet including
my heart, stepping in the soil where my feet tremble in the
freezing night, pushing my luck in every time, i take my
nap
fear holds me to hide in the golden cave i crawl, swimming
like fish in the warm dirty and muddy poll, where i can warm
my freezing body, the cool never last for to long, when i meet
the sun in the full moon dawn, near the diamond bowl he
sleep with me with dignity, friendship molded us to talk in the
shadow of the night, until i wake him up to see the day
friends come and go, never they return and sway your way,
turn their back and guide your way if anything you want to say;
as the sun ray its brilliant light and turning each day right, the
sun hide at the end of the twilight night and comes the
moonlight night
now let's welcome the sun as it bright its light, hiding the cool
shadow beneath the glow, blow the shinning moon, leaving our
heart the pain depart, friendship hold till it spark
'hide let not the sun rays, moonlight night take it rest …
…..friendship make the best “
poem by Antonio Liao
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