His Favorite Picture
i've seen his favorite pic
it looks like a creek
where the ducks go for
a swim
beside it is the green grass
untread upon by the
feet of men
growing tall is the tree
giving shade
to a lost soul
the sun above it
creates the islets of light
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eternity
I am a tree amongst many- I once believed in giving, not taking,
Only dreaming of being a lithe spirit, capable of being reborn in
Any place and time, a soul loved by all, never to be forgotten,
Never would hurt, tell untruths, or to betray…
As would a gull soaring above the ocean nearly touching the sun,
To welcome the dawning of a new day, or the first blossoming tree in the spring,
Amongst a garden of roses and to behold a herd of deer
Dashing through the woodlands at the dusk of the evening?
I am amongst many dreamers born, not only in blatant reality,
None but a worshiper of nature- The sun has risen and set for an eternity-
I remain alone a spirit giving nothing but love and rebirth in any place
Close to all that is natural and created alone by God-
All that is truthful and all that brings joy, bounty and harmony to the woodlands
That defines purity and eternal life and rebirth of
All that evolves from the heart of the living-
I am a soul of God given grace untouched and unspoiled-
I call myself a shade-giving flower bearing tree-
I am proud to have brought adoration and honesty to our planet-
God granted miracles have preserved this world for eons,
Even in the darkness of night- the moon is full,
Shining its light through the purple-hued sky…
I am a tree amongst many, with so much goodness at heart,
Giving so many splendors to fantasize and so much bliss in reality-
I have made this world a kingdom of nature so much to dream of, and
So much more- never to be lost or forgotten-
I would grow until I touched the sky if I could-
Some say this world shall come to an end but I shall
Stand proud, tall and joyfully spreading life, grace and well-being
Throughout this magnificent universe-
I am a tree with a soul, bearing flowers in the springtime and
Giving fruit in the summer, feeding the hungry and giving shade to the homeless-
In my heart, this world shall rule the universe for an eternity-
I am a tree that shall never stop growing and
As long as trees are growing, deer are running freely and the
Sun rises daily over the mountains near the horizon-
This world shall never perish…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The three is growing now
From another land
From another aid of a hand
Where dry seasons is like fall
Where the bushes are green and tall
The tree is growing now
Into the sea and out of the sunset
Where great tides are known to set
Where the wind blow as hard and cold
I see no rain, or loam of soil to call gold
But the tree is growing now
Fro and to the blue of the cloud
Where the storm is as loud
The heart weeps and sleeps as fair
The children are as timid as au pair
But the tree is growing now
Into the cemetery and out of the ground
Where the death is as lavish as soothing sound
The lost is moaned, and the living is brave
The woman is running to ease her grave
But the tree is growing now
From the birth of a child
Where he play his part as mild
The world was sweet as a lime
And the years, days, with all the time
But the tree is still growing now
poem by william Dadeah Jr.
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Is How All Sunny Days Should Be
Green grass grows fast, green grass
I want you to grow so fast
So I can leap up, from the ground
And pretend to fly, soar so high
And then gravity, cruel, vile, unkind
Will drag me down, and shut my laugh
And then, green grass, (grow fast)
I’ll be sad of falling down
But then, my friend you’ll muffle my fall
And ill lie there
……..Calm………..
And hide, in the very green, tall,
Great, bed like grass
And then I’ll stare at the sky
(Light blue, immense sky)
And get lost in the clouds
(White, light absorbing clouds)
And then I’ll only hear the birds
And the wind brushing the branches
And the flowers will be dancing
To the rhythm of the air
And then I’ll think
“This is how all sunny days should be”
Green Green Grass Of Home
The old hometown looks the same
As I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my mama and papa
And down the road I look and there runs Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they've all come to meet me
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane I'd walk with my sweet Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yesm they've all come
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me
At the gray walls that surround me
And I realized that I was only dreaming
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes they'll all come to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the
Green, green grass of home...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jack-in-the-green
Have you seen jack-in-the-green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree ---
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
The dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
Signals the snowdrops its time to grow.
Its no fun being jack-in-the-green ---
No place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
Carries the green flag all the winter long.
Jack, do you never sleep ---
Does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
Motorways, powerlines,
Keep us apart?
Well, I dont think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.
The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
Are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers jack-in-the-green.
Oh jack, please help me through my winters night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
And there to meet me is my mama and papa.
Down the road I look and there runs mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing tho the paint is cracked and dry,
And theres that old oak tree I used to play on.
Down the lane I walk with my sweet mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
[spoken:]
Then I awake and look around me, at four grey wall surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming.
For theres a guard and theres a sad old padre -
Arm in arm well walk at daybreak.
Again I touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the green, green grass of home
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trees Don`t Die
A seed sprouts and a life is born.
You are a tree, my friend
Stretching your hands to the sky.
