The Broken Sky
In telephone
my daughter told
earlier rain with the storm
along with crystal ice
threw the pot to the high road
threw the sheet of the neighbour house roof
broke the branch tree
slaughtered branch fell on a pair of couple
to seven grade sky
that already broken
poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Broken Branch, A Fervent Tree
Such compassion and beauty be,
With the comfort strongly felt,
A friendship intensely made,
By the obstacles both sides have dealt.
I have no life without my other half,
No laughter unfeigned, no smile undelayed,
Immensely crafted into a bond,
So resilient and true, yet not dismayed.
I am a branch without a tree,
If I'm not with you, I fall, I am unbalanced,
You are my inner strength, my inner warmth,
A clandestine unglanced.
Such a friend you are,
A friend that one could never imagine,
A feeling of mirth and undeniable care,
As warm as a joyful grin.
I am a branch without a tree,
Incomplete without a tree,
I am the branch, you are the tree,
A broken branch, a fervent tree.
- a poem for Lorena -
- a poem for CHULCZ -
poem by Nashy Lamen
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Like a snapped branch
Like a snapped branch
I am bended before You my Lord
and at Thy feet I want to learn at Thy knees
and I am torn into pieces and weak
and I see the sparkle of your heavenly roof
and the beautiful nature that honour You.
Like a snapped dried out branch
I am broken before You my Lord
and Your decisions of my fate hits me down to earth
and it feels as if I sink away into the dark swamp
without being able to stop it
and I crave a sign, star or miracle to exorcise the evil
or I will always be like a snapped branch.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Creation of the Moon
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.
They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.
The head stopped at the foot of the tree
and asked them for some fruit.
So the men shook the tree.
The head went to get the fruit.
Then it asked for some more.
So the men shook the tree
so that the fruit fell into the water.
The head said it couldn't get the fruit from there.
So the men threw the fruit a long way
to make the head go a long way to get it so they could go.
While the head was getting the fruit
the men got down from the tree and went on.
The head came back and looked at the tree
and didn't see anybody
so went on rolling down the road.
The men had stopped to wait
to see whether the head would follow them.
They saw the head come rolling.
They ran.
They got to their hut they told the others that the head
was rolling after them and to shut the door.
All the huts were closed tight.
When it got there the head commanded them to open the doors.
The owners would not open them because they were afraid.
So the head started to think what it would turn into.
If it turned into water they would drink it.
If it turned into earth they would walk on it.
If it turned into a house they would live in it.
If it turned into a steer they would kill it and eat it.
If it turned into a cow they would milk it.
If it turned into a bean they would cook it.
If it turned into the sun
When men were cold it would heat them.
If it turned into rain the grass would grow and the
animals would crop it.
So it thought, and it said, "I will turn into the moon."
It called, "Open the doors, I want to get my things."
They would not open them.
The head cried. It called out, "At least give me
my two balls of twine."
They threw out the two balls of twine through a hole.
It took them and threw them into the sky.
It asked them to throw it a little stick too
to roll the thread around so it could climb up.
Then it said, "I can climb, I am going to the sky."
It started to climb.
The men opened the doors right away.
The head went on climbing.
The men shouted, "You going to the sky, head?"
It didn't answer.
As soon as it got to the Sun
it turned into the Moon.
Toward evening the Moon was white, it was beautiful.
And the men were surprised
to see that the head had turned into the Moon.
Social Chickens
i wonder why the
white and red chickens
escape from their
house
tonight they roost upon
the branch of an old
tree
so high that they can
see
above our fence
the road
the red and white chickens
too of my other
neighbor's yard
roosting on the other tree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Branches In Time
A young tender
branch
is easily bent
into submission.
As time goes
by
maturity begins
to set in
the branch
grows stronger.
With each passing
day
she becomes able to
carry the leaves
attached
Until one day
raising her arms
high into the sky
a mature branch
emerges
refusing to bend
anymore.
poem by Heather Burns
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Love Is At Threat
To be very close to your chest
Once I became a book
But after the test and examination
You kept me safe in the shelf
And never give me a second look.
To mix up and mingle with your breath
Once I became the smell of the tulip
After inhaling, you threw me out
And second time you never pick me up
To lift up your soul
And to heal your heart
Once I become the light
You needed me too much at night
But at day you threw me out.
To make you move and shake
Once I became the storm
But after the rain
You never remembered me again.
To give you flower and fruit
Once I became a tree
But cut me pieces
And took my all for free.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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At Dusk The Old Zinc Roof Creaks
At dusk the old zinc roof creaks
like Dad’s Chev with its fins
or the big old branch of the blue-gum tree
and when it gets dark mother calls me in,
Dad is reading the sentences of an essay
where he is marking composition books,
at times works late into the night
and there’s jasmine on the wind,
when the neighbour suddenly drives off
and he finds some time for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The executive branch has grown too strong, the judicial branch too arrogant and the legislative branch too stupid.
quote by Lyn Nofziger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rabbit that dances on the broken branch of a high tree must look down to see how many mouths are opened wide beneath.
Mothers' Forever Stay
When the storm raged
Fell the trees,
Lightening struck
And cloud burst,
Rain lashed on the roof
And tiny white balls
Gathered at our door;
I remember how I would run
With a pounding heart
And hide my face in your sari folds
Until the storm spent… left.
You took me to the courtyard
And pointed at the mango tree;
See, the trunk, didn’t yield to wilful storm.
It’s grounded with roots deep into the earth.
