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Trees to Prize

Listen to the prize of effort that is present
For the roads of right are in speed
And really my grass has been trodden
To perfect the trees that have grown
Like the sketch of an artist on the wall.

Into the road runs the vehicle that loves,
Loving the velocity of my thought as well,
Like the well kept trees in bloom
In the season we call greater than each.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes

A beautiful scenery of relation

The car is mine; I drive it; It runs; Am I not related with the car speed sitting inside when it runs? yes, the velocity of the car has enveloped me; The body of the car is my body; I must take care of me-car body so that it would not collide with other things on the road.
The speed is me-contained
The speed is car-contained

The car is powerless! It has no choice by itself; Just runs as I drive it; And it is me who stimulates the car but when it runs, it runs together with me; At that time the speed of the car and the speed of mine is one dynamism.

My car is running on the road of the Earth;
The Earth has a velocity; It is running with all phenomenon it has
The speed of the Earth is me-contained, and car-contained too.

What a nice scenery! I am strung with all phenomenon here on the Earth! I am separated but joined, I am enclosed with nature but freed; I am related with all dynamism!

poem by Sarwar Chowdhury
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Perfect World

In my perfect world
The sky is a perfect blue
The grass is a soft green
And together are me and you

In my perfect world
The sun is a perfect heat
No global warming
It would be a treat

In my perfect world
There would be no disease
The flowers would bloom everyday
And no one would cut down trees

In my perfect world
No one would be poor
The streets paved with gold
Silver for the floor

In my perfect world
Death would never come
Pain would go away
And no one would be dumb

In my perfect world
The government would not rule
We’d chose for ourselves
What we thought was cool

In my perfect world
Racism would not exist
Discrimination would be over
And nothing would end with fists

But then I remember
I can’t believe it’s true
But my world really is perfect
Because I spend it with you

poem by Amy
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The greater the artist, the greater the doubt. Perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize.

quote by Robert Hughes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vincent

starry starry night
paint your palette blue and gray
look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul
shadows on the hill
sketch the trees and daffodils
catch the breeze and the winter chills
in colors on the snowy linen land
now i understand
what you tried to say to me
and how you suffered you sanity
and how you tried to set them free
they would not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now
starry starry night
flaming flowers that brightly blaze
swirling clouds in violet haze
reflect in vincent's eyes of china blue
colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain
weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
now i understand
what you tried to say to me
they did not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now
starry starry night

song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear

When the trees sing what matters is knowing.
That the trees are singing at all.
their gentle music ever out flowing
for those attuned to hear its call.
Although all children hear and sing along,
most adults have forgotten how
to listen to the trees and hear their song
They’re far too busy to allow
themselves to be distracted by the trees
Their minds are fixed on other things
and do not miss the melodies
The gentle breeze amongst the branches sings
It makes no difference at all
The trees still sing as they have always done
in summer, spring winter and fall.
I listen for the music of the trees
those sad but sometimes joyous harmonies.

10-Dec-08
http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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After Rain

The rain of a night and a day and a night
Stops at the light
Of this pale choked day. The peering sun
Sees what has been done.
The road under the trees has a border new
of purple hue
Inside the border of bright thin grass:
For all that has
Been left by November of leaves is torn
From hazel and thorn
And the greater trees. Throughout the copse
No dead leaf drops
On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,
At the wind's return:
The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed
Are thinly spread
In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,
As if they played.
What hangs from the myriad branches down there
So hard and bare
Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see
On one crab-tree.
And on each twig of every tree in the dell
Uncountable
Crystals both dark and bright of the the rain
That begins again.

poem by Edward Thomas
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The Long, Lone Road

YOU that had the soft path
And the lights, brightly glowing,
Your laugh is very still, and your hands are very chill,
And where may you be going?
'Though the light of dawn be breaking,
And the birds of morning call —
All the flowers and trees awaking —
'Tis the long road I'm taking,
The long road, the lone road that has no end at all.'
You that have the red gold,
And the gift of money-making,
Since your journey has no end, sure you'll need a heap to spend,
And how much will you be taking?
'O there's little need for spending
When the grey shadows fall,
And the twilight lies unending
On the way I'll soon be wending —
The long road, the lone road that has no end at all.'
You that had the choice wines,
In the frail cups glowing —
Is there any need to ask if you'll take a golden flask
On the road you'll be going?
'When I walk, a spirit shrinking,
Where the grey shadows fall,
There'll be little need, I'm thinking,
For the rich delights of drinking
On the long road, the lone road that has no end at all!'
You that sought the rich man
And the ladies — jewelled, glowing —
Since the way is far to wend, sure you'll need a true-heart friend
On the road you'll be going?
'Nay! — and not an ear shall heed me
Though I call, call, call,
When the beckoning shadows lead me;
And no prayer of heart shall speed me
On the long road, the lone road that has no end at all!'
You that had the hard heart
And the selfish soul uncaring,
Is there any deed at all that shall let a comfort fall
On the road you'll be going?
'Hush! the lights of day have ended,
And the grey shadows fall,
And, by no sweet thought attended,
I must wander, unbefriended,
Down the long road, the lone road that has no end at all!'

