Spicewood
The spicewood burns along the gray, spent sky,
In moist unchimneyed places, in a wind,
That whips it all before, and all behind,
Into one thick, rude flame, now low, now high,
It is the first, the homeliest thing of all--
At sight of it, that lad that by it fares,
Whistles afresh his foolish, town-caught airs--
A thing so honey-colored, and so tall!
It is as though the young Year, ere he pass,
To the white riot of the cherry tree,
Would fain accustom us, or here, or there,
To his new sudden ways with bough and grass,
So starts with what is humble, plain to see,
And all familiar as a cup, a chair.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Related quotes
Dads Cherry Tree
There was a large cherry tree in my yard
This tree t’was my dad ‘s favorite
And as the cherry tree grew up to thy sky
He did have a decision
whether or not to chop the tree down
Or risk it falling and killing him
For you see this old cherry tree did
Stand right over his bed
So if the wind kick up or lightning did strike
Would be his end for
The tree would fall and he would go
So unfortunately with the tree
So he would make great decision
And hopefully make it right
It took him many years and many a time
He thought’s the did spite
Him for the year’s went by and the cherry tree
Got more demised, nearer to the bed
As he would lay and begin to wonder
Will this take off my head
So as the year the did expire
Then He finally said
I will take the old tree down
Above my own bed
And the so alas the cherry fell
The tree would breathe its last
And be cut down to stump and be
Safe for dad once again
The tree was made low and the branches did go
Right into the meat smoker
But out of the ash cloud grew another
through the thorns and choker
the tree did live on in another a tree that grew
and so the tree was reborn
from a cherry, the trees great fruit
and so this little sapling grew and it grew
and it grew 1,2,3 foot by the crowing of the year
and so it grew and it got taller
as a little sapling then might or would do
and the tree got no smaller
as it grew to be as tall as dad and it was
staring him in the eye
he said we got to dig this up
look at the size
for you see the little sapling was right in my garden
and blocking the sunshine
so we dug and dug and dug
it took a lot of time
but finally we got up pulled it out of the ground
and moved to better spot
were it would live in peace and harmony
the place we set was not to hot
But it was not to cold either, it was
It was a nice spot with all
of the tree for the young cherry’s company
the tree grew very tall
And with it happy position that there was
it was a great sight
To see this cherry tree again live
And never have to fight
Now when my dad he did see this
he was so overjoyed
He had his cherry tree’s son and offspring
And never again did he toy
With planting or cutting down old cherry trees
He loved his tree so dear
That he would be indeed collecting all the cherries
And never wrong was he steered
poem by Timothy Young
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Cherry, Cherry Coupe
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
The wildest short around is my cherry, cherry coupe
Its the sharpest thing in town and the envy of my group
Its one of its kind and it really looks good
Chopped nose and deck with louvers on the hood
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Chrome reversed rims with whitewall slicks
And it turns a quarter mile in one oh six
Door handles are off but you know Ill never miss em
They open when I want with the cellunoid system
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
My coupes tuck and roll underneath the hood
And the rugs, seats, and panels now are looking good
When I go looking for something to do
Shes got enough room now to barely seat two
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cherry White
I never see that prettiest thing-
A cherry bough gone white with Spring-
But what I think, "How gay 'twould be
To hang me from a flowering tree."
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Playing At Bob Cherry
Playing at bob cherry
Tom and Nell and Hugh:
Cherry bob! cherry bob!
There's a bob for you.
Tom bobs a cherry
For gaping snapping Hugh,
While curly-pated Nelly
Snaps at it too.
Look, look, look -
Oh what a sight to see!
The wind is playing cherry bob
With the cherry tree.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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There Was a Cherry-Tree
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows
Cool even now the fevered sight that knows
No more its airy visions of pure joy --
As when you were a boy.
There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay sat
His blue against its white -- O blue as jet
He seemed there then!-- But now -- Whoever knew
He was so pale a blue!
There was a cherry-tree -- our child-eyes saw
The miracle:-- Its pure white snows did thaw
Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet
But for a boy to eat.
