Lost In The Forest
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood--
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
Lost in the forest...
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The White Mans Burden
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent
poem by Pablo Neruda
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I’m Lost
I AM LOST
Deep inside the forest, its too dark,
Its no light here, there is no way to enlightenment..
I found myself lost.
Neither I can go forward,
nor I will come back from here.
What i am doing is just waiting for sunrise,
to know whether it is east or west,
coz... i m lost.
I m lost in the way,
Once I thought would lead to my life,
but now its nowhere that I can go.
Its the darkness of the forest,
that is forcing me to thrive,
I am thrashed to be lost,
being lost to loser,
I AM LOST...
poem by Vaibhav Rawat
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The Forest of the Lost
She wanders curiously through
The Forest of the Lost
Past the other creatures of pity
The Lost creatures
She looks and listens
Sees and hears
Nothing and everything
Space and form
Fog rolls in
Growing thicker
It trys to devour her
Like it so easily devours
The other Lost creatures
But her strange aroura
Pitch black and brighter than the sun
Protects her with ease
She does not belong
To the Forest of the Lost
The Forest of the Lost
Belongs to her
She is not Lost
Lost is her
She is magical
Mysterious
Dark and light
Blended together
The Forest of the Lost
Has met its maker
The Lost creatures
Take shape
In the fog
And thank her
And the Girl of the Lost
Guides the creatures back
To the Land of the Found
poem by Shannon Hughes
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Stronger
See my scars,
See my wounds,
All over the place
Far from perfect;
...Just like everyone.
Cracks and wrinkles
Run all over
Like the trunk of a tree;
Like any tree in any forest,
Battered by rain and wind.
Baby days long lost
Cheated away by the world;
The frost who kills and steals
From every tree and every forest,
But my roots run deep,
Deep in my father's womb
And my leaves are not blind
Fed by the Sun above...
I shall live.
Day, or night,
Stronger with every storm-
Like how it has always been.
Wilson Khor W.H. @ Seymour Nightweaver
poem by Wilson Khor Woo Han
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Lots Love Lost
I saw the rain coming down
I knew the oceans were running dry
I felt the sun falling down
Heard all forest trees crying out
Lots love lost
The birds sing sad songs sky still dark
All Stars gone cant even see their track
In here its hard to live things fall apart
And from the feeling I feel I know
Lots love lost
Voices whisper inside deep within
Voiceless silence, loneliness, emptiness
The grounds can no longer absorb
I feel cracks underneath and I dont need to be told that
Lots love lost.
poem by Khalifa Mustapha
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A Tree Telling of Orpheus
White dawn. Stillness.When the rippling began
&nbs p; I took it for sea-wind, coming to our valley with rumors
&nb sp; of salt, of treeless horizons. But the white fog
didn't stir; the leaves of my brothers remained outstretched,
unmoving.
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp;Yet the rippling drew nearer – and then
my own outermost branches began to tingle, almost as if
fire had been lit below them, too close, and their twig-tips
were drying and curling.
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; Yet I was not afraid, only
; & nbsp; deeply alert.
I was the first to see him, for I grew
; out on the pasture slope, beyond the forest.
He was a man, it seemed: the two
moving stems, the short trunk, the two
arm-branches, flexible, each with five leafless
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; &nbs p; ; twigs at their ends,
and the head that's crowned by brown or golden grass,
bearing a face not like the beaked face of a bird,
&nbs p; ; more like a flower's.
& nbsp; &n bsp; He carried a burden made of
some cut branch bent while it was green,
strands of a vine tight-stretched across it. From this,
when he touched it, and from his voice
which unlike the wind's voice had no need of our
leaves and branches to complete its sound,
&nb sp; &nbs p; ; & nbsp;came the ripple.
But it was now no longer a ripple (he had come near and
stopped in my first shadow) it was a wave that bathed me
& nbsp; &n bsp; as if rain
; & nbsp; rose from below and around me
& nbsp; &n bsp; instead of falling.
And what I felt was no longer a dry tingling:
& nbsp; I seemed to be singing as he sang, I seemed to know
; what the lark knows; all my sap
& nbsp; &n bsp; was mounting towards the sun that by now
& nbsp; &n bsp; had risen, the mist was rising, the grass
was drying, yet my roots felt music moisten them
deep under earth.
; He came still closer, leaned on my trunk:
&nb sp; &nbs p; the bark thrilled like a leaf still-folded.
Music! There was no twig of me not
& nbsp; &n bsp; trembling with joy and fear.
