Alone On A Hill
alone on a hill
stands a cherry tree
without leaves
only twigs
stretching to the
the moon
on this cold
and damp
night
like some kind of
human hands
and thin body
in the act
of a very deep
prayer
(except for
me
it does not
know you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
305
alone on a hill
stands a cherry tree
without leaves
only twigs
stretching to the
the moon
on this cold
and damp
night
like some kind of
human hands
and thin body
in the act
of a very deep
prayer
(except for
me
it does not
know you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chiaroscuro
Bright leaves, tongues of flame
holding slender twigs; those thin pillars
resisting seductive breath of breeze,
binding the tender leaves to more substantial limbs
within the deep core of the whispering tree.
Even the setting sun
cannot penetrate so deeply as this,
where darker leaves
stand in rapt attention
as the night-clad trunk,
solid and unmoving,
dumbly regards neither
retiring sun nor rising silver moon,
but worships only
the empty
blue ether.
poem by Steven Federle
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For I Too Must Leave Just Like Those Birds
the tree in the garden
has died
what we see now are
nothing but twigs without leaves
below are the heaps
of dead leaves
rotting
we have become like them
hopeless for sometime
dry and cracking
light as the wind
drifting like
the cloud
empty, hollowed by the
mourning of our arid
days
dragging nights
lifeless on a very cold wood
for a bed
one morning some yellow sparrows
with thin long black beaks
hover upon those twigs
and the dead tree even for
the moment has assumed
life
upon a borrowed hope only
for that brief moment
until then when all the sparrows
fly away again
taking with them all the songs
that you hear
you learn the tune from those
thin black and long beaks
and you must compose a song
for yourself
borrowing hope from hope
putting those leaves back
on your
imaginary trees
you must tell me
about the will to live
for i too must leave
and be a part of somewhere else
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Trimming The Trees, Pruning The Twigs....
on the tree of life
there will be more leaves
and twigs and flowers
on spring
and more luscious fruits
for eating
there is somehow a
need for trimming
what excesses are there
twigs that go awry
leaves that lush for too much
shade
and so we do just that
cut some twigs
take a look and cut some
more
remove some leaves
for sacrifices
for us to some more
and some time
see heaven for once.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cherry- Tree Inn
The rafters are open to sun, moon, and star,
Thistles and nettles grow high in the bar --
The chimneys are crumbling, the log fires are dead,
And green mosses spring from the hearthstone instead.
The voices are silent, the bustle and din,
For the railroad hath ruined the Cherry-tree Inn.
Save the glimmer of stars, or the moon's pallid streams,
And the sounds of the 'possums that camp on the beams,
The bar-room is dark and the stable is still,
For the coach comes no more over Cherry-tree Hill.
No riders push on through the darkness to win
The rest and the comfort of Cherry-tree Inn.
I drift from my theme, for my memory strays
To the carrying, digging, and bushranging days --
Far back to the seasons that I love the best,
When a stream of wild diggers rushed into the west,
But the `rushes' grew feeble, and sluggish, and thin,
Till scarcely a swagman passed Cherry-tree Inn.
Do you think, my old mate (if it's thinking you be),
Of the days when you tramped to the goldfields with me?
Do you think of the day of our thirty-mile tramp,
When never a fire could we light on the camp,
And, weary and footsore and drenched to the skin,
We tramped through the darkness to Cherry-tree Inn?
Then I had a sweetheart and you had a wife,
And Johnny was more to his mother than life;
But we solemnly swore, ere that evening was done,
That we'd never return till our fortunes were won.
Next morning to harvests of folly and sin
We tramped o'er the ranges from Cherry-tree Inn.
. . . . .
The years have gone over with many a change,
And there comes an old swagman from over the range,
And faint 'neath the weight of his rain-sodden load,
He suddenly thinks of the inn by the road.
