In Tempreate Forest
In Temperate Forest,
Neither cold nor warm.
You can take serene rest,
Expanding your arm.
Humming with lively life,
Birds call from the trees.
In their delight and strife;
Insects rustle like breeze.
The thick leaves of forest,
Cut sunlight in drops.
Seeing the peaceful nest,
Heart happily throbs.
Honey-suckle, blue-bell,
Bloom and laugh in gay.
Hazel, dog-wood, sorrel,
Enjoying the day!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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A Warm Summer Breeze
The trees whisper in the breeze
The forest peaceful, quiet, and serene.
The warm breeze like a soft caress,
Momentarily eliminating all stress.
Without delay it carries on
Leaving the place in silence when it's gone.
A summer day, a summer breeze,
Softly whispered through the trees.
The summer breeze, softly it comes,
Quickly it leaves,
Causing soft whispers in the trees.
It came and soon left, a warm summer breeze.
poem by Theo Townend
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The Way Of The Wood
WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze
Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern,
Through the green garments of the trees
The quivering shafts of sunlight burn,
And all along the wet green ride
The dripping hazel-boughs between,
The spotted orchis, stiff with pride,
Stands guard before the eglantine.
Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves
By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown,
Round which the honeysuckle weaves
Its scented golden wild-wood crown.
O wood, last year you saw us meet,
For her your leaves and buds were gay,
Your moss spread velvet for her feet.
Your flowers upon her bosom lay.
This year you wear your raiment bright,
As fair as ever yet you wore.
And, none the less, the world's delight
Walks in your ways no more, no more.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Love & Maple Syrup
Love and maple syrup goes together
Like the sticky winds of winter when they meet
When lonely lovers come to rest
Beneath the trees they do their best
But still they cant be free
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
If you go into the forest, gaze up through the leaves
And see the sky thats almost wild
You must learn to understand
What makes the forest greet the man
Like a mothers only child
In the north when when winters claw
Relaxes now to keep the laws of nature in control
People come and stand in line
To rob the forest of her wine
But they dont feel the cold
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
Love and maple syrup goes together
Like the sticky winds of winter when they meet
When lonely lovers come to rest
Beneath the trees they do their best
But still they cant be free
Love and maple syrup shine like
Embers warm, like thoughts divine
They tell us it is spring
Love and maple syrup stir
The thoughts of people into words
Of songs that they can sing
Looking for the world to be
Anything but what they see
Longing to be understood
By the heart that shapes the wood
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0018 Man Raking Leaves (re Jim Morrison lyric)
The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete.
walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves.
This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku
or maybe a Japanese film -
dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man -
that evokes autumn
too near the heart
to need a title
the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake.
then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo
from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees
in the forest all around.
then the first tickle in the nostrils
of burning leaves which
the two-year old scrunching through the trees
hand in hand with older sister
will remember all his life
like the silence between
two lines of a haiku or
the silence of the moment when the seasons turn.
and who can say
what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees
slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown
to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze -
what the trees feel
as the incense of their, their, burning leaves
steals like a last caress
for each such faithful
lover?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Beautiful nature in the forest
Our beatiful nature
as it is full of leisure
it keeps us suuplied with food
and gives us too shelter which is good
our beautiful nature
in the forest the trees swing
while the birds sing
the grass dance at the birds tune
as their moisture will run away so soon
our beautiful nature
as you step inside the forest
i set my foot on the ground to rest
as the forest skin holds my feet
the dew rans way and the grass take a sit
our beautiful nature
i pick out a fruit from a tree
since they are provided for free
i dont even need to bend on to one knee
i relax inside with calm
since the forest has also a natural charm
which will protect me
from any living predators
lastly i came out happily
as i was fed so quickly
which makes me to be taking care of nature
so lets all take care of nature
poem by Tanaka Chirombo
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The Heart May Be A Lonely Hunter
thick grass
a forest of trees
a man lives there
and his heart is the lonely hunter
maybe
and may be for a time
when the grass is thick and the forest of trees lush
there is a time
for opening
for going and going back home
where mother and father keep the waiting
and your one and only
smiling
waiting for the warm embrace
the sad one
thinking always for your coming
back home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ich habe dich nie je so geliebt
I never loved you more, ma soeur
Than as I walked away from you that evening.
The forest swallowed me, the blue forest, ma soeur
The blue forest and above it pale stars in the west.
I did not laugh, not one little bit, ma soeur
As I playfully walked towards a dark fate -
While the faces behind me
Slowly paled in the evening of the blue forest.
Everything was grand that one night, ma soeur
Never thereafter and never before -
I admit it: I was left with nothing but the big birds
And their hungry cries in the dark evening sky.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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If Nature Survives
Once upon a time dense forest
Now stands open field with no trees to rest
No green branches and no noise of birds
It has become rare chance for melody to be heard
Where has our cuckoo gone?
Why has she deserted morning tune?
What have we done to her go in exile?