A tree has a mind
It has thoughts and pains
Like you and me, friends.
A green friend holding me in the shade
You are my granny..
Sometimes you are my great granny...
Many birds live in you and fly around
Coluds float above you.
You are a tall wonder.
A tree has an enemy
A man coming with an axe.
Who will take away your trunk.
Don`t weep dear friend
Many like me will plant seeds deep
And you will be reborn.
A tree cannot die and just die alone
As our minds are green for it
A tree is our hope....
poem by Keerthana Dinesh 1998
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Local Park
When you want a good walk
Through day or the dark,
The place to go is our local park,
The park is a pride
The finest ever seen,
Tree's and grass always ever green..
There's swings for the kids
For all girls and boys,
Sea saw and paddling pool
To fill in their joys.
There's a path walk way all the way round
If you want a good walk
And summer seats to sit if you want a good talk,
The park has a lake and plenty good sport,
Bowling on the green and tennis on the court.
There's plenty of fun
Plenty to do,
Even at the park
Good swimming pool there to,
The pool has a cafe
If you want to call in
A wee cup of tea or have a good swim.
There's cricket and football
A horse riding track,
And even a good golf course
It's way round the back.
So here is our park
That's full of good pride,
Were ducks swim the water
And kids play the slide
poem by Gerald Follis Lurgan
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Under Moonshine
The dawn crept into by room
And stole my dream
Now Ill never know
Just what it means
Or what could have been
Yet still I try to lie
But Im seen
Under moonshine thats where Ive been
Under moonshine Im clearly seen
Under moonshine thats where Ive been
Under moonshine Im clearly seen
Creator of dreams that melt with the sun
Ill send you the things this man has done
He was a saint and a sinner rolled in one
But I miss now that hes gone
I sure miss him now that hes gone
Sure I feel the pain
Deep inside I pour like rain
Remember when you smile
Loves in your eyes
The world keeps turning
The grass still grows green
The fruit on my tree
Is the biggest youve ever seen
Which way up you know when youre down
Theyve gotta stand tall
With your feet on the ground
You must stand tall
With your feet on the ground
Or maybe Im crazy
Also they say Im lazy
But Ill have my days
When I do as I please
For you wont see the woods
While youre a tree
No youll never see the woods
While youre a tree
Yes Im crazy
Also they say Im lazy
But Ill have my days
When I do as I please
You wont see the woods
While youre a tree
No youll never see the woods
While youre a tree
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Finished
A perfect night
the stars are sparkling bright
staring into the sky,
the little house in the creek
sits nestled under the tall mossy tree
the house aged by nature...beautiful
as the rain starts to pour
the tall mossy tree protects the house and its front door
the mossy tree bears the weight of the sky
as the house is kept dry
more clouds swarm in recklessly
lightning cracks as it sets fire to the tall mossy tree
the tree stands strong....
but i doesn't know if it can last long
as the rain runs down the tree's trunk and roots
like tears
poem by Wandering Scarlet
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Tall Trees
Watch out big ships are waiting
Salt frozen on your cheek
I saw a girl and boy arriving
And a steamer put out to sea
Tall tree
Stand in the distance
Remember
When you were green
Dont wipe
The salt from your skin
You must keep running the distance
Sun sleeps on misty morning
Light years from channel three
I feel halfway to zero
Call me a hero I might just agree
Tall tree
Stand in the distance
Remember
When you were green
Dont wipe
The salt from your skin
You must keep running the distance
And the roses you grow
Have a powerful scent
Theyll be breaking your heart
By the morning
I feel halway to zero
Call me a hero I might just agree
Tall tree
Stand in the distance
Remember
When you were green
Dont wipe
The salt from your skin
Tall tree
Tall tree
Dont wipe
The salt from your skin
You must keep running the distance
Tall tree
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Place Of Romantic Mood!
Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?
poem by Ramesh T A
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Jungle retreat A humble tribute to William Wordsworth! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Earth has nothing more fair to show
Than the trees growing row upon row;
Tall, green and majestic; silence speaks.
My weary eyes just rest on those peaks.
The beauty of the gurgling river,
Water so cold, sends a shiver.
Sparkles like a diamond in morn.
And the day slips into a shimmering gown.
The ducks leisurely swim in wetlands.
Some flutter their wings on white sand.
Others playfully tease their mates in tall grass.
I smile as I watch a few furiously paddle fast.
Hiking through the forests of Sal, now steep,
Now low; I feel the quiet oh, so deep, so deep.
Dear God, I feel so blessed for this trip.
For now I know, oft from city need to slip.
In house naturalist offers me at hour of twilight;
Show you flora and fauna at dawn with delight.
But I decline the offer saying maybe next time.
For now suffice just to hear cow bells chime.
Varied hues of Gerberas, though sans fragrance,
Make up for lack of it by their sheer elegance.
How theystand tall and proud on thin green stalks.