He tramps through the darkness the shelter to win,
And reaches the ruins of Cherry-tree Inn.
poem by Henry Lawson
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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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The Doves And The Tree
what i first see are the doves hovering on the tree
they are many and the tree looks as though its leaves are plenty
for one thing
the doves when they hover
they hover together
as a flock
and when they leave
they also leave together
as a flock
and the tree can do nothing about it
and thus it happens
the doves all left at the same time leaving the tree to the truth
of its existence
it has no leaves at all this summer
when hot is really hot in here
when all the doves fly away together
the tree
looks like the thin, worn fingers of a very old man
opening, stretching to the skies
praying for mercies
and what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Rattlesnake Trail
Got a hair shirt round my shoulder. got a cold stew in my spoon.
And Im falling on my head, lifting feet of lead ---
Now its got me baying at the moon.
Well, theres a race on for tomorrow. Im stretching out
For what might have been.
Going to come out from the night, got my second sight ---
Play rough --- you know what I mean.
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.
Got the law laid down to the left of me. got the real world to the right.
Heading up through the middle with my cat and my fiddle ---
Yeah, looking for a fight.
Going to ride hard in bandit country --- on the blind side of the bend.
Keep my nose to the wind while the rabbits skinned ---
Bed down at the journeys end. (be a rattlesnake.)
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.
The rattlesnake trail.
Im going on the rattlesnake trail.
Going to be with wolves in winter --- run in angry packs by day.
But when you give a dog a bone, he has to be alone ---
Growl, keep the other dogs away.
See that thin moon on the mountain. see that cold star in the sky.
Going to bring them down --- shake them to the ground ---
Put that apple in the pie. (be a rattlesnake.)
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At End Of A Holiday
'LEAVES and brambles from hill and hollow
Come and gather!' the children cried;
'The sun goes down, and the night will follow,
A moonless night on the dark hillside.'
All ways they wandered — the dry twigs snapping,
With laugh and prattle and song between;
Down on the rocks the waves were lapping,
The long swell swaying the seaweed green.
And she stood by in her white sun-bonnet,
All lace and snow on her tressy hair,
With a gold king-beetle dreaming on it
A lotus dream in the lustrous air.
Was it love, or a dove in the tall tree cooing?
Was it love, or a dove that loitered nigh?
The eventide is the hour for wooing —
But I was silent, and she was shy.
Then suddenly rose a far faint humming,
A growing noise in the evening hush,
And the prattle of children homeward coming,
Laden with spoil of the gold-brown bush.
'Leaves and brambles from hill and hollow!
The way was tangled, and tangles tire.
The sun goes down and the night will follow, —
Now down on your knees and make us a fire!'
The leaves were wet (how a storm may hinder!)
The brambles damp with a shower at noon;
She bent to help . . .and my heart of tinder,
Ah, why did it burst to flame so soon?
'Dry leaves, dry leaves from the twilight forest,
Or bark that is sheltered, or hidden ferns:
Dry leaves, dry leaves!' the children chorused,
'The drier the leaf the redder it burns!'
The fire leapt up with a sudden glancing,
The first flame flushing her hands of snow;
And round about went the children dancing,
Their faces lit by the rosy glow.
That fire has gone beyond all returning,
For wild winds scatter and chill rains drench:
All dust the leaves; but a fire is burning
That wind or water shall never quench.
Ah, leaves and brambles from hill and hollow!
And two together, and violet eyes . . .
