Misty Day
Glancing out of the window I see the potted plant
on the sill and the house on the other side of
the road… the light is fading and the plant looks as
sad as a whitewashed wall in rain… its whiteness
was an illusion caused by the sun.
Mist of grief encircles olive trees there are blank
tears on my almond tree´s spindly twigs, yet inside
each droplet I see a tiny world reflecting my own,
only with greater incorruptibility of the untested.
And far away, as a whisper, a mother sings a lullaby.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
What do we plant when we plant a tree?
What do we get when we plant the tree?
We plant the ship which will cross the sea;
We plant the pencils to scribble our notes,
We plant the ballots to cast our votes;
We plant the paper in which we read,
The news that o'er wooden poles we speed,
We plant the piles to erect our docks;
We plant the rayon for shirts and socks.
What do we plant when we plant a tree?
We plant the houses for you and me;
We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors,
We plant the studding, the lath, the doors,
The beams and siding, all the parts that be;
We plant the house when we plant the tree,
We plant the barrel, the box, the crate;
In which to ship all sorts of freight.
What do we plant when we plant a tree?
A thousand things that we daily see,
We plant the spire that out-towers the crag,
We plant the staff for our country's flag;
We plant the shade from the hot sun free,
We plant all these when we plant the tree.
poem by Henry Abbey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Torture
When they torture your mother
plant a tree
When they torture your father
plant a tree
When they torture your brother
and your sister
plant a tree
When they assassinate
your leaders
and lovers
plant a tree
Whey they torture you
too bad
to talk
plant a tree.
When they begin to torture
the trees
and cut down the forest
they have made
start another.
poem by Alice Walker
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Save The World, Plant A Tree
Save the world, plant a tree,
For each one chopped, plant three,
Responsibility starts with you,
You actions, the things you do
We are one and the same,
Killing a tree gave no man fame,
They are alive- they breathe,
They feel pain- they writhe
Save the world, plant a tree,
For each one chopped, plant three,
Go green, stop global warming!
This is not a poem- a warning,
Trees are our friends,
Lets not treat them as fiends,
It’s in a deplorable state, her health
Show a little compassion for Mother Earth
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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Plant More Trees
Plant more trees
As it looks green
And save the homes of the animals please.
Plant more trees
As it looks green
To keep the humans safe
From pollution and disease.
Plant more trees
As it looks green
To keep the cities beautiful and clean.
And throw the garbage into a dustbin.
Stop cutting trees
And plant more trees
For a long live of you and me!
poem by Srijita Das
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[My Little Green Plant]
I have a plant in my house.
Not a tree a shrub ore a shrew.
But a plant.
It's green and red and sparkle blue.
Healthy clean and sticky like glue.
Bold beautifully and fragrant to.
My little green plant, how I love you.
I love my plant all stretched out high.
When it's flowers open it reveals a surprise
Just imagine it as you close you're eyes.
My little green plant, always on my mind.
My plant is thirsty it needs special care.
Nutrients and light, without it would die.
Like a child growing up ill always be there.
12 weeks to grow, and not a care.
3 feed tall and producing air.
My little green plant with little red hairs.
The time has come that I must say good by,
my little green plant has grown up right.
I'll trim it nice and hold on tight,
my little green plant makes me happiest tonight.
I'll sow the seed and sign the deed,
my little green plants one hell of a weed.
Come on now people get your minds out of the gutter..... I'm just talking about sage! :)
poem by Seth Morrow
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Mantree
Man & Tree.
There was a spruce tree in the forest, he had
watched it grow from spindly sampling to
a handsome young tree, and thought of it as
the son he never had.
But shortly before Christmas it disappeared
he went to the market in town where they sold
hundreds of trees for those who want the real
thing, but couldn’t find it there.
After the festivities he found his tree on a dump,
green needles gone, now it was brown, he took
the dead plant home and used as kindling to lit
the fire on cold, soggy days.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Whites Of The Almond Tree
THE WHITES OF THE ALMOND TREE
The whites of the almond tree
A shiver down my spine-
The golds and greens,
Olive and pine,
Joy for the eyes-
God Bless the world Outside-
Saint- Simon Park,
Jerusalem Light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Commonplace Day (after Thomas Hardy's poem of that name)
All day from dawn to dusk, the drizzling rain;
everything today is painted grey;
and as for me - I shut my heart, alas;
and took that paint and washed my mind with grey…
Outside the window, just a pane away:
the eager soil, the leaves of plant and tree
bathe and sing and grow and shine with praise;
yet why do I not hear that song, in me?
more feeble I than plant or soil or tree;
I cannot even sing their humble praise;
why build a house against the water’s grace,
and leave my wizened heart dry, graceless, mean?
