I Said It To You
I said it to you for the clouds
I said it to you for the tree of the sea
For each wave for the birds in the leaves
For the pebbles of sound
For familiar hands
For the eye that becomes landscape or face
And sleep returns it the heaven of its colour
For all that night drank
For the network of roads
For the open window for a bare forehead
I said it to you for your thoughts for your words
Every caress every trust survives.
poem by Paul Eluard
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March Mornings
It sings to me
- the tree, the window tree.
Its leaves open as melodies
to the sheen of Spring.
It speaks to me
its words of green,
says now is the time
for everything.
It fills my dreams
with hopes and things,
making me believe
in what is yet to be.
The tree, the window tree,
brings the birds to me.
Songs come fluttering,
sliding on sun beams.
It dances the breeze,
smiles for me
on mornings like these
- absolutely free.
It sings to me
- the tree, the sweetgum tree.
Its leaves open as memories,
like love to me.
poem by W.I. Stoneberger
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When the Wind Returns
a soft strong voice called me,
a voice i'd heard before
but couldnt quite remember...
and my spirit rose from my body,
and left through the bedroom window
without looking back...
there is a space beyond the stars
in the darkest sky... a place
beyond the mind's understanding...
when light returns to darkness
and is reborn.... in tiny particles
of dust that gather and are formed....
a song that has no human words...
but is known and knowing... and
can only be played by human hands...
i do not know... dont have to!
but i know beyond knowing...
and have drank water from that brook...
when the wind returns, so will i...
i need no name, no familiar face...
you'll know i'm there when you breathe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Retrospect
In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
Love, in you, went passing by,
Penetrative, remote, and rare,
Like a bird in the wide air,
And, as the bird, it left no trace
In the heaven of your face.
In your stupidity I found
The sweet hush after a sweet sound.
All about you was the light
That dims the greying end of night;
Desire was the unrisen sun,
Joy the day not yet begun,
With tree whispering to tree,
Without wind, quietly.
Wisdom slept within your hair,
And Long-Suffering was there,
And, in the flowing of your dress,
Undiscerning Tenderness.
And when you thought, it seemed to me,
Infinitely, and like a sea,
About the slight world you had known
Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .
O haven without wave or tide!
Silence, in which all songs have died!
Holy book, where hearts are still!
And home at length under the hill!
O mother quiet, breasts of peace,
Where love itself would faint and cease!
O infinite deep I never knew,
I would come back, come back to you,
Find you, as a pool unstirred,
Kneel down by you, and never a word,
Lay my head, and nothing said,
In your hands, ungarlanded;
And a long watch you would keep;
And I should sleep, and I should sleep!
poem by Rupert Brooke (1914)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Medals And Awards
In a school of murder a hub of
terror survives.
An acid attack on face
captures the contradictions of first nervous countdown.
Step aside my truth, my tears
are under siege. The schizophrenic
will draw a landscape
of falling earth.
Tonight a visual poem will come alive
on a dirty screen of life.
Words were written like mercy
on the hands.
Why the face wears no smile?
Hard core pornography of blueberries survives
amidst the shooting and explosions.
The nymphs were waiting in the heaven!
poem by Satish Verma
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Ode to winter
Ode to winter
~
Ode, ode to the winter
What music plays to sonnet
While a world drifts to sleep
Leaves curl and flowers bow
Birds take flight to a further place
A touch of frost creeps in
Stealing the landscape of its colour
Soon all shall be held motionless
In the still of a winters season
Now in all its changing
The beauty and perfection of life
Is left open to be witnessed
Savoured by the eye of an artist
To feed the soul, nourish the heart
This melancholy season
This changing landscape
What beauty it reveals
In an ode to the winter
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Willow Tree
Let me be your weeping willow tree
Surround you with my long limbs
My dear, let me grow in the shade
In the sands by the bank of your river
Let I drink from your streams
The cool breeze fill my leaves
We will sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Sweet river caress how softly
Stir my searching roots
Shading the sun in the summers heat
Let I cool you
We have been dancing so long
In the winters freeze and the summers drought
We survive
We belong
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was your weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
We can sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let me be
Your willow tree
Your willow tree
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
Open the window's
On the home
New air and light
Come with you...