Then as he sang
it was no longer sounds only that made the music:
he spoke, and as no tree listens I listened, and language
& nbsp; &n bsp; came into my roots
&nbs p; ; out of the earth,
&nb sp; &nbs p; into my bark
; & nbsp; out of the air,
into the pores of my greenest shoots
&nb sp; gently as dew
and there was no word he sang but I knew its meaning.
He told me of journeys,
of where sun and moon go while we stand in dark,
&nbs p; of an earth-journey he dreamed he would take some day
deeper than roots ...
He told of the dreams of man, wars, passions, griefs,
&n bsp; and I, a tree, understood words – ah, it seemed
my thick bark would split like a sapling's that
; & nbsp; grew too fast in the spring
when a late frost wounds it.
&n bsp; &nb sp; &nbs p; ; Fire he sang,
that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.
New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.
&n bsp; As though his lyre (now I knew its name)
&nbs p; were both frost and fire, its chords flamed
up to the crown of me.
I was seed again.
&nb sp; &nbs p; I was fern in the swamp.
&nb sp; &nbs p; ; & nbsp;I was coal.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Ive Never Stopped Dreaming Of You
(j. l. wallace, terry skinner)
Ive forgotten your number
I hadnt called in a while
And Im slowly forgetting your funny little smile
Ive even stopped missing
The love that we knew
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Ive lost all the memories
The feel of your touch
And its left my mind why I loved you so much
Ive even forgotten who walked out on who
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Chorus:
Ive never stopped seeing your face every night
I see it each time that I close my eyes
And times heal the memories
Of the pain I went through
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Ive misplaced all the trinkets
That you told me to keep
And its been such a long time
Since Ive lost any sleep
Now Im doing just fine
With somebody new
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Repeat chorus
No Ive never stopped dreaming of you
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Child Speaks...
being lost in childhood
is nothing
but meditation
often in serene atmosphere
i tune my nostrils
to absorb
the lost fragrance of childhood
and the ears
to hear
the lost voices of childhood
and memories...
where i lived with nameless grass
nameless plants...
and their nameless Flowers...
nameless colours...
i played with ants
and nameless insects...
nameless butterflies...
i lived in shrubs
as if in a wild forest
without name
without words
a child speaks...
poem by Denny M.X.
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Voice
Between the open heart and the whisper goodbye,
Theres a perfect teardrop in your eye.
Between the lovers moon and the trembling sky,
Theres a broken dream in your mind.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost,
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Between the careful touch and the breakaway kiss,
Theres a beauty you cant resist.
Mmm, between the fall apart and the moment of bliss,
There must be something more than this.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
In the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Oh, yea, the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark. in the dark.
Lonely voice. lonely voice in the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark...
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Rock
I m a 'sea rock' in the shore of life, hit by ten thousand tides a day. But u r the only tide that knock the heart of this rock. I lost my heart, I lost my mind, I lost completely myself to u in my first ever ? ? ? ? ?
I WAS LOST - in the darkness, digging my heart deeper n deeper.
I WAS LOST - in the silence, with dark noise, hosting your voice.
I WAS LOST - in the night, where you are my bright moon, pumping my heart balloon
I WAS LOST - on the wide roads, when your smile hit my heart a mile.
I WAS LOST - in my dreamy mind and busy heart.
I WAS LOST - in the past, where u took me very fast, gifting me what I lost.
poem by Gopala Sharma Akshintala
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Im so lost without You
All I see is continous darkness,
As though light was you,
What am I without you,
You left me hanging,
Yes when I needed you most,
I was so wrong to let go,
Yet so right to understand
Im thinking of you honey,
Nothing can be done I know,
Today is blameless for this,
Neither is yesterday,
I carry the pain of my wrongs,
The hugs are fading on and on,
The kisses becoming meaningless
Im so lost without you
My pride wont let me cry before you,
But alone I shed the tears my love,
Im so lost without you,
You broke my heart into tiny particles,
With those pieces I love you the same,
I look at the doors you left open,
Hoping in my heart,
Your foot might step again,
Im so lost without you
Im tormented and torn apart,
Tortured and broken into pieces,
The hours i wanted you more,
The days i needed you the most,
The same moment you walked away,
Im so lost without you
Find me again my lost hope,
Love me again my lost love
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The Storm
I Ran to the forest for shelter,
Breathless, half sobbing;
I put my arms round a tree,
Pillowed my head against the rough bark.
"Protect me," I said. "I am a lost child."
But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.
A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;
It lashed the forest together.
A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.
I prayed, implored, "Please take care of me!"
But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon
me.
Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.
A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was
drowning
In a bubbling cavern of space. I alone--
Smaller than the smallest fly--was alive and terrified.
