Bobbing
when the crow
lands on the twig
the weight
pushes the twig
down almost
reaching the ground
the bobbing
somewhat intrigues
the senses of the
caterpillar on the leaf
the tree frowns
upon a black alien
some leaves fall
and the grass as usual
keeps its silence
as the air passes by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Prey
early this morning
when i go out of my room
into a garden of trees
and stones
there with all fidelity
the spider is
spinning its web again
in the most usual
and visible manner
connecting a transparent
line from a twig
to another twig of the same
tree
soon another fly
or mosquito shall be caught
as its
unwary prey
the victim never learns
a thing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After The Great Flood
after the great flood
it was the black crow which was first
allowed to fly,
Moses had confidence on its
aggression,
it did not come back you know that well,
it puked on dead flesh and
flew away
deciding on its own now
charting its own
destiny,
then it was the pigeon's turn to serve
coy and shy and yet obedient
it came back with a twig and a leaf
whether this is all symbolism or not
an interplay and contrast between black and white
crow and pigeon, good or evil
disobedience or impunity, i don't
go into a hairsplitting
or argument with you
but i have to admit, i like to be that black crow.
i never want to be the pigeon that you believe i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Caterpillar
Dangling down its silken thread,
A caterpillar came;
From atop a branch of tree,
After her feeding game.
Little did it think that there,
A leafy twig green stood,
While it began to descend down,
Dancing across the air.
It jumped in fright upwards from where
It attempted to fall;
The leafy branch too followed it,
And formed a bottom wall.
The Caterpillar sensed the leaves,
And found them succulent;
Alighting gently upon it,
It romped home happily!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-5-2008
poem by John Celes
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It Is About The Entire Performance
It is highly unlikely...
But,
Nothing is impossible...
That a leaf,
Connected to a twig or a branch...
Of a rooted tree,
Would not have a clue...
How it is associated with the process,
Of life.
Or...
That it accepts it has nothing to do with it at all.
However...
Attempts to deceive the other leaves,
They too are equally independent.
And can do what they wish...
With this being totally ignored,
By the Earth from which it feeds!
It is unlikely that a leaf would be that selfish.
But...
I BET it gets the point,
When that tree begins to give it signals...
Its leeching days,
Are not permanently attached.
And that leaf has to go!
And the Earth,
In agreement AND with approval given...
Knows WHO runs the show!
It is not about the part the leaf plays in the act.
It is about the entire performance that is important.
AND...
Has only ONE director.
'Some' leaves get this!
However,
Many do not.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Room
Through that window—all else being extinct
Except itself and me—I saw the struggle
Of darkness against darkness. Within the room
It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw
How order might—if chaos wished—become:
And saw the darkness crush upon itself,
Contracting powerfully; it was as if
It killed itself, slowly: and with much pain.
Pain. The scene was pain, and nothing but pain.
What else, when chaos draws all forces inward
To shape a single leaf? . . .
For the leaf came
Alone and shining in the empty room;
After a while the twig shot downward from it;
And from the twig a bough; and then the trunk,
Massive and coarse; and last the one black root.
The black root cracked the walls. Boughs burst
the window:
The great tree took possession.
Tree of trees!
Remember (when time comes) how chaos died
To shape the shining leaf. Then turn, have courage,
Wrap arms and roots together, be convulsed
With grief, and bring back chaos out of shape.
I will be watching then as I watch now.
I will praise darkness now, but then the leaf.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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When love is dead
You cut a twig
The leaves wilt
And then you say
Love is dead
I plant the twig
And bury the leaves
I dream of flowers
I wait for days
A bud springs
Then love is alive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tree, the Vine and the Grass
The tree said to the grass, Is it your contentment
To be just at my foot, remain under my shade
Why don't you do as I, my aims are very high
I want to reach the moon and the stars in the sky
With far reaching vision, I stand in dignity
Stand out for the rest of the forest to see
Oh yes, oh yes, my friend, said the vine to the grass
Why do you not aim high, just like the two of us
My stance is upright, reaching high altitudes
I can stand side by side with any tree I choose
Unlike you who remain earthbound without a choice
To you my friend, a tree, I do not want to be
equal to you in height, low I would rather be
For the law of nature, I clearly remember
You stand the higher, you will fall the harder
I do not aim for things I know I would not reach
Earthbound I chose to be, than fail in my attempts
To you my friend, a vine, here's what I have to say
Stand I won't if on borrowed stability
On the arms of a friend you just cling and depend
You cannot stand alone, own strength you do not have
When I pause to reckon and try to look around
In the world of humans, the likes of you abound
They cling to anyone who has money and might
As you cling to the tiniest twig or biggest branch
Wanting not to be low, not to be trampled at
Then a hurricane came with its wind blowing wild
It uprooted the vine, the tree fell to the ground
And there they lay in waste, under the sun they died
The grass is still there, flourishing and alive
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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First I shake the whole Apple tree, that the ripest might fall. Then I climb the tree and shake each limb, and then each branch and then each twig, and then I look under each leaf.
quote by Martin Luther
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painters
In the cave with a long-ago flare
a woman stands, her arms up. Red twig, black twig, brown twig.