The sun
The moon
Birds sound
working sound
speaking sound
t.v.radio sound
Around all are
Come and speak to you...
you are ready to
Open the home window?
You are did not
Open the window
your home only
Silint...
But; you are a
Very vailent....! !
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A World Forlorn
i open the window
and cold air gets in
the world is still gray
eagerly the birds sing
for the birth of
a brand new day
the leaves hum and
the treetops like hands
open
i stand by the window
wishing for wings
so i can fly away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Give me space, give me time
It is the hands of time that
Heals.let its hands caress
My weary thoughts. So much
Have been lost in my fingers
Slipping away. I walk down
The road now, to freedom.
Hand in hand with the tree
And twigs. Feeling the
Caresses of the leaves
On the road to my freedom.
Give me space. Let my wholeness
Occupy. I need to expand
My choking life. Give me time.
Give me the healing hands
Of time. Let me sleep on its
Palms. I am throwing my
Hands in the air. I want to fly
Now. Sensational. I must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Voice
`
leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard
leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound
leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Sprinkle Your Love
The glazing sunshine
Afternoon
Under that tree
Tree with dry leaves
Visible roots
Dry earth
Give me water
To drink
And sprinkle your love
On the bareness of my heart
The sky and some patches of white clouds
I stretch
Hold my hands
The hands dry like the branches of that tree
Hold my hands
For these hands
May grow some leaves
And fruits
Like the hope
I have
From the tree
My love
Do not despair
There is blood
Still running in my veins
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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The Hidden Possibility....
imagine
one tranquil day
when you can hear
ants moving
under your feet
you lay your body
on the grass
under the old tree
with many leaves
that look like
small fingers
of a baby
you have emptied
yourself of thoughts
you become one
big empty
basket
you are an open
cave
inviting restless vagabonds
to take
rest
one dark & cold night
at least for a certain
while
the days come
and go
and you feel like a river
passing by
leaves blown by the strong wind
far north
on some normal days
a hundred butterflies flutter
and hover
homing to you
migrant birds perch
upon your hair
imagine that
you are no longer you
but a wide door without a lock
an open window that welcomes the moon
an earth
sky
and infinite space
a universe in itself
stripped of
identity and
greed
now sleep, and inside this
chamber
close your eyes some more
time
you have become
a poem vested
in eternity
some call you an angel
someone will dare
calling you one of the gods
beside the gods
in the temple of heaven
what is important is that
you are at peace, happy,
engrossed in grace
so much blessing
pouring unto your heart
do not think about you
you can no longer do that
there is no you now
do not think of contempt
you have become more than what you are
you have flown above the earth
you have crossed the river of ire
and disbelief
this is
the hidden possibility
the truth that we now see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aspens
All day and night, save winter, every weather,
Above the inn, the smithy and the shop,
The aspens at the cross-roads talk together
Of rain, until their last leaves fall from the top.
Out of the blacksmith's cavern comes the ringing
Of hammer, shoe and anvil; out of the inn
The clink, the hum, the roar, the random singing -
The sounds that for these fifty years have been.
The whisper of the aspens is not drowned,
And over lightless pane and footless road,
Empty as sky, with every other sound
No ceasing, calls their ghosts from their abode,
A silent smithy, a silent inn, nor fails
In the bare moonlight or the thick-furred gloom,
In the tempest or the night of nightingales,
To turn the cross-roads to a ghostly room.
And it would be the same were no house near.
Over all sorts of weather, men, and times,
Aspens must shake their leaves and men may hear
But need not listen, more than to my rhymes.
Whatever wind blows, while they and I have leaves
We cannot other than an aspen be
That ceaselessly, unreasonably grieves,
Or so men think who like a different tree.
poem by Edward Thomas
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At Dawn
Early in the morning;
Before the Sun had come;
A cool breeze was blowing;
I walked up and down.
Neighbours were still sleeping;
The weather was so cold;
All was very quiet;
Except the chirp of Birds!
