The Chase
THE wind told the little leaves to hurry,
And chased them down the way,
While the mother tree laughed loud in glee,
For she thought her babes at play.
The cruel wind and the rain laughed loudly,
We'll bury them deep, they said,
And the old tree grieves, and the little leaves
Lie low, all chilled and dead.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Related quotes
I'm Just An Ordinary Tree
My existence
start from a little piece of seed...
First, I was bury on the ground...
Then, I showed my two cute leaves up in to world...
But it didn't end just like that...
I grow... more and more...
With love, hope and care,
I became a tree...
Tree with many leaves,
if you need some shady circumstance...
Tree with a strong wood,
if you need me to make a good wardrobe...
Tree with a tight root,
if you want to make a solid foundation...
Tree with a sincerely pray,
if you need a support...
Tree with an everlasting presence,
if you need a friend beside you forever...
Tree with a dry branch,
if you want to share your tears...
Tree with a pure dew,
if you feel thirsty...
Tree with a warm wind,
if you get cold and alone...
Tree with a full color's flowers,
if you feel your life so black and white...
Tree with many hopes,
if you lost your dreams away...
But... after all,
I'm just an ordinary Tree...
By: Tree
22 May 2007,7: 02 PM
Leaves Turning Grey
Like a carcass lays, an ancient tree,
he tried to pray, through celestial seas,
but his spirit flew just like a bee.
Everyday he gazed at crying clouds,
the wind through his branches was so loud.
He looked for listening ears
as he stood in a sea of tears.
O tree, do you still wade?
Why have you lost your will to change?
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots have lost their range.
But how can one ask for help,
when you're not helping yourself?
And so this tree founded on sand,
with the wind tumbled to land.
He's an arboreal fool,
in a world that pulls
his heart and blood apart.
O tree, you've lost your blood,
your dead branches lay in the mud.
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots in such ground won't stay.
poem by Soren Valentine
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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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Sweet Harmony
There is no wind blowing
The tree stands green, serene.
It enjoys the bird's singing
And wonders: 'What does it mean? '
Blessed by this soft rain
Both the bird and the tree
Keep singing tunes again
Flooding the earth with glee!
The bird's chants soar above the tree
This one feels nurtured by them
Its leaves dancing onto the sea
Where the bird goes and treasures them!
poem by Maria C. Costa
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Autumn leaves
The old are the autumn leaves
Shed of the time tree
And lie yellow to be laughed at
By the leaves full of green.
Unlike the leaves, the old are alive
To experience the neglects.
16.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Tree's Will
Planted firmly, and sprouting seemingly too fast,
The result was strong and beautiful.
Roots growing through the soil and getting stronger each day
The tree grew taller than all.
Standing tall through the wind and the rain
The storms and the droughts, beholding strength with pain.
One day a storm came, and through the wind, through the rain
The tree fought and came through with scars.
Feeling beyond repair, the tree stood there, looking for the sun in a black abyss.
Remaining strong, hope lingered on, as the tree held to the earth.
Limbs snapped, leaves flew, and gashes were left in it's skin.
But still, the tree's will grew.
poem by Carli Gibson
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How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind
did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem
the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me
the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood
i made them all, but now, they are on their own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The balloon in the tree
There high up in the tree
was a bright Red balloon
how did it get there I mused?
Was it put there by a little boy
or did the wind pluck it from his hand?
it was stuck firm on a branch now.
When I came by the tree the next day
I looked up and it was still there
and it wasn't the only balloon
there was a blue one and a yellow one?
The following day the tree was covered in them
all different colours and sizes and shapes
the wind and rain couldn't pop them dead.
Every day more balloons were there in the tree
all different colours, shapes, and sizes,
the wind and rain wouldn't hit them at all.
I was the only person who knew of the tree
it became invisible to anybody else
the balloon tree was there just for me.
When a balloon died another took it's place
so the tree was always covered in balloons
throughout the years it stood proud and strong.
You may say I'm making this up or I'm mad
and there's no such thing as a balloon tree
but I know it's true so that's all that matters.
This is for Chloe, Holly, Katie, and Oliver.
poem by Kevin Halls
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You Are The Tree, I Am The Wind
You are the tree, I am the wind,
You alter my course, yet you also bend;
No longer is either the same after each-
I am the wind, be my tree, I do beseech!
Ethereal, unseen-yet alterations I may make!
Magnificent, beautiful-away, my gust, you take!
Together, we are an ever-changing landscape,
Making wondrous reality out of our dreasmscape!
A tree, without its wind-breathless, becalmed:
A wind, without its tree-purposeless, withdrawn!
The wind sweeps around the tree, the tree dances
More inspiring is this than all other romances!
I, the most powerful wind, you, the most beautificent tree;
Wonder do I what, as one, together, we may be!