Then for what reason I know not, I became trium-
phant
"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.
But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wings
And floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.
I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.
And the trees swung together and delicately laughed.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Eden in Winter
[Supposed to be chanted to some rude instrument at a modern fireplace]
Chant we the story now
Tho' in a house we sleep;
Tho' by a hearth of coals
Vigil to-night we keep.
Chant we the story now,
Of the vague love we knew
When I from out the sea
Rose to the feet of you.
Bird from the cliffs you came,
Flew thro' the snow to me,
Facing the icy blast
There by the icy sea.
How did I reach your feet?
Why should I — at the end
Hold out half-frozen hands
Dumbly to you my friend?
Ne'er had I woman seen,
Ne'er had I seen a flame.
There you piled fagots on,
Heat rose — the blast to tame.
There by the cave-door dark,
Comforting me you cried —
Wailed o'er my wounded knee,
Wept for my rock-torn side.
Up from the South I trailed —
Left regions fierce and fair!
Left all the jungle-trees,
Left the red tiger's lair.
Dream led, I scarce knew why,
Into your North I trod —
Ne'er had I known the snow,
Or the frost-blasted sod.
O how the flakes came down!
O how the fire burned high!
Strange thing to see he was,
Thro' his dry twigs would fly,
Creep there awhile and sleep —
Then wake and bark for fight —
Biting if I too near
Came to his eye so bright.
Then with a will you fed
Wood to his hungry tongue.
Then he did leap and sing —
Dancing the clouds among,
Turning the night to noon,
Stinging my eyes with light,
Making the snow retreat,
Making the cave-house bright.
There were dry fagots piled,
Nuts and dry leaves and roots,
Stores there of furs and hides,
Sweet-barks and grains and fruits.
There wrapped in fur we lay,
Half-burned, half-frozen still —
Ne'er will my soul forget
All the night's bitter chill.
We had not learned to speak,
I was to you a strange
Wolfling or wounded fawn,
Lost from his forest-range.
Thirsting for bloody meat,
Out at the dawn we went.
Weighed with our prey at eve,
Home-came we all forespent.
Comrades and hunters tried
Ere we were maid and man —
Not till the spring awoke
Laughter and speech began.
Whining like forest dogs,
Rustling like budding trees,
Bubbling like thawing springs,
Humming like little bees,
Crooning like Maytime tides,
Chattering parrot words,
Crying the panther's cry,
Chirping like mating birds —
Thus, thus, we learned to speak,
Who mid the snows were dumb,
Nor did we learn to kiss
Until the Spring had come.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Atavism
1
Sometimes in the open you look up
where birds go by, or just nothing,
and wait. A dim feeling comes
you were like this once, there was air,
and quiet; it was by a lake, or
maybe a river you were alert
as an otter and were suddenly born
like the evening star into wide
still worlds like this one you have found
again, for a moment, in the open.
2
Something is being told in the woods: aisles of
shadow lead away; a branch waves;
a pencil of sunlight slowly travels its
path. A withheld presence almost
speaks, but then retreats, rustles
a patch of brush. You can feel
the centuries ripple generations
of wandering, discovering, being lost
and found, eating, dying, being born.
A walk through the forest strokes your fur,
the fur you no longer have. And your gaze
down a forest aisle is a strange, long
plunge, dark eyes looking for home.
For delicious minutes you can feel your whiskers
wider than your mind, away out over everything.
poem by William Stafford
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I've Stopped Mistaking My Life
I’ve stopped mistaking my life
for evidence I exist.
I’ve stopped watering
palm-trees in a mirage.
I’m leaking out of myself
like sand through a crack
in a wounded hourglass.
I’ve stopped doing my time
standing up
and approach things more
like a circle
that’s been squared
by a reclusive hypotenuse.
I’ve stopped asking
how many legs are on a snake
or what does it mean
when things don’t mean anything.
For all the auditions I held
I never did find a stand-in
for the meaning of meaning.
I can hear crutches breaking
like dead branches
from the tree of knowledge
that rails like an ice-storm in hell
there’s no light for its chandeliers.
How many voices are in a secret?
How many theories in a thought?
How many lovers had to die
to keep one feeling alive?
I deserted the circus of high ideals.
I unfeathered my heels
and stopped trying to invent
new alphabets that would read like birds
before the first snow.
When you’re everywhere
there’s nowhere left to go.
I stopped telling time to its face
what hour it was and wasn’t
and started listening to it
as if it had nothing to say.
I stopped asking space for i.d.
and it stopped showing me
an old picture of me
with one eye.
