Abode of Gods...
Sun filtering warmth
Through Silver Oak trees,
As I lay
Resting my head
Against
The trunk….
Only sound
Of Holy Ganges,
Gurgling in the vicinity…
Birds paying
Homage quietly
From the top of tree…
In God’s abode,
Hrishikesh
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Marula tree trunk
Strong winds blow against the Marula tree trunk,
They come with miscellaneous objects,
Light and heavy,
And use them to break the Marula tree trunk,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,
Light and heavy rains come,
The Marula tree smiles,
For the plentiful rain water will make
It stronger and taller,
Animals come and sleep under and on top
Of the Marula tree,
Lean and rub their itching bodies
Against the Marula tree trunk,
Relieve themselves against it,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,
The human race use the Marula tree for shade
Against the merciless summer heat of the Limpopo sun,
And eat or make beer with Marula,
But, alas! One vicious human being returned,
And chopped it,
Off goes the faithless Marula tree trunk,
To be scorched by the everlasting home burning fires.
poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fascinating Pilgrim-Centre(Haridwar)
The Ganges was flowing
with a face furious
and the tides were looming;
We paused to have a holy dip.
We put our right foot into water,
and took it up feeling dead chill;
Smelling danger from within,
“ We already bathed at Rishikesh”,
some of us said and put on clothes.
But some local boys dived into the river
and swam to the bank with ease.
Holding the chains tight,
We dipped and felt as we had all
comforting effect to our body and soul,
and failed not to murmur
the name of the goddess, Manasa Devi.
Walking on the long bridge
across the holy Ganges
seeing her alarming face,
journeying in trolleys
to worship the goddess
at Her abode on the Siwalik hills,
marveling at the tributaries
of the mighty Ganges,
is a solacing experience
in our birth on this earth.
People set afloat
leafy boats with flowers
and a lit lamp put on each,
on the sacred river after dusk
and see them till they go off,
saying prayers to the goddess
for blessing all of them.
People of farther planets
will amaze at the glowing lamps.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Let me keep watch
Let me keep watch
Over your body when
You are resting in peace.
Let me sacrifice
My meditation to you
When you are resting in peace
Let me protect your body
From rotting
When you are resting in peace.
Let me protect your memories
And dreamless dreams
When you are resting in peace.
Let me plant a fruit tree
Above you that I may still eat
When you are resting in peace.
Let me storm the gates of heaven
When you are resting in peace.
Let me give you oblation
Of our experience
When you are resting in peace.
Let me breathe for you
When you are resting in peace.
Let me douse the fires of hell
When you are resting in peace.
Let me glorify your name
When you are resting in peace.
Let me be your counterpoint
When you are resting in peace.
Let me overcome the light
When you are resting in peace.
Let me touch your organs
When you are resting in peace.
Let me drink your water
When you are resting in peace.
Let me describe your bones
When you are resting in peace.
Let me dream your dreams
When you are resting in peace.
poem by David E. Patton
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My Beau
I sat, my back resting against a tree trunk,
The sun shining full on my face,
I felt as if my whole being had shrunk,
As I looked out, at this huge open space.
This tree was enormous, such girth must have been
Created by vast centuries of time,
I was but a speck, when from such distance seen,
Yet it stood strong, as if just in its prime.
The views were stupendous, and over the lake,
Four herons were skimming in pairs,
So elegant were they, as each circle they'd take,
No, rushing with time, and no cares.
And as I sat pondering, the lake sparkled on,
The tree trunk, at my back, my support,
Then all of a sudden the sunshine had gone,
And a shadow across me was wrought.
But still I sat on, in this spellbinding scene,
It held me enraptured as though,
I was part of the landscape, and had always been,
And this tree was my 'soulmate' my 'beau'!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In a state of Zen! ! ! ! !
Children chuckle
As paper boats
Float in
Puddles.
Tap dance of
Rain
Makes
My hearts leap…
Birds
Screeching at
Midnight
In the city.
A small town
Girl
Lost in
Neon lights
Searches for
Night sky.
Trees
Dressed in
New leaves.
A woman
Dozes at noon
Beside
An empty
Water bottle.
Tree trunk
Despite storm
Srands firm.
Who knows
Heart is crying,
without sound.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Silver Birds
Silver birds
getting ready to fly
red, white and blue
it's our pride in the sky
Silver birds
above the clouds
making waves
making us proud
Silver birds
shining bright
into the evening
into the night
Silver birds
amongst the rest
flying strong
to be the best
Silver birds
coming round the bend
getting ready to land
out of their descend
Silver birds
representing the states
with the colors of freedom
at all their gates.