poem by Roderic Quinn
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I Need Your Kind Of Loving

Well my babys gone, sos summer
And it brings on a cool night breeze
And I wish we could go walking
By the river, by the shady trees
By the river with the shady trees
Well I love you in the wintertime
Baby when the snow is on the ground
Well I love you in the autumn most of all
When the leaves come tumbling down
When the leaves come tumbling down
Baby I need your kind of loving
For to last my whole life through
Baby I need your kind of loving
You know nobody else will do
You know that nobody else will do
Well I love you in the springtime
When the rippling streams begin to flow
And the weather start to get a bit warmer
And the grass begins to grow
And the green, green, grass, begins to grow
Baby I need your kind of loving
For to last my whole life through
Baby I need your kind of loving
You know that nobody else will do
You know that nobody else will do
Baby I need your kind of loving
For to last my whole life through
Baby I need your kind of loving
You know nobody else will do
You know nobody else will do
Need your kind of loving
Operator, operator
Put me through to my baby now
Operator, put me through to my baby now
To my baby now, to my baby now.

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Speed

Running from the nightmare
In the middle of the road
Hells no place for sleeping
In a world beyond control
Caught in the headlights
Coming after you
When I woke up this morning
I had to do what I gotta do
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Ive seen a train full of pain
On the edge of overload
Were in heaven, baby
You are gonna implode
Ive got these crazy feelings
That I cant explain
Ive gotta save you baby
Or Ill die in vain
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven just for loving you
I said speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven for loving you
Now Im rushing on the run, yeah
I wanna have me some fun
Ill speed
Give me what I need
Oh, set me free
Lets speed
On wheels, on wheels, on wheels
Said speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Comon
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
Alright

song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring comes only once.

The spring strikes; the trees blossom.
Bees swam and the trees bloom.
The autumn strikes; the trees shed.
Bees are nowhere around the trees.
Spring comes to woman only once
That she must enjoy without a miss.
26.11.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Necessary To Talk About Trees

IT'S NECESSARY TO TALK ABOUT THE TREES

It's necessary to talk about the trees
which are being sacrificed by men
who, spreading like a virulent disease,
uncaring as a cruel carcinogen,
destroy their habitat and fill the air
with gases trees once would transform to ox-
ygen. Now no less helpless than the sheep
which could not understand the paradox
proclaiming that their sacrifice might keep
the slaughterers from harm, the trees men chop
or burn are forced to waste their chlorophyll
as sheep were forced to waste their blood. To stop
arboreal holocaust transcends the will
of those who know if we can't coexist
with trees we all will disappear like them.
Like sheep, the trees of course cannot resist,
unable to protest ad hominem.

Adrienne Rich died on 3/27/12 in Santa Cruz, at the age of 82. Dennis Bartel on KUSC broadcast a recording of her reading her poem, "What Kind of Times Are These? "

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.

3/29/12 #9721

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Antwerp To Ghent

We are upon the Scheldt. We know we move
Because there is a floating at our eyes
Whatso they seek; and because all the things
Which on our outset were distinct and large
Are smaller and much weaker and quite grey,
And at last gone from us. No motion else.
We are upon the road. The thin swift moon
Runs with the running clouds that are the sky,
And with the running water runs—at whiles
Weak 'neath the film and heavy growth of reeds.
The country swims with motion. Time itself
Is consciously beside us, and perceived.
Our speed is such the sparks our engine leaves
Are burning after the whole train has passed.
The darkness is a tumult. We tear on,
The roll behind us and the cry before,
Constantly, in a lull of intense speed
And thunder. Any other sound is known
Merely by sight. The shrubs, the trees your eye
Scans for their growth, are far along in haze.
The sky has lost its clouds, and lies away
Oppressively at calm: the moon has failed:
Our speed has set the wind against us. Now
Our engine's heat is fiercer, and flings up
Great glares alongside. Wind and steam and speed
And clamour and the night. We are in Ghent.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sometimes I imagine

Sometimes I imagine
that my D Jacobs painting
of a red brown earth road
that in winter
runs through the yellow green veldt
past a few oak and blue gum trees
to the purple blue mountains
in the distance
is a Pierneef,

but what draws it nearer to me,
is that I almost feel
the sand beneath me feet,
can smell the tussocks of grass,
try to catch the shades of the trees
one by one,
see a graveyard
in the distance next to
a few bushes,
look at the bright blue sky
and get emotionally involved
with this painting
as it brings my childhood days
back to me
and it jumps right
into my heart.