A voice spoke
out of the purposeless undoing of the fire
and everything went up like smoke
trying to get a little higher.
I wasn’t on a mission
to save the souls of the trees
like native peoples
by converting them
to doors and ladders.
I swept through steeples
like a forest-fire
And the judgment came down:
Nothing matters.
And I knew I was free
to take liberties with the abyss.
And everywhere I rode
a flying carpet of karma
through the infinite darkness
unspooling like a wavelength of light
I made up my own myths
about the stars that were passing
clandestine lovenotes through my eyes
as if they were doves
sent out to look for me like land.
But I had a hell of a flood
of my own going on
and took wing for Atlantis.
I’ve given up trying to walk on water
but I can go for miles on quicksand.
Stars are another matter.
A firewalk you take alone.
I live in a house
where the windows
are lightyears across
and a black hole
is my last known address
surrounded by trees
that keep opening my mail
like leaves of their own
to see who signed
what the light confessed
when it wanted to get
the night off its chest.
Tell me your sorrows.
Tell me your fears.
Tell me your hopes and passions
and I’ll listen like a universe
to its own afterbirth
like a flawed soul
listens with compassion to the rain.
Illusory cures for illusory diseases
perhaps
detailed maps
of rivers that never flowed.
But I take a deep breath
and put my shoulder to the wind like a bell
that’s taken on a heavy load
like a backhoe in heaven
excavating graves
to see if anything
can truly save us from ourselves.
I come up like the full moon
of a mushroom in the night
and I wait for elves
to enthrone me like a footstool
under everybody’s feet
as the last of the hanging judges
takes his seat.
But I know like a man
who wrestles with angels
how to grow stronger with every defeat.
I am no longer defined by things
that don’t know the limits
of what I’m becoming
now that I’ve dropped off my body and mind
like a demon jumping from paradise
without a parachute.
And this is the anti-papal decretal
of the fallible man
they stone with churches on earth
for showing up blessed like a human
who took the shape of the world
from the inside out
not the outside in.
This way lies redemption.
That way, too.
Fire’s not a heresy
that’s committed to its flames
anymore than autumn consumes
the heartwood of its orthodoxies
when it burns the trees.
Desire doesn’t cut the tongue
out of the mouth of love
for saying the secret name of God
as if it weren’t junkmail
on the threshold
of the old neighbourhood
the cornerstones of sounder reasons
had torn down like a slum
to make room
for better things to come.
There are still scarlet geraniums
blooming in red brick clay pots
on the windowsills of longing
that haven’t lost their faith
like leaves yet
one day they’ll return to the garden.
And baby boys born
like heartsongs with hards on
that are not the cliches
of impish cherubs
in a painting of original sin
but angels holding burning swords
at the gates of the mothers
they’ve been driven out of
to guard the way in.
It’s deeply ontological.
But if things didn’t happen this way
how could you ever find
your own way back
to that shortcut you took
like time off at the beginning?
And haven’t you noticed yet
how the universe keeps showing up
a star too late for the end of things
making up excuses along the way
like a touring playhouse on wheels
rehearsing what to say
for the long delay
in catching up to itself like a thief?
You can tell a lot about a man
by what he steals.
You can tell a lot about a world
by the way your life feels
when there’s no one around
to make a sound
as you fall like a tree in the forest.
How many koans need to be cracked
like skulls full of insight
before you get the gist of the joke
that everything you see
is whole and perfect and broke.
Hell and heaven
are only the first two stairs
on this fire-escape
the stars have lowered to earth.
And then there’s a bridge to the other side
of a river that’s given up looking
for its lost shores
to put an end to its weeping.
And I don’t know who she is yet
but beyond that
there’s a woman on her knees
crying like one of life’s immensities
for her dead baby
as she washes its blood off the floors
with her hair
for safe-keeping.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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The Adder Stings
Adroit snake in serpents sweet curves
dances, my alluring senses to attain,
fizzes the victim's mind to nonsense
defenses of betrayed life in eyes domain.
Befitting of a danger's reversed count,
a mortal coil hypnotically becoming,
in an abyss, later, your lone shout,
your grave mistake in excess, crying.
Away, the wind dryly your land sweeps
and leaves, leaves like in dim, dreams
bind tight to add you up, in deathly bliss
a gild in Beatific wings, or dark esteems.
Venomous tongue, whips the air, fast,
cold eyes so infinitely look in your soul,
to traumatize eternally, a life past,
rainbow coloring of sky becomes of coal.
The Adder stings! An instant to realize
of lost lives torn that end in cackles
a Hydras barking shout slyly to edenize,
to bloviate a dark end in Hades suckles.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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