The sun goes down, and love must follow,
A quenchless fire, and a flame that dies.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Dads Cherry Tree
There was a large cherry tree in my yard
This tree t’was my dad ‘s favorite
And as the cherry tree grew up to thy sky
He did have a decision
whether or not to chop the tree down
Or risk it falling and killing him
For you see this old cherry tree did
Stand right over his bed
So if the wind kick up or lightning did strike
Would be his end for
The tree would fall and he would go
So unfortunately with the tree
So he would make great decision
And hopefully make it right
It took him many years and many a time
He thought’s the did spite
Him for the year’s went by and the cherry tree
Got more demised, nearer to the bed
As he would lay and begin to wonder
Will this take off my head
So as the year the did expire
Then He finally said
I will take the old tree down
Above my own bed
And the so alas the cherry fell
The tree would breathe its last
And be cut down to stump and be
Safe for dad once again
The tree was made low and the branches did go
Right into the meat smoker
But out of the ash cloud grew another
through the thorns and choker
the tree did live on in another a tree that grew
and so the tree was reborn
from a cherry, the trees great fruit
and so this little sapling grew and it grew
and it grew 1,2,3 foot by the crowing of the year
and so it grew and it got taller
as a little sapling then might or would do
and the tree got no smaller
as it grew to be as tall as dad and it was
staring him in the eye
he said we got to dig this up
look at the size
for you see the little sapling was right in my garden
and blocking the sunshine
so we dug and dug and dug
it took a lot of time
but finally we got up pulled it out of the ground
and moved to better spot
were it would live in peace and harmony
the place we set was not to hot
But it was not to cold either, it was
It was a nice spot with all
of the tree for the young cherry’s company
the tree grew very tall
And with it happy position that there was
it was a great sight
To see this cherry tree again live
And never have to fight
Now when my dad he did see this
he was so overjoyed
He had his cherry tree’s son and offspring
And never again did he toy
With planting or cutting down old cherry trees
He loved his tree so dear
That he would be indeed collecting all the cherries
And never wrong was he steered
poem by Timothy Young
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Out In The Cold
The day fell down, the air got cold
I walked out in the street
Daydreamed for a mil e or two
Staring at my feet
Like a workin boy, out of luck
Fallin through the cracks
Night rolled in, I turned back home
A hard wind at my back
Im out in the cold (out in the cold)
Body and soul (out in the cold)
Th eres nowhere to go (out in the cold)
Im out in the cold (out in the cold)
Well I woke up
My brain was stunned
I could come around
I reached out to grab my keys
Tumbled to the ground
I thought of you
Starry eyed
I wondered where we stand
Did I just fall from your arms
Down into your hands
Im out in the cold (out in the cold)
Body and soul (out in the cold)
Theres nowhere to go (out in the cold)
Im out in the cold (out in the cold)
Im out
Standin in a doorway
Im out
Walkin around
Hands in my pockets
Im out in the cold (out in the cold)
Body and soul (out in the cold)
Theres nowhere to go (out in the cold)
Im out in the cold (o ut in the cold)
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Anger Of Old Men...
who am i then?
is there nothing left?
the splintered leg
of the coffee table,
the doorknob broken,
the place on the edge of the yard
where the dog likes to piss?
do old men's bodies
crumble into the shadows
of all the things they've died for?
how many plates filled?
how many cups poured?
how many fires tended
against the night?
how many hands held?
how many dreams buried
beneath the tree that stands?
how many conversations
with pictures on the walls?
lonliness breathes,
with a stink familiar...
the tv drones like gnats
flung against the bulb...
the world's gone mad,
and everything i thought i knew,
is buried on the hill!
even the name on my shirt has faded,
coffee cups stacked in the sink.
the hands fumbling with buttons,
are both cold, and alone...
and the body on the bed,
is no body at all.
the vine grown into the gutters,
rain water falling on pavement cracked!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Swan, Lake, Leaf, Moon....