Better today would it have useful been
to be a raincloud; humble; generous;
free of grey thought that idly renders me
less than the least of servants of my God;
so make me grey as generous raincloud; clod
of saturated, grateful earth; write, rain;
shout, whisper, words of flowing gratitude;
on greying days, paint grey as purest joy;
and be again, that drenched and laughing boy..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sun -de- Light
Sorry but i must be damn,
on this feastive,
to everyone's delight,
excuse me shorty, (son)
to the crush, of the crump
cake cheese,
money fall far from the trees must be,
earth sin,
if i can complain,
plant this seed next to this greenre,
i much say it with a rush.
and let the sun come to delight,
and say that you are peach, (the son)
to a tree, (mother) of course,
winter to season, you sparke a connection
sonnie that is all right! ! !
smile for the camera! ! !
(father) a son, we will have making luv to sun up to sun down...
and sonnie this the light of the watch your grandpa,
gave to me under this tree,
your grandmother, my mother first came to be
and know at this tree.
i call this Tree 'sun de light'....
Our family Tree.
poem by Louis Borgo
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Melancholy Child
A baby with a baby just barely seventeen
My mother mourned her innocence
While she bounced on her knee
A daddy on the road added to her tears and trials
Like silver rain they fell upon this melancholy child
The sounds of my childhood still linger in my song
My mother's lullaby that train that ran behind our home
A whippoorwill on a window sill - it should have made me smile
But everything sounds lonesome to a melancholy child
Now a restless blood runs in our family
I thought I could outrun the emptiness inside of me
So I went a little crazy, went a little wild
Trying to outdistance my own melancholy child
I met a kind and gentle man who thinks the world of me
And when he looks my way it is a woman that he sees
But when I can't explain to him the tears that fill my eyes
He takes me in his arms and rocks his melancholy child
You take a black Irish temper and some solemn Cherokee
A Southern sense of humor and you got someone like me
There are thorns on every rose to this I'm reconciled
They're just a little sharper to a melancholy child
And in my own babe's eyes I see the signs of a melancholy child
Heaven help us all, another melancholy child
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plants Feel
When a tree is cut down
in the forest all the other
trees feel it’s chop,
All the trees are connected
and feels it when this tree drops.
Now even your plant
even knows when you are gone,
it misses you and
needs more than water to live on.
Plants are sentient
which is true as the wind,
give the plant Kingdom kindness
for they were here in the beginning,
and help us to breathe and to live.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 12,2011
www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Finding the Light
My world darkens as
Light surrounds me-
A wall has been erected between
Myself and this world-
Light surrounds me- I cannot reach-
I cannot reach beyond pathways towards oblivion-
A path exists before me, Straight and uphill-
The same path that I walk everyday- A pathway seemingly without and end-
Light surrounds me, So, I have been told- So many years have passed-
Promises for a future, a future filled with success-
Hope for a fine life – A sky without cloudiness,
Trees that grow tall and strong bearing flowers that shall never die-
Light surrounds me, I have been told- so,
Why do I only foresee bleakness and demise when
I have always been promised the sun to be rising about me?
This pathway I walk upon has been blocked
By mountains of madness, as along the way
I have drowned in pools of massive confusion,
While I feel hail and rain pounding against the very soul of my existence?
At the end of the road I walk- behind that wall that blocks my destination,
Awaits none but anger, mistrust and disappointment?
Light surrounds me, the light of promises,
The light of expectations, the light of hope-
The very same light that has blazed my spirit and my own rising sun has just burnt out?
My world is dark; I foresee no destiny-
Lightering has struck my tree of hope-
Fallen before me, blocking that same pathway
I walk everyday- I weep for that tree, now fallen, has perished-
I am now standing still as motionless as a marble statue, reflecting light
Which surrounds me and sears the core of my existence-
My tears are falling with the rain that has just taken over the light-
I am drowning in a pool of disarray and disbelief- as all I foresee is dimness-
That fallen tree casts shadows, obliterating my horizon?