[Reference: Painting by D Jacobs that belongs to me.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The End Of The Tour

Theres a girl with a crown and a scepter
Whos on wlsd
And she says that the scene isnt what its been
And shes thinking of going home
That its old and its totally over now
And its old and its over, its over now
And its over, its over, its over now
I can see myself
At the end of the tour
When the road disappears
If theres any more people around
When the tour runs aground
And if youre still around
Then well meet at the end of the tour
The engagements are booked through the end of the world
So well meet at the end of the tour
Never to part since the day we met
Out on interstate 91
I was bent metal you were a flaming wreck
When we kissed at the overpass
I was sailing along with the people
Driving themselves to distraction inside me
Then came a knock on the door which was odd
And the picture abruptly changed
At the end of the tour
When the road disappears
If theres any more people around
When the tour runs aground
And if youre still around
Then well meet at the end of the tour
The engagements are booked through the end of the world
So well meet at the end of the tour
This was the vehicle these were the people
You opened the door and expelled all the people
This was the vehicle these were the people
You opened the door and expelled all the people
This was the vehicle these were the people
You let them go
At the end of the tour
When the road disappears
If theres any more people around
When the tour runs aground
And if youre still around
Then well meet at the end of the tour
The engagements are booked through the end of the world
So well meet at the end of the tour
And were never gonna tour again
No, were never gonna tour again

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Among the Trees

I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for the one my heart calls for

I wonder lost among the trees
I see your light amongst the dark

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is brighter then the rest

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is out of my reach

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light comes closer

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is bright like an angel from the sky

I wonder lost among the trees
Your light fades away and leaves me alone

I wonder lost among the trees
Without a hand to guide the way

I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for my guiding light

I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost, alone

I wonder afraid of the world
Around me I look for the one

I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost and alone forever...................................

poem by kelly Martini
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News to the king, good news for all

'NEWS to the king, good news for all,'
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'News of the battle,' the heralds call,
'We have won the field; we have taken the town;
We have beaten the rebels and crushed them down.'
And the dying lie with the dead.

'Who was my bravest?' quoth the king,
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'Whom shall I honour for this great thing?'
'Threescore were best, where none were worst;
But Walter Wendulph was aye the first.'
And the dying lie with the dead.

'What of my husband?' quoth the bride,
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'Comes he to-morrow; how long will he bide?'
'Put off thy bridegear, busk thee in black;
Walter Wendulph will never come back.'
And the dying lie with the dead.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Love Is The Greatest Story

Maurice white, david lawrence & faye greenberg
(I) walk around, and take it all in
Tell me now, where have I been?
Nothin like reality
To get your mind in gear
Lived my life to the extreme
A lost road to my dream
Found true reality
And now my mind is clear
I found out today
Loves a better way
In my heart I learned to listen
I was wrong to stray
Wont you let me stay
You and i, baby, thats whats missin
Chorus:
Love is, love is
Love is the greatest story
Love is, love is
Love is the power and glory
Runnin hard, from my past
I was goin nowhere fast
Lookin for a guarantee
My mind was so unclear
Played around, but never played smart
Never listen to my heart
Didnt know that your love
Was right here waiting for me
I found out today
Loves the only way
Baby let us stay together
I was wrong
But my heart is strong
Im loving you forever and ever
Chorus
Love is in my plan
No greater love, than
What Ive grown to understand
About being a man
Chorus

song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Trees Are Blabbermouths (Fun Poem 113)

A song on a south wind
whispers stories to the trees
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know,
but the trees are blabbermouths
telling anyone who’ll listen
all the secret that they know.

If you pass a tree one day
when its leaves are rustling
just listen and you will hear
the secrets it has been told
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know
because trees are blabbermouths.

They shout their words across the breeze
so everyone can hear.
If you have a secret
and want it to keep it that,
make sure the trees don’t hear
or that secret won’t be a secret
because the trees are blabbermouths.

14 March 2011

poem by David Harris
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A lane in England

In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.

Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.

In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road

and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road

and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.