Your hands are leaves
Leaves that float on the water
The water is the body
I am the body
Where your dead leaves
Float
I cannot in this
Be the sun
And you cannot be the green
Comforting Grass
of the Hills
Those lonely hills that stay awake
at Night
The moon shines on the lake
Waiting for the Swan
She is the Swan
and He is the Moon
You are a dead Leaf
and I am the Body of Water
We are somehow
Nothing but
Spectators to the Swan
Moon Affair
But sad is this game of Irony
Again some love
more Love have remained
Unrequited....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Cherry, Cherry Coupe
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
The wildest short around is my cherry, cherry coupe
Its the sharpest thing in town and the envy of my group
Its one of its kind and it really looks good
Chopped nose and deck with louvers on the hood
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Chrome reversed rims with whitewall slicks
And it turns a quarter mile in one oh six
Door handles are off but you know Ill never miss em
They open when I want with the cellunoid system
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
My coupes tuck and roll underneath the hood
And the rugs, seats, and panels now are looking good
When I go looking for something to do
Shes got enough room now to barely seat two
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Married to a Tree
I am married to a tree
Whose love is just as coarse
As thou, the bark
That stands still
While my bleeding heart
Doth dry up on your floors
I am married to a tree
Who sways to and fro carelessly
Who is helpless at the woes
Of the wind that causes much a storm
And leaves its menacing trail
For I am married to a tree
With grooves and dents
That frown with age
As I run my fingers down the seams
And am turned off by your despair
I am married to a tree
Whose love is just as damp
Like the leaves that blossom in spring
And die in the autumn, so sad
For I hope that winter will be forgiving
I am married to a tree
But the reason that I wait
Is for the birds that sing and chirp
And compliment the rays
For it is worth my time
I am married to a tree
As condemning as I may be
And selfish that I may seem
For I should commend thee
As you are as nurturing as she.
poem by Antoine La Najja
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Sugarfoot
Sugarfoots got two hands
Just as long as he can see
One hand in the birdfeed
And a hand in the apple tree
He stands in line, just a little behind
A yellow moon that hangs
Hes all tangled and he broke his sticks on the links
Of his own chain gang
You oughta see this home that he own
Its like a box of jewelry
Hes got his own church bell
And his bed it lays in a gallery
And all the colors they shine like flames
Coming in through the window pane
They end up getting checked over twice
For the reds of someones veins
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
He stands alone on the top of his home
Where all the blue birds flown
Sucks in on his cheeks and he cries
As he moans through a saxophone
He reaches high with his hands in the sky
And puts his fingers right into the storm
Always one to stand under the moon
And blow on his own horn
And anyone with anything has already begun to think
That somebody down there knows
Just how he sat down on his knees in the dirt
And buried someones rainbow
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Well, I know you aint my enemy
The only ones inside of me
Hes killing me getting free
I hear he wants my head with an old ice pick
And fix me up on a stick
And all Ive ever got to be
Is everything I wanna be
And sugarfoot disagrees
He still stands tall underneath that apple tree
Man, hes still watching me
His chain gang is tryin to pull me down
Like the birds and the fireflies
They shoot arrows up into the skies
And they burn all the feathers dry
Well, he only wants to fill his belly up
With rocks till it hurts, then he stops
Well, he dont know what to do with love
If it dont fill his belly to the top
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sugarfoot
Sugarfoots got two hands
Just as long as he can see
One hand in the birdfeed
And a hand in the apple tree
He stands in line, just a little behind
A yellow moon that hangs
Hes all tangled and he broke his sticks on the links
Of his own chain gang
You oughta see this home that he own
Its like a box of jewelry
Hes got his own church bell
And his bed it lays in a gallery
And all the colors they shine like flames
Coming in through the window pane
They end up getting checked over twice
For the reds of someones veins
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
He stands alone on the top of his home
Where all the blue birds flown
Sucks in on his cheeks and he cries
As he moans through a saxophone
He reaches high with his hands in the sky
And puts his fingers right into the storm
Always one to stand under the moon
And blow on his own horn
And anyone with anything has already begun to think
That somebody down there knows
Just how he sat down on his knees in the dirt
And buried someones rainbow
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Well, I know you aint my enemy
The only ones inside of me
Hes killing me getting free
I hear he wants my head with an old ice pick
And fix me up on a stick
And all Ive ever got to be
Is everything I wanna be
And sugarfoot disagrees
He still stands tall underneath that apple tree
Man, hes still watching me
His chain gang is tryin to pull me down
Like the birds and the fireflies
They shoot arrows up into the skies
And they burn all the feathers dry
Well, he only wants to fill his belly up
With rocks till it hurts, then he stops
Well, he dont know what to do with love
If it dont fill his belly to the top
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
Its so cold and blown all apart
Its so cold and needing of a heart
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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