Feeling my way through the mystifying haziness,
I begin to run without direction- singing melodies of my rekindled dreams, as
The rain stops and sunlight bursts through in all of its crystalline clarity-
My spirit is dancing atop those mountains of madness-
Being unable to discern veracity, I have lost myself inside the world of my delusions-
This is the world in which I have found a life and inside of which I can laugh and sing,
I see a different sort of light surrounding me now, and it no longer matters that
The flowers upon that fallen tree- have died, as I have found my own special flowers
Growing within a different frame of time and place…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Fairyland
If people came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish
into the air.
The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold.
The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she
wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms.
But let me tell you, mother, in a whisper, where my king's
palace is.
It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.
The princess lies sleeping on the far-away shore of the seven
impassable seas.
There is none in the world who can find her but myself.
She has bracelets on her arms and pearl drops in her ears; her
hair sweeps down upon the floor.
She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand and jewels
will fall from her lips when she smiles.
But let me whisper in your ear, mother; she is there in the
corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.
When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step
up to that terrace on the roof.
I sit in the corner where the shadow of the walls meet
together.
Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she know where the
barber in the story lives.
But let me whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber in
the story lives.
It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Angels Lullaby
I was never alive
til the day I was blessed with you
When I hold you late at night
I know what I was put here to do
I turn off the world and listen to you sigh
And I will sing my angels lullaby
Know Im forever near
The one you can always call
Right all you know to fear
Are the shadows on your wall
Im here close enough
To kiss the tears you cry
And I will sing my angels lullaby
So tell me how to stop the years from racing
Is there a secret someone knows?
Ill never catch all the memories Im chasing
Ill never be ready to let go
And when the world seems cold
And you feel that all of your strength is gone
There may be one tiny voice
Your reason to carry on
And when Im not close enough
To kiss the tears you cry
You will sing your angels lullaby
Let this be our angels lullaby
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On Me O' Rain Rain Rain
o' rain rain rain
come rain on me o' rain
rain on every plant that grow o' dear rain
rain on every resource o' dear rain
rain to green the plants
the plants that of nature's decor
rain on us and never let go
quench my thirst; to get so
rain on me o' rain rain rain
rain for happiness and leisure
rain for our children to play
rain on the soil for us this day
so, we plant more food to feed us this way
go to the fields and gardens; same way
rain o' beautiful rain
rain rain rain
**extract from 'patterns of life' november 2011 ebook
ntema's unique poetry (nup)
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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A heart of a rock
A rock plant cries in the mist.
I grow here like an orphan
And nobody cares my love.
I know this rock never melt
And give me a droplet for my thirst.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Arbor Amoris
I have a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit;
Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,
And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead
Plant any tree, save this alone.
Ah, yet, for long and long enough
My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,
I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put
In garner, for the bitter bread
Whereon my weary life is fed:
Ah, better were the soil unsown
That bears such growths; but Love instead
Will plant no tree, but this alone.
Ah, would that this new spring, whereof
The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,
I might have succour and aid of Love,
To prune these branches at the root,
That long have borne such bitter fruit,
And graft a new bough, comforted
With happy blossoms white and red;
So pleasure should for pain atone,
Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead
Plant any tree, but this alone.
L'ENVOY.
Princess, by whom my hope is fed,
My heart thee prays in lowlihead
To prune the ill boughs overgrown,
Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead
Another tree, save this alone.
poem by François Villon
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Foreign Roots In Desert Fall
Foreign Roots in Desert Fall.
It is sad to watch the big tree wearing a vast crown of hubris,
casting demonic shadows it allows nothing else to elevate.
Blows leaves of steel and stop anything that may help a small
bush grow. Once this tree was admired, an example how fast
arid land, fit only for the native Arabs, olive trees and goats,
grew into ten thousand blood dripping roses. In time,
countries far away came to fear this tree’s voraciousness its
boughs try to strangle the world; it is as it needs to govern us
to feel safe. Until we saw its weakness: ” This is a frantic tree,
a foreign plant in agony it has lost its purpose, has no ethics.
Worse of all its bark is scabby, roots are shallow; the tree can
tip over if our anger and disgust get to be a lashing hurricane,
which upend the tree; and its leaves will forever restless rustle
on the road to nowhere.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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