And beckon from far with a broad smile as I walk.
Colours of nature- flowers, birds and hills,
Make my forever whirring mind kind of still.
Lying in a hammock, unread book on my eyes
In such august company ah, how time just flies.
INSPIRED BY 'UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE' BY WORDSWORTH.
Mamta Agarwal
24.12.09
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Trees in the Garden
Ah in the thunder air
how still the trees are!
And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf silent
hardly looses even a last breath of perfume.
And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of foam!
And the larch that is only a column, it goes up too tall to see:
and the balsam-pines that are blue with the grey-blue blueness of
things from the sea,
and the young copper beech, its leaves red-rosy at the ends
how still they are together, they stand so still
in the thunder air, all strangers to one another
as the green grass glows upwards, strangers in the silent garden.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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The Cherry Tree
The Cherry Tree
There was a Cherry Tree,
In our house at Number Three;
‘T was a variety from Singapore,
Presented by a friend, now no more.
On the western side of our house,
To be away from the straying cows;
It was planted—a sapling, rare,
And nurtured with ample care.
Soon with shoots it grew tall,
And was high above the compound wall;
Pride in us did surely swell,
To behold the tree growing so well,
Its branches now did spread and sprawl,
And to the next house too it did crawl;
Its shade permeated through to the hall,
And ushered in cool breeze to us all.
The white blossoms of the cherry,
Drew swarms of bees—so merry,
Raw green cherries then popped,
Which turned bright red and dropped.
The green tree with cherries so red,
Was like an ornament with rubies studded;
It was sure a splendid sight,
Even in the glow of the moon-lit night.
The cherry fruits tasted very sweet,
Though for some it wasn't a treat;
To crush a fruit ‘twixt your teeth'
A current of joy ran underneath.!
Many were the children of the street,
Who vied for the cherries so sweet;
They'd climb the tree, up to pick,
And fill their pockets till there were sick.
The crows would claim the tree their own,
And feed the nestlings with cherries grown,
Dawn would hail the cuckoo's spree,
With its sonorous call from atop the tree.
Under the shade of the cherry tree,
On the landing of stairs, with glee,
I've oft with it mute communion held,
And there, have many a poem, spelled.
This Cherry Tree, so much prized,
After eight years was much disguised;
Alas! It lost its branches and was browned,
With out-stretched limbs, to be razed to ground! .
The Cherry Tree is now no more,
As I pen this, I miss it as ne'er before;
But to eye its photograph, my heart does leap,
And a warmth in me does truly seep!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Living Isnt Really Giving
Author unknown (sung by dewey bunnell)
Found on heard.
Oh, I wish that I could find the reason why
Living isnt really giving
Oh, I wish that I could find the reason why
Living isnt really giving
But I dont care how long it takes
For the days to get nice
cause me and my friends, you know were ready
And willing to pay the price
Oh, la la la ....
Way deep down inside
I know Im on a free ride
But when the green light turns to red
Who is living, who is dead
Theyve taken out the river
And theyve put in a cement road
Its made the going a whole lot lighter
But made a much heavier load
I dont know how long I can go on like this
Dont know how long I can go on like this
Dont know how long I can go on like this
I see the light switch on the wall
With no legs Im still tall
We might not make it at all
I can see the river and the little place where I would swim
Where did it all begin
I wish I knew
Oh, I wish that I could find the reason why
Living isnt really giving
Isnt really giving
Isnt really giving
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Otter Creek
Past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks flows otter creek.
King fisher in branches, perched, poised.
Skydiver, bullet from above, silent splash, into otter creek.
Muscles plucked from their beds, shells discarded, gathered for fun, pass up not one.
Trout fry swim swiftly, cray fish beneath rocks avoid seeking hands, pincers poised, threatening stance.
Kids crossing fallen logs, catching frogs, skipping rocks, swimming in otter creek.
Mud wars rage, picnic blanket laid on the green glade near otter creek.
We follow paw prints, beneath willow tree roots, den site dug deep into muddy banks of otter creek.
Within the town of Franklinville, hot summers day, sister, niece, and I, our dad's.
Never saw the otters of the creek, only paw prints, left proof of an existence.
In memories I venture, hoping, just a glimpse.
To sit once again, past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks, there it flows, otter creek.
poem by Gary Kedron
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How Green Really is My Valley
She is standing behind the broken bamboo gate,
Incongruously framed, a row tall green flowers,
Perceived with bleak eyes through twisted wire fence.
How green really is my valley.
Breezy lime green of short grass,
Swaying bamboo playing fiddle for me-
Olive green ornament baffle us all,
Sliver streaks of light illuminate-
I lost my imagination in embellishment of past glory.
Slaughter woods speaks to us a lot,
The pain of pure air amidst defilement-
My children may see as green monument.
poem by Sakkthi Subramaniyam
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