A wall of leaping darkness over her.
The men are out hunting in the early light
But here in this flicker, one or two men, painting
and a woman among them.
Great living animals grow on the stone walls,
their pelts, their eyes, their sex, their hearts,
and the cave-painters touch them with life, red, brown, black,
a woman among them, painting.
poem by Muriel Rukeyser
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Blue Butterfly
blue butterfly
so blue fluttering alone
hovering on my yellow green leaf
and stopping for a while
on my shiny, brown twig
tell me if i am smooth
just tell me if
if am good
then leave
blue butterfly
do not ask if my heart is real
do not ask if you can have it
i do not have a heart anymore
for you see i am just this
tree, this twig, this leaf
but blue butterfly
if ever i have a heart
please
do not ask about it
i give it to no one
i am smooth
i am too good
to be owned by
someone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Rain
The rain of a night and a day and a night
Stops at the light
Of this pale choked day. The peering sun
Sees what has been done.
The road under the trees has a border new
of purple hue
Inside the border of bright thin grass:
For all that has
Been left by November of leaves is torn
From hazel and thorn
And the greater trees. Throughout the copse
No dead leaf drops
On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,
At the wind's return:
The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed
Are thinly spread
In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,
As if they played.
What hangs from the myriad branches down there
So hard and bare
Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see
On one crab-tree.
And on each twig of every tree in the dell
Uncountable
Crystals both dark and bright of the the rain
That begins again.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Robbin Tree
The Robin begins to build her nest
in the gnarled tree;
the twigs are twisted;
the branches lack leaves;
and the nest is exposed
offering no shelter.
She puts another twig
into the tree fork;
but it falls to the ground.
She looks away west
and leaves.
Her wings
flapping
out a message:
Nature is abandoning us.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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 Road On The Other Side
first there is the glass jalousie window
misty, that is what they are,
no one opens it
but soon i will to see the bushes
and then beyond this is the road
a cemented road constructed by
a Korean Company
the name is Hanjen,
and then i hear two things
the thumps of a buffalo's feet
there are four
because it is tied to a big tree
and then the sounds of leaves falling
and this is a feat
of awareness
hearing the sound of the wind
interacting with the veins of the leaves
the stalks vibrating a sound
to the leaves
on the ground
the songs of the ants
love calls
of the robin on the twig of the gemelina tree
its roots slowly crawling
against the light
seeking refuge in the hollowness of the soil
hearing still the silence of the worms
asleep and full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Leaf, A Twig, A Little Bird
Adam, am i,
i got this only fig
leaf to
cover my
insufficiency,
this deficiency
of the
centerfold
in me.
Adam am i,
i have this little twig,
attached to
my upper leg,
and Adam am i,
i have this little bird,
so coy like a turtle dove,
yet so fierce
and shrewd
like a fox, like a snake,
one eyed
it sees the main entrance
in that dark hole
where happiness
and pleasure
of my being
Adam of the flesh
am i
surely lies.
i throw away the fig leaf,
hold unto this twig,
and then like happiness
i fly to you like
my little shrewd bird.
catch me, if you can,
barehanded, if you will.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Burdened, when unloaded
When a bird shoots through leaves
And a fruit falls from the twig
A tree might feel relieved.
When a friend of yours turns off
And a child of yours drifts away
You might feel burdened.
A thing worth more than its weight
Gives you burden when unloaded.
08.07.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Song
Dry leaf trembling on the branches
Before the blast,
Poor heart quaking in the bosom
For woe thou hast;
Ah what matter if the wind then,
Withered leaf from blooming linden
Should scatter wide?
Would for this the twig or branches
Have wailing sighed?
And should the lad his fate upbraid,
Although he ignominious fade--
And in an alien country die?
Will for him the beauteous maid
Complaining cry?
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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The Hunter
In the flashes and black shadows
of July
the days, locked in each other's arms,
seem still
so that squirrels and colored birds
go about at ease over
the branches and through the air.
Where will a shoulder split or
a forehead open and victory be?
Nowhere.
Both sides grow older.
And you may be sure
not one leaf will lift itself
from the ground
and become fast to a twig again.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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