Maurice Harris,30 August 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Shadow And Me
Sat in the shadows
Of the old oak tree
I painted my nails
I thought out loud
Smiled a few times
Laughed, cried
Sat in the shadows
Of the old oak tree
Sleeping, breathing,
Takin in life, real nice
I can live here
I thought to myself
Maybe not forever
But it can be arranged
Sat in the shadows
Of the old oak tree
Being me, that's all
Being me!
poem by Brenda Poole
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You Laughed and Laughed and Laughed
I told you I was in love,
But you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
I gave you my love,
But you did not give me yours,
Instead you kept mine, and
Gave yours to another.
.
You laughed at my song,
You laughed at my walk,
Then I danced my magic dance
to the rhythm of the talking
drums pleading.
.
But you shot your eyes, and laughed
And laughed and laughed.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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from A Fallen Tree All Make Kindling' (dutch Proverb)
Whenever I sit under a tree I’m in my grandpas arms
My grandpa was like a tree with his strong and silent charm
He would shelter the world under his shade
And in the harshest storm he just merely swayed
He was like a tree but not the ones with big flowers
For his beauty was endurance it lasted more than mere hours
My grandpa was a tree the kind with big leaves
The kind that when cut down the whole forest grieves
He was like a tree big and gentle
He sat there and listened kind and parental
And though he was the tallest tree all around
He never looked down on the ones on the ground
My grandpa was a tree his love ran deep like roots
So even when cut down we still have loves fruits
When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Nature Heals Itself
Just when I thought the tree was surely dead,
New leaves began to sprout up once again;
And soon, it wore a green crown on its head;
It had been resurrected by the rain!
Dumb-founded, astonished, perplexed I stood!
The tree that was deemed dead now was alive;
A canopy of green covered the wood,
And made me happy for the tree was live!
What a remarkable feat of Nature!
Impossible a task, it had performed;
Never underestimate her stature;
If left to man, the tree would have been harmed.
Thou art thine own healer, Nature Mother!
Can a human do than thee much better?
poem by John Celes
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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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Monkey struggle
Skinny legged monkey
Jumps from tree to tree
Giggling loud at spree
To be at last free
Incapable to comprehend
In his peanut sized brain
There was nothing he could gain
As he didn’t drive the train
He kept jumping from tree to tree
Train kept moving with full speed
Enhancing the unjustifiable greed
Ignoring the red signals, refusing to heed
The jugglers laughed and laughed
Leting loose the rope
When spectators clinged to hope
Trusting the monkey will finally cope
Poor little monkey did whatever he could
To avoid the inevitable crash
With high jumps and dash
By making everything a mash
By jumping from tree to tree
The Flower-School
When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to
come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand
in a corner.
When the rain come they have their holidays.
Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle
in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
are.
Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you
know why they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they
have their mother as I have my own.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Leaves (thread)
under the dogwood
leaves cover
a cat’s grave
early spring
one leaf still dangles
from the tree
palmistry
dew drops on a leaf
pick a vein
widow’s diary
pressed rose petal
the last leaf
with the rain drops
leaves flutter to the ground
fall showers
fallen leaves
circusing in the grass
merry-go-wind
October shower
leaves in the gutter
disembark
leaves changing colors
across the landscape
season's chameleons
morning rain
under maple leaves
tap my shoulder
leaves ripple
with melodies
cicadas song
These were published online by Sketchbook. See September/October “leaves” Haiku thread:
poem by Ben Gieske
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The Gallows
There was a weasel lived in the sun
With all his family,
Till a keeper shot him with his gun
And hung him up on a tree,
Where he swings in the wind and rain,
In the sun and in the snow,
Without pleasure, without pain,
On the dead oak tree bough.
There was a crow who was no sleeper,
But a thief and a murderer
Till a very late hour; and this keeper
Made him one of the things that were,
To hang and flap in rain and wind,
In the sun and in the snow.
There are no more sins to be sinned
On the dead oak tree bough.
There was a magpie, too,
Had a long tongue and a long tail;
He could talk and do -
But what did that avail?
He, too, flaps in the wind and rain
Alongside weasel and crow,
Without pleasue, without pain,
On the dead oak tree bough.
And many other beasts
And birds, skin, bone, and feather,
Have been taken from their feasts
And hung up there together,
To swing and have endless leisure
In the sun and in the snow,
Without pain, without pleasure,
On the dead oak tree bough.
poem by Edward Thomas
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The Cat and The Apple Tree
A house in the garden
Un-robed compound
Dried leaves stretched out
Under an apple tree
Ripen apples fell down
And on the tree like bulbs
Being rotten lied on the floor
Making a quite picture
Leaves fall one by one
Letting to be naked
Surrounding nature gets ready
To warm up the winter
Through a side opened window
An old cat was sitting on the sill
Saying something to ins and outs
On one cannot understand
Postman comes and puts into the box
On one comes to open it
A rain with a rough wind last night
Ruined the apple tree
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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