It had been much raining;
All through the previous night;
Coffee having taken,
I pranced like a kite.
‘Twas a Sunday morning!
And all would get up late;
Just the noise of motors,
Was in the far-off roads.
The Air was quite freshn’ing,
I breathed and breathed and breathed;
I saw a group of black clouds;
In the Sky inter-weaved.
The plants seemed so smiling;
Their leaves were green and fresh;
The ground was wet, sodden;
And showed some sprouts afresh.
Plantain-trees looked stately;
Their green leaves so well-spread;
I saw green leaf-cutters!
On Moringa-tree leaves.
I had a good night’s sleep;
The family left for hol’s;
I listened to the noise,
Of insects ‘neath the leaves.
Two trees had delivered,
A bunch of bananas each!
One was so much sagging;
The trunk would break, it seemed!
The Sky now brightened up;
The Sun still nowhere seen;
As if someone would come,
The garden next look’d clean.
I stretch’d my limbs few times,
Aiming to breathe better;
I had a bout of cough,
By now, ’twas almost Dawn!
Soon the Air got filled up,
With noise of various Birds;
They flew in joy, singing;
Another Dawn was born!
poem by John Celes
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song
Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound
The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words
The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen
First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds
He brought them home
Thinking he has caught something good
After preparing the meal,
He realizes their meat is not right for food
Again, he watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught brown birds
He brought them home
Thinking the browns would not taste the same
After preparing the meal,
He realizes the meat was worse in the bowl of shame
He now understood the words
And watches them as they sing
The same song, one meaning
A song to get trapped in a ring
The birds sing the same song
A song of the soul
They sing in a competition
They compete for a common goal
They look attractive on the tree
They sing the same song
Understanding their words is the key
They sing the same song
They sound very kind
They sing the same song
They have a motive in mind
They sing the same song
They sing and fly from the leaves to the stem
But the hunter desires none of them
The hunter would now find other creatures
With the best of all features
Because the birds sing the same song
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Early Works - The Night
I lay on my bed on a sleepless night
gaze out my window at the stars bright.
The moon now and then gets hazy
as across the sky clouds drift lazily.
The night is cooled by a gentle breeze
that seems to whisper as if ruffles the leaves
and all creatures large and small
into sleep tenderly fall.
The night is peaceful as sounds subside
and stars now and then behind clouds hide.
The wise old owl perches high at night
gazing down to see if everything is all right.
As along paths trodden many times before
descend the cooing lovers once more
to their own private paradise
rich in tranquillity.
The flowers that in the breeze did bend
close their petals to the night again
and the little birds that flew in the morn
nestle in their nest warm.
Sleep endures all
no matter whether large or small
and so must I do this night
until I’m called by the morning light.
Date unknown.
poem by David Harris
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Of My Beloved
my bed is cold, my pillows too
my blanket not taking the heat of my body
the window of my room is open
to the brightness of the moon tonight
i wish to hear the sound of familiar steps
on the bamboo leaves....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Strange Relationship
Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fills with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.
Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain
before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face
to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates
in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.
One hundred moons
and a dying sun.
An immence contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center
of unborn story. The clouds
are always crimson before
the night. Life has
a shadow of death – and a strange
relationship survives.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Window of Heaven
The window of Heaven is open,
The angels can fly to and fro,
And those that I love can all gather,
And look down at Christmas below.
For Christmas is special in Heaven,
The love is so easy to see,
And down from the window at Christmas,
God sends a present to me.
'I will forever be with you,
Your side, I shall always be near,
And though you may not always see me,
In your heart I will always be there.
I will warm up your soul during Christmas,
My love is a fire burning bright,
Then my blanket of love will surround you,
And keep you all through the night.
On the brink of your Christmas morning,
I'll be the star at the top of the tree,
Shining my light on your teardrops,
You'll see a reflection of me.
Then as the gifts are all opened,
With the children encircling the hearth,
Look deep in their little faces,
Their kisses will be from my heart.
For the window of Heaven is open,
My love can pour out so free,
And those that I love can all gather,
And look up to Heaven at me.'
poem by Jean Penner
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