I thought she has lost her refuge for a while
The sparrows have disappeared too
Quite in numbers could be seen through
In window hole or in little hide out
They were happily seen to be heard about
They have gone too and become extinct
Probably to far off places and in interior districts
Now villages too have adopted same way
Little trees and forest is done away
You find no crows, owls or eagles
Sky is seen barren and no formation of love triangles
Nature has turned off its kind eye
Not enough of birds could be seen to fly
Deforestation is on rise and on high side
Gap is apparent and looks very wide
We are doing enough of damage to wild culture
As if we have taken out right control for future
Who to be blamed for this outrageous act?
Earth has tolerated it but so far refused to react
Of late natural calamities are on rise
It may spring anytime big surprise
Large population insects and birds stay in forest
It is their birth place and permanent refuge for rest
We need not disturb ecological balance
Let each tree cut be replaced by more to make it dense
If nature survives we survive too
In defiance we fell apart and disintegrate too
No one can survive long its absence
Nature is our mother and real essence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Muse From The Forest
The white gold,
The black gold,
The red gold,
The yellow gold,
'Obroni-Nephew' is about to teach you all;
Like the very call of a muse from the forest.
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects;
The very call from the forest with a view but,
Do you like to be fed with crocodile meat?
The lizard meat,
The lion meat,
The tiger meat,
The snake meat,
The elephant meat,
Life is like that for many who eat everything;
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects.
Life is like a visit to the biggest cemetery on earth,
Do you like to be fed with cockroaches?
Whatever we eat today,
We will be burried one day.
Of the brown gold,
Of the orange gold,
Of the green gold,
Of the blue gold,
The Chinese eat all meat, fish and insects.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Bird Watcher (Part 1)
I plod through the leafy woods
The shadowy, coolly rain forest at the dale
Harkening the spellbinding tunes of trills
Watching the vividly coloured pretty fowls
Echoes of those feeble (But aloud) chirrups twinging me
Of those little birds I encaged in my early ages
Were all tremulous and dolorous sobs, but
Misapprehended unto chant sweet songs of rollicking
Encaging the birds is remorselessness
To set all those confined birds free, now I wish,
To let them spread their wings beneath the skies
And dry out their invisible tears in the fresh breeze of the freedom
The red and blue Macaws, the Golden Pheasants….
The birds of passage,
The settlers for the time being,
Blossom the trees with lurid variance of colours
The Green Turacos, the red Robins
And the tall milky Flamingoes with pinkish limbs
Creeping in the marsh and organizing their eats,
Deceive me the marshy land to be an enchanting flowerbed
Golden slanting rays and long shadows
The contrasting beauties of the forest
And the humming of swaying trees in the breeze
Embellish to the beauty to the trills & chirrups
May 11-2009 (Hawiyah - Saudi Arabia)
poem by Nooruddeen Mathilakathveetil
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One Day Nearer Spring
The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.
For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.
But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.
The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Autumnal Aura
Autumnal Aura
The fall month of October, in upper Algarve,
is still warm but with cooling evenings and
sunlight begins to fade earlier every day.
The sky is still blue, if paler than yesterday’s
and has white strands of clouds near its
horizon. Windless is this day but birds on
the roof, have left their nests flown south,
Africa I think, for a few month. They will be
back in March have their chicks and make
a lot of noise. The man from the forest has
delivered winter wood, wrote him a check,
gave him a whisky; so I’m ready for winter
but secretly wish these peaceful days will
stretch well into November.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The New Forest
Tall trees offer the birds and beasts much protection;
Of flora and fauna, there is a truly fabulous collection.
Through the forest, ponies roam around wild and free;
Up above their heads, the small birds nest in the trees.
Under the canopy of the trees, the world seems so dim,
But, in grassy clearings, the sunlight is suddenly let in.
Trees, caught from falling, stand at an angle, inclined;
With other trees, their twisted limbs are now entwined.
Rabbits risk emerging from warren holes to run around;
Their long ears stand erect, listening for the tiniest sound.
The forest is punctuated with patches of soft, marshy land,
Where large pools of stagnant water, always seem to stand.
Herds of deer roam around, with their heads held up high;
But on seeing any human, they suddenly feel slightly shy.
Earthen tracks have been formed, by countless falling feet;
Eager to avoid the hidden dangers, of the soft bogs of peat.
Couples companionably dawdle, as they exercise their dogs,
Who, in their eagerness, vault over fallen, moss covered logs.
The boughs of Silver birch trees gently shimmer in the sun;
Twigs snap under foot, sounding like a shot fired from a gun.
The silence is sometimes broken, in places, by passing trains,
But once they've passed by, peace and quiet, once again, reign.
Leaves, twigs, pine cones, and berries, carpet the forest's floor.
For birds and animals, the forest is Mother Nature's food store.
The forest is a sanctuary from the pressures of modern living;
The pace there, compared to everyday life, is more forgiving.
The forest can be a magical place; it seems almost enchanted.
Tiny tots believe fairies live there and want their wishes granted.
Here and there, the ground rises into grassy mounds and banks.
The trees stand tall, like the attentive soldiers in military ranks.
In the shady spots, unfurl a multitude of magnificent spiky ferns.