The top shook like you.
I nodded as if I understood.
All I cared for was her nearness
And familiar fragrance.
As I grew old, her morning chants woke
Me from deep slumber, and I lingered in bed
Listening to her footsteps… reassured.
Looking back, when life threw some difficult tests
I had learnt to anchor myself in my breath.
Now there are no sari folds
But what she told
Guides me through highs and lows.
Mother, your little girl is all grown up now,
Just because you showed her how.
Pray mother,
How did you always know
What to say?
Even today I can feel your presence
For mothers never leave,
They forever stay.
a tribute to my mother on her birthday, written on 1st August.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Language Of The Wind
i took a hammer
to the altar and destroyed
every image i'd made of god...
threw my holy books
out into the trash,
my beads, and my necklace.
stopped praying, stopped thinking,
got up off my knees...
walked out into the yard,
and built a fire!
i took off my clothes,
and crawled on all fours.
bayed at the moon,
growled at a rabbit,
and burst into tears
when i tried to howl.
took a lit branch from the fire,
and threw it at the house...
all i could feel was anger,
hunger, and the beat...
wild eyed, i collapsed,
and hugged the earth...
darkness, sweet darkness,
wrapped her arms around...
stars reappeared in the blackest sky...
i rose up and shook
your spirit from me!
softly began to pray
in the language of the wind.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Broken Rhythm
A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.
It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.
We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.
Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.
poem by Francis Santaquilani
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The Day The Rains Came (A Fantasy)
The crack of the thunder
broke the silence of the day,
and then the rains came
and washed everything away.
Somewhere some god was angry,
and his wrath he threw our way,
on the day the rain came,
washing everything away.
The lightning slashed
the sky with a pink haze,
and the heavens opened up,
the day the rain came.
No one knew
which god was angry.
Only that the flood to end all floods
came along with the rain.
There was no shelter
from the unquiet storm.
A god was angry with someone down here.
To punish them he punished us all.
poem by David Harris
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Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.
poem by Marchette Chute
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They Too Dangle
If you suck the sap from the tree,
To feed your own interests...
Without seeking ways to replenish,
OR preserve what's left...
You sap the life from the tree.
And guess what?
Have you ever observed yourself,
Dangling from a branch?
Connected to it as the leaf you are,
Leeching.
Well...
That branch from which you leech,
Is connected to that tree...
From which you attempt to leave sapless.
And surrounding your unconscious doing,
Are others who are not as thoughtless.
But like you...
They too dangle,
Precariously with similar sefishness.
Until they dropp from that same tree...
Lifeless.
But you,
And those like you...
Wish to speed up that process!
With your frenzied greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Thought Forgotten
rain swept branches strewn,
small testaments of living.
frail egos broken
in morning sunlit pieces.
of such is life...
hands made of flesh
building hearts.
storms come unannounced,
and forever shattered.
the rain soaks the embers,
a thin wisp of smoke.
stirred by the stick of time,
praying for flame.
are we then fire,
or just smoke?
smalls branches clinging
to the tree...
lightning in the distance,
or hearts made of thunder?
buds on the broken branch,
or the fleeting instant
of the storm's fury?
all of these, or something else,
or a thought forgotten
by a lonesome God?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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An Uneasy Sleep
The lightning flashed outside the window
the thunder clapped shaking everything
I had the eerie feeling of something watching me.
The lightning forced shadows to dance around the room,
as I got ready to pull the covers over my head,
my eyes searched for movement
of which I was unaware of
my heart pounded against my chest
as the storm raged without abate.
There was a tapping at the window;
I was not brave enough to look
to see if it was a branch or a face wanting me.
I slipped under the covers
going down as far as I could go,
something moved around the floor,
the creaks and thumps told me so.
I wanted to pull the covers back
and have a little peek,
but I thought better of it and tried to go to sleep.
I heard the door yawn and the hinges creak
the ghost of old McNair must be coming
for me when I fell asleep.
I heard more movements
and voices whispering low
and my heart-started pound more.
I laid silent and still hoping
that whatever it was
wouldn’t think I was in bed.
Something sat on the edge of the bed;
it was coming to get me for sure.
Then something poked around
to see if I was there.
I could feel it getting closer and closer,
I held my breath tying mot to scream,
and then it touched me and I let out a yell.
I threw back to the covers
and the room was bathed in soft warm candlelight.
The lightning outside still flashed,
a pair of smiling faces looked down at me.
I looked up at them want to know
just what was going on.
“I think the fever has broken now.
He should be a lot better in the, morning.
My advice is that you stay with him a while,
at least until he falls asleep.”
My mother nodded, and then smiled at me.
“Now you just lie down again
and try and get some sleep.
I’ll be sitting here in case you need me.”
I rested back against the pillow;
my fears were now at rest.
I closed my eyes
and sleep captured me immediately.
30 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Mystery Written
it is the mystery written
in the bed of pine needles,
in the broken branch,
in the bad place in the road.
in the hours between 3 and 4 in the morning,
when the spirit grieves itself with prayer.
in the cool of the darkness,
in the window cracked.
in the homeless dog's eyes,
as he stands in the road.
in the box unopened for twenty years,
in the eviction notice,
and the lights cut off.
in the kerosene heater,
and potatoes strewn in the cellar.
in the tear in the sheet,
in worn out shoes.
in love lost in waiting,
adrift, searching for a light.
in the answer that smells like dawn,
and the smell of strong coffee!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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