There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!--
There was a bloom of snow -- There was a boy --
There was a bluejay of the realest blue --
And fruit for both of you.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Cyprus Avenue
And Im caught one more time
Up on cyprus avenue
And Im caught one more time
Up on cyprus avenue
And Im conquered in a car seat
Not a thing that I can do
I may go crazy
Before that mansion on the hill
I may go crazy
Before that mansion on the hill
But my heart keeps beating faster
And my feet cant keep still
And all the little girls rhyme something
On the way back home from school
And all the little girls rhyme something
On the way back home from school
And the leaves fall one by one by one by one
Call the autumn time a fool
Yeah baby my tongue gets tied
Every every every time I try to speak
My tongue gets tied
Every time I try to speak
And my inside shakes just like a leaf on a tree
I think Ill go on by the river with my cherry cherry wine
I believe Ill go walking by the railroad with my cherry cherry wine
If I pass the rumbling station where the lonesome engine drivers pine
And wait a minute, yonder comes my lady
Rainbow ribbons in her hair
Yonder comes my lady
Rainbow ribbons in her hair
Six white horses and a carriage
Shes returning from the fair
Baby, baby, baby
And if Im caught one more time
Up on cyprus avenue
And if Im caught one more time
Up on cyprus avenue
And Im conquered in a car seat
And Im looking straight at you
Way up on, way up on, way up on....
The avenue of trees
Keep walking down
In the wind and the rain, darling
You keep walking down when the sun shone through the trees
Nobody, no, no, no, nobody stops me from loving you baby
So young and bold, fourteen years old
Baby, baby, baby...
Ooooh-ee
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Foolish Thing To Do
I was thinking just the other day
How it started in such a strange way
It ended in a strange way too
And this is why I am singing this song for you
Its a foolish thing to do
Such a foolish thing to do
Give your heart to someone new
Its a foolish thing to do
(yeah)
Weve all made the same mistakes
One foolish glance one smile we made
A hundred thousand feel this way
While other people are just waiting for the day
Its a foolish thing to do
Such a foolish foolish thing to do
Go when you want it
When you need it
Dont just believe it
For the first an last time
Stop !
Youd better look around
One day youll walk into the room
Your eyes will meet
Youll fall in love too soon
The next time you might hesitate
The chance is all those rooms have eyes
So dont forget
Its a foolish thing to do
Such a such a foolish thing to do
To go and give your heart and soul to someone new
Its a foolish foolish thing to do
So when you feel it
When you can touch it
And you believe it
For the first an last time
Stop !
Youd better look around
Its a foolish thing to do
Such a foolish thing to do
song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peggy
Peggy said good morning and I said good bye,
When farmers dib the corn and laddies sow the rye.
Young Peggy's face was common sense and I was rather shy
When I met her in the morning when the farmers sow the rye.
Her half laced boots fit tightly as she tripped along the grass,
And she set her foot so lightly where the early bee doth pass.
Oh Peggy was a young thing, her face was common sense,
I courted her about the spring and loved her ever thence.
Oh Peggy was the young thing and bonny as to size;
Her lips were cherries of the spring and hazel were her eyes.
Oh Peggy she was straight and tall as is the poplar tree,
Smooth as the freestone of the wall, and very dear to me.
Oh Peggy's gown was chocolate and full of cherries white;
I keep a bit on't for her sake and love her day and night.
I drest myself just like a prince and Peggy went to woo,
But she's been gone some ten years since, and I know not what to do.
poem by John Clare
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Red Browed Finches
Red browed finches or red browed firetails two names they are known by
They like to live near cover where from bush to tree they fly
The reason they live near cover the well informed say
Is that they need places to hide in from bigger birds of prey.
Dark olive green in colour red eyebrows, red rump and olive tail
And with only minor differences between the female and the male
Their calls rather high pitched sound a bit like tizeee
Familiar to bushy places and birds one often see.
In a flask shaped nest of dried grass in a thorny bush the female her eggs lay
Six to seven or even eight eggs that look more white than gray
They breed from September to November in Australia in the south
And their young in December can be seen flying about.
They never seem to venture far from the cover of the trees
And they eat grass seeds and insects and sometimes berries and bees
With red eyebrows, red bills and red rumps and darkish olive green
Australia's red browed fnches by cover often seen.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Tree
Just a plain old TREE. I Ignored the weather
satisfied with me. I Looked at TREE.
What if anything do I knoe about TREE.
It used to be a thing made out of wood, always tall,
with branches near the ground. Roots fingering the ground.
Life comes up somehow to TREE. Water cascades down to ground, seeping slowly into ROOT. ROOT transmogrifies
the water into inner sanctum stuff known only to the Lord.
People still tell me, Tree just cannot live.
There is no real feeling in TREE.
There is knowledge in TREE or it would be a blade of grass.
People say the life is in the seed or sapiling.