In autumn, dressed in bright colours, the trees almost seem to burn.
Broken boughs lie abandoned; under lichen laden logs, insects hide.
Streams meander through the forest, and the surrounding countryside.
All of this outstanding natural beauty, is given to us humans for free;
There isn't a more tranquil place upon this earth, where I'd rather be.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Hammock's Complaint
Who thinks how desolate and strange
To me must seem the autumn's change,
When housed in attic or in chest,
A lonely and unwilling guest,
I lie through nights of bleak December,
And think in silence, and remember.
I think of hempen fields, where I
Once played with insects floating by,
And joyed alike in sun and rain,
Unconscious of approaching pain.
I dwell upon my later lot,
Where, swung in some secluded spot
Between two tried and trusted trees,
All summer long I wooed the breeze.
With song of bee and call of bird
And lover's secrets overheard,
And sight and scent of blooming flowers,
To fill the happy sunlight's hours.
When verdant fields grow bare and brown,
When forest leaves come raining down,
When frost has mated with the weather
And all the birds go south together,
When drying boats turn up their keels,
Who wonders how the hammock feels?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Wood-Nymph
-After a picture by Burne Jones-
The green leaves, ah, the green leaves cover me:
Would I might lose this unloved human life
And share the happy being of the leaves!
For lo, they live and grow and drink the sun
And sip the nectar of the heavenly showers
And have no sorrow with it; but they grow
Happily, and Pan at even blesses them.
While I, alas me hapless, I am joined
Part to their life, and all in longing to them;
Part to the gods, the bright gods whom I see
Flash through the woods at even or morn, and make
The beautiful familiar trees seem strange;
And part to mortals and their little life.
Green leaves that cover me, to you I mourn,
My sisters, my more happy sisters, ye
Rustle, rustle in the summer air,
With happy cries of birds among your boughs:
Be happy, though I am not happy. Nay,
I am not all unhappy, evermore.
One while a bird sings on the topmost bough
And my heart sings, forgetting life and death
And sorrow: so forgetting I were blest,
And bliss the gods deny me. When they walk
The forest before sundawn--Artemis,
Girt for the chase and followed by her hounds,
Queen Herê or another, ere the dawn,
Or Aphrodite with the rosy dawn--
I may not speak my longings, but they pass,
Pass unregardful to their happy heaven.
They see me not--not me, akin to Gods!
These tears are vain.--When mortals pass at eve,
Treading a delicate path between the trees,
Pale mortal men and women, with their loves--
It pains me that I see them, for I know
I am not as they are, and cannot share
The little love that fills their little life--
Vain, vain; and they too pass and see me not.
Ah me, dear leaves, forsaken of gods and men,
And sad because I cannot live their life,
Will you not love me whom none others love?
Will you not teach me how to live your life,
My sisters, my more happy sisters?--live
In peace and quietness and still content,
And freshen and fade and freshen and have no care
And have no longing, full of peace to live,
Forgetting thus for ever life and death
And Gods and men and sorrow and delight.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
It Is Such A Beautiful Evening
Than Spring it is far more like Summer a summery warmth in the breeze
And sunshine on the old Town and Parkland and sunshine on the bushes and trees
The greeness of Spring all around me such beauty that cannot fail to please
The weather quite warm for September well over the twenty degrees.
Though early Spring few birds are singing in the warm sun of the day
They sing in the cool of the morning or in the twilight's fading gray
The Winter is finally over though Winter weather was far from severe
We may be due for an el nino a warm Spring is looming this year.
The heaths and prickly bushes are covered in their blue, pink and bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in the late Winter in the cool and invigorating showers
The pardalotes by their nest entrance in a tiny hole in the ground
Wee wren sized birds spotted and pretty where they live small insects abound.
It is such a beautiful evening the swallows they chirp as they fly
And the sun with the warmth of Summer is glowing brightly in the blue sky
And the first brown butterflies of September are flitting in the balmy air
Alone and contented with Nature such moments are precious and rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The First Of October
The first of October a beautiful day
And in the blue sky just a few specks of gray
And sunshine on the Parkland and on the park trees
And the warmth of Spring is in the freshening breeze,
The malelucas resplendent in their blossoms of white
And the magpies are piping in the warm sunlight,
The first of October and the capeweed in bloom
And beautiful golden flowers cover the broom,
In the paddock by the wood the grey kangaroos graze
They often venture out of cover on pleasant Spring days,
The first day of the second month of the Spring
And in the woodland nesting birds chirp and sing
And the sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky
And the swallows above the paddocks they sing as they fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Perfect Harmony
In a world so far away
At the end of a closing day
A little child was born and raised
Deep in the forest on a hidden place
Mother never saw his face
Ancient spirits of the forest
Made him king of elves and trees
He was the only human being
Who lived in harmony
In perfect harmony
The woods protected, fulfillled his needs
Fruit by birds, honey by bees
He found shelter under trees
He grew up in their company
They became his family
A thousand seasons
They passed him by
So many times, have said goodbye
And when the spirits called out his name
To join forever, forever to stay
A forest spirit he became
song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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