Charlie Vergara
11.21.2007
2576
poem by White Tiger
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The Tree And The Breeze
Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree
The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?
poem by Amy Parkinson
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Engraved
Every afternoon into the crocodile lagoon
a sun-kissed scene, gilded trees, floating,
rekindling my dreams, paying homage to
sacred memories, renewing my promise
forever to cherish one special phrase
Wherever I may be, wherever I may go,
always keep the holy words as a chem
in my head, never reveal to anyone on
earth, safe against change, treasured
in the sweetest depths of my heart
Never to share with anyone alive, in-
creasing its value a hundredfold, finding
my strength in one beautiful - one shining
line - though the source is lost; I do not
care where it went or why it has left
The origin does not count - I made it mine
my shining talisman, engraved on my heart
sealed in my soul, special moments to take
into infinity, a magic event living in my mind
forever and ever…
Chem: Holy words that make a Golem work –
See Terry Pratchett – “Feet of Clay”
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Closeness
your hand
entwined to my hand
your hair under my chin
your head resting on my chest
you smell my breath
there is no sound from your mouth
you close your eyes and see some trees
and ponds and waterfalls
and birds and clouds and flowers blooming
over a field of green grass
and butterflies and bees
the air you feel is as fresh as the scent of our skins
i caress your arms you let my hands go
you touch my face and then you look at me
we kiss and then we both melt
in paradise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Which Tree Am I?
Which tree, Which tree, Which tree Am I?
Do gaunt limbs swing high upon my trunk-
Etching signals in the sky?
Maybe my roots are solid and firm,
Grounded in being, strong and thick,
Passing soil and grub worm?
Specifically-
Am I, perhaps, an evergreen?
Warm and welcoming- Sheltering,
Birds within my canopy?
Or-
Do I sag, like a willow,
Showcasing agony with each wind,
Whispering melancholic mellows?
Which tree, Which tree, Which tree, Am I?
Oak, Redwood, Willow…. Bonsai?
poem by Lazarus Knix
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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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Transference
Thousands dip in the Holy Ganges
And emerge clean
Making the holy waters filthy
Like the sewage from a drainage
This transference leaves
Many a holy place, unholy
poem by Valsa George
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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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Winter Tree
The winter tree
does not move.
Its wide trunk
plunges into graven earth,
unseen roots, grasping hands
feel deeply the living soil,
hold firm anchorage
against the coming storm,
but rising wood, thin
though strong enough
to paint slender lines,
trails into purer air,
gives shelter
to Christmas birds.
They hunch on stems, quietly
waiting to sing open
the dawn.
poem by Steven Federle
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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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Nest of Love
One night, the rain drizzled,
The thunder trembled window panes,
The lightning fenced,
And the coco in yard its head did lose.
The trunk stood in silence,
As a question mark,
Until the brown birds
Came the top their nest to make.
Sights out my eyes filter:
The birds flutter their wings,
One rounds, and the other
Lowers and cedes,
In the morns wet with vapour,
Until the stir of red open tender beaks.
One even, the west wind
Pushed the trunk down.
Chicks two fell onto the sand,
Just a wriggle, then still in the down.
The birds the sky hovered,
Their shrieks tore the layers of night.
Sleepless, in vain I tried
To learn their art of love so deep and sweet.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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To My Friend - Ode I
TRANSPLANT the beauteous tree!
Gardener, it gives me pain;
A happier resting-place
Its trunk deserved.
Yet the strength of its nature
To Earth's exhausting avarice,
To Air's destructive inroads,
An antidote opposed.
See how it in springtime
Coins its pale green leaves!
Their orange-fragrance
Poisons each flyblow straight.
The caterpillar's tooth
Is blunted by them;
With silv'ry hues they gleam
In the bright sunshine,
Its twigs the maiden
Fain would twine in
Her bridal-garland;
Youths its fruit are seeking.
See, the autumn cometh!
The caterpillar
Sighs to the crafty spider,--
Sighs that the tree will not fade.
Hov'ring thither
From out her yew-tree dwelling,
The gaudy foe advances
Against the kindly tree,
And cannot hurt it,
But the more artful one
Defiles with nauseous venom
Its silver leaves;
And sees with triumph
How the maiden shudders,
The youth, how mourns he,
On passing by.
Transplant the beauteous tree!
Gardener, it gives me pain;
Tree, thank the gardener
Who moves thee hence!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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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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