I think the knowledge is in the MAN, the ONE who can.
He Makes all the TREE begin, upon a distant planet,
Creates the thing again, in the courtyard of his KING.
And every meadow of his earth.
The ONE who gave me birthe the second time around.
The ONE who gave me TREE.
And Time to write this down.
poem by Charles Hice
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the Cherry Blossoms
'the cherry blossoms'
swaying in the wind the cherry blossoms feel the nice eastern breeze giving them air too breathe, the tallest tree in the area is loved by a lovely young lady who visits the cherry blossms every day.
the sakura tree gave this lovely young lady a cherry blossom as the eastern breeze blows over the tree, flattered by the gift the lovely young lady went home and made a gift for the sakura tree.
the next day she brought the sakura tree a sipphire ring as a thank you gift the sakura tree was thankful to the lovely young lady. many years passed and the sakura tree was cut down and the lovely young lady was very sick and passed.
she was berried where the sakura tree use to stand.
on top of her tombstone was the saphire ring ingraved on the ring were 3 words
I Love You.
poem by Jordan Scown
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Run, Baby, Run
She was born in november 1963
The day that aldous huxley died
And her mama believed
That every man could be free
So her mama got high, high, high
And her daddy marched on birmingham
Singing mighty protest songs
And he pictured all the places
Where he knew that shed belong
But he failed and taught her young
The only thing shed need to carry on
He taught her how to
Run baby run baby run baby run
Baby run
Past the arms of the familiar
And their talk of better days
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run
She counts out all her money
In the taxi on the way to meet her plane
Stares hopeful out the window
At the workers fighting
Through the pouring rain
Shes searching through the stations
For an unfamiliar song
And shes pictures all the places
Where she knows she still belongs
And she smiles the secret smile
Because she knows exactly how
To carry on
So run baby run baby run baby run
Baby run
From the old familiar faces and
Their old familiar ways
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grass
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!
The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.
There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
Small white stars that are honey sweet,
And nodding bluebells all drenched with dew.
And oh! The breath of its incense rare
As the summer breezes over it pass,
My heart is thrilling with voiceless prayer
And thanking the Giver of things for grass.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Popcorn Box
There's a black girl singin' in the morning before church
cause she wants things just right
There's a white boy holdin' his head
cause he stayed out too late last night
At the same time Mamma's yellin'
move your asses or I'll leave you behind
The god lord don't wait for sinners all day
especially sinners of your kind.
CHORUS:
The old days
The old ways of the drive-in picture show.
It's a fact, if it was opened baby, you and me, we'd surely go.
The picture rolls by, soundtrack low, but we don't see a thing.
Feel around in the middle of your popcorn box,
at the bottom is a diamond ring. (yes)
I love you, could you, hold me tight,
like we're pretending it ain't about black or white.
Sun burns hot early in the morning
small town, best hush my mouth.
We've all got closets that we live in.
Down at Baker's house
the right fun with the wrong one
that's things we don't talk about.
Hell always seems to rise to the surface
on that you can count.
CHORUS:
The old days
The old ways of the drive-in picture show
It's a fact, if it was opened baby, you and me, we'd surely go
the picture rolls by, soundtrack low, but we don't see a thing.
Feel around in the middle of your popcorn box,
at the bottom is a diamond ring. (yes)
I love you, could you, hold me tight,
like we're pretending it ain't about black or white.
Young man makes a young man's stand,
tries to stand up tall.
Old man from the same clan
bangs his head against the wall.
Life's rough, it just get's tougher
but that ain't no thing, it's always one thing
or another, let me tell you brother....
Shut your mouth boy and sing.
CHORUS:
The old days
The old ways of the drive-in picture show
It's a fact, if it was opened baby, you and me, we'd surely go
the picture rolls by, soundtrack low, but we don't see a thing.
Feel around in the middle of your popcorn box,
at the bottom is a diamond ring. (yes)
I love you, could you, hold me tight,
like we're pretending it ain't about black or white.
I love you, could you, hold me tight,
like we're pretending it ain't about black or white.
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To The Cherry Blossom
I have grown up with this tree,
as my father had grown with it,
and his father before him.
The cherry blossom tree where I was first exposed to the beauty of nature,
where my baby seat was set upon the picnic blanket in the grass,
and I could watch the petals fall and dance around me and my family.
and they would land in my seat,
and I would play with them.
The cherry blossom tree,
with its long branches,
where I first learned to climb,
and where I got my first broken bone,
after I slipped while pretending to be a monkey.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first play date together.
We ran around and played two person tag,
and two person hide and seek,
and two person leap frog.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first date,
where I picked a blossom and put it in your hair,
and called you my hime,
my princess.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took shelter from the pouring rain,
and I gave you my jacket to put over your head,
and we ran home to take a bath in our clothes,
Because they couldn’t have gotten wetter anyway.
The cherry blossom tree,
under which we said our vows,
and got married,
and you cried,
and said you felt beautiful,
and I kissed you,
and said you looked beautiful,
and we ran through the blossom petals.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took our two daughters,
and watched them pick flowers,
and give them to you.
The cherry blossom tree,
where our daughters took their loves,
and probably got caught in the rain,
just as we did.
The cherry blossom tree,
which we would watch from the near by bench,
watch children who were not ours play there,
watch couples who were not us date there.
The cherry blossom tree,
where I go to remember you,
where I sometimes cry for you,
where our daughters cry for you.
I grew up with that cherry blossom tree,
and now as I wait to rejoin you,
my love,
I watch others grow with it too.
poem by Evan Puglisi
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Old Town Types No. 18
Johnny Nock, the auctioneer, golden-bearded, ever gay,
Spread about him great good cheer in his prosperous heyday;
Familiar sight on district roads - his buckboard and his pacing roans,
As men, perched high on harvest lands, waved whips and called in cheery tones;
For not a man had ill to speak of open-handed Johnny then,
Since, with its fortune at the peak, the old town valued spending men.
And Johnny spent, come shine, come rain; and earned and spent and carried on
With his prophetic trade-refrain of 'Going - Going - Going - Gone!'
Johnny Nock, the auctioneer, at his more important sales
Always stood the crowd free beer, serving it from bright tin pails. And, as the pannikins passed round, few were too churlish not to quaff,
While Johnny, from his vantage ground, tossed banter back, and laugh for laugh
At some broad jest, then paused to praise this 'splendid beast,' these 'fine fat
sheep';
Then, as the bids began to rise, vowed dolefully they went too cheap.
And sudden optimists would grant that as a rustic wit he shone,
This wag, with his familiar chant of 'Going - Going - Going - Gone!'
So Johnny Nock, the auctioneer, spent and prospered, spent again,
Till 'Progress' brought the railroad here, and out across the Mallee plain.Then puzzled men knew vague unease as prices, too, began to fall;
They talked about economies, and failed to understand it all.
Yet Johnny Nock, now past his prime, smiled on, and scorned ill-omened tales,
And drew commissions for a time from dismal, beerless mortgage sales.
Then, most men realised, at last, the old town's star no longer shone.
The glory of the reckless past was, 'Going - Going - Going - Gone!'
Old Johnny Nock, the auctioneer, his golden beard now clipped and grey,
In his wheeled-chair dragged out the drear and clouded sunset of his day.
His house, his buckboard, all were sold, his latest pair of prancing roans;
But Johnny, grown infirm and old, greeted all men in jovial tones.
He wheeled himself about the town, still patron of the racing club
For old times' sake; he wore no frown, and found much business at the pub.
Then, one still night, in accents clear he cried, 'Who bids, gents? Carry on!'
And Johnny Nock, the auctioneer was 'Going - Going - Going - Gone!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Bells Of Gray Crystal
Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough--
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
Like tall pagodas
Two people go,
Trail their long codas
Of talk through the snow.
Lonely are these
And lonely and I ....
The clouds, gray Chinese geese
Sleek through the sky.
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Guerdon
Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year
I saw a tear.
Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow
So soon a sorrow.
Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame:
A tear became
A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light –
A beautiful sight.
Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss,
I said, ‘The Cross
Is grievous for a life as young as mine.’
Just then, like wine,
God’s sunlight shone from His high Heavens down;
And lo! a crown
Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden –
My sorrow’s guerdon.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Climbing
High up in the apple tree climbing I go,
With the sky above me, the earth below.
Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair
Which leads to the town I see shining up there.
Climbing, climbing, higher and higher,
The branches blow and I see a spire,
The gleam of a turret, the glint of a dome,
All sparkling and bright, like white sea foam.
On and on, from bough to bough,
The leaves are thick, but I push my way through;
Before, I have always had to stop,
But to-day I am sure I shall reach the top.
Today to the end of the marvelous stair,
Where those glittering pinacles flash in the air!
Climbing, climbing, higher I go,
With the sky close above me, the earth far below.
poem by Amy Lowell
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