To a New Poet...
he who writes a poem
marks a road with many stones
gathers leaves and
does not burn them
plants a seed and leaves it
to grow
wild as a forest
lives for a while and then goes away
in a faraway place
without any inkling
of coming back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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King Of Trees
He was the king of trees
Keeper of the leaves
A deep green God of young
Love stained memory
We used to meet by him
Far from the hustling town
I loved you
Now theyve come to cut you down
..down
He was the guardian of days
We held the same
Beneath the shade he gave
Shelter from the rain
Oh lord how its empty now
With nothing save the breeze
Now theyve come to burn the leaves
Dont burn the leaves
And if my mind breaks up
In all so many ways
I know the meaning of
The words I love you
And if my body falls inside
An early grave
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
So slowly as I roll
Down the track
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
Please take me back
He was the king of trees
Keeper of the glades
The way he enchanted my life
Makes me so amazed
We used to meet by him
Many years ago
I love you
Now theyve come to lay the road
Dont lay the road
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burning Comments
Comments are frying, as people cook
And they stir, burn and dash like fire.
Nature comments on the present
As food commands our life, for we are leaves.
To commence like the flowers
Talks of fluids in our bellies and plants.
My language stirs hatred for the lovers
If plants wilt, if they flower and burgeon.
To burn the leaves kept us a bonfire
On the day we burn and the day we bring.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Forest Of Berries
The forest expected it, the woods create,
A storm has arrived with the leaves;
Wind blew and created, the leaves turned,
Bellies adjusted to the food.
What were berries? The berry is wonderful,
For the strawberry is the best.
A forest of leaves crazes me, as no other,
Never in too many lives does it create.
Tomorrow it lies with leaves and more,
The best berries are for me, the law;
When are you expected to dance?
The hour is near when the berries are present.
poem by Naveed Akram
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When An Evening Meal Is Ready
field worker lives with so little today
faith plants a portion of seed each day
who will help water who will weed?
who will guard help grow this seed?
who will help grow this crop wheat?
who will help gather in hot sun heat?
finally when evening meal is laid out neat
who will receive invitation in fellowship eat?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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When Green Leaves Come again
WHEN green leaves come again, my love,
When green leaves come again,--
Why put on such a cloudy face,
When green leaves come again?
'Ah, this spring will be like the last,
Of promise false and vain;
And summer die in winter's arms
Ere green leaves come again.
'So slip the seasons--and our lives;
'T is idle to complain:
But yet I sigh, I scarce know why,
When green leaves come again.'
Nay, lift up thankful eyes, my sweet!
Count equal, lost and gain:
Because, as long as the world lasts,
Green leaves will come again.
For, sure as earth lives under snows,
And Love lives under pain,
'T is good to sing with everything,
'When green leaves come again.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Jealousy
a seed of jealousy
grows leaves and branches
and trees
a forest where you
shall be lost forever
trying to find
a way towards
the river of
trust and belief
there is no
water anymore
no creek
no exit
from the roots and
dead leaves.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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3 O'clock In The Morning
the rain stopped
and i have just awakened from a deep sleep
it was earlier than usual
and what i heard are the raindrops leaving the last words of their lives
a tapping of the roof
a heave of a sigh
some monotonous sounds of the waves of the shore
not far from where i am writing
the last whispers of the winds from the trees about to shed their last leaves
the sounds of wild ducks leaving knowing that another storm is coming
i think of you
i think of your search of yourself
i think of myself
how i was once broken and destroyed by the changes of the winds
how i picked up the pieces like some leaves scattered in the forest
beyond repair, i write some memories.
weary, i imagine some moments that i may have been at rest with myself.
i think of you. I think about when the rain shall stop forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The More I learn About Nature
The more I learn about Nature the less I realize I know
About how creatures live in wild state, about how plants and grasses grow
About how flowers close in the evening and open to the morning light
We learn every day from Nature and we learn from what others write.
The more I learn about Nature the more I come to realize
That Nature has a billion lessons each day for us a new surprise
How some trees in Spring get leaves and blossoms and how other trees are evergreen
In Nature there are many lessons and many wonders to be seen.
The more I learn about Nature the less I know I know or so 'twould seem
In Autumn the salmon leaves the ocean to lay her eggs in Inland stream
And her offspring to breed to the stream return and years go by with little change
And ways of Nature never simple and ways of Nature can be strange.
The more I learn about Nature the more self conscious I become
that I must not be clever person in many ways I seem quite dumb
We ought to learn from things around us but I've not learnt much at all
when mother took us from the cradle before we walked we had to crawl
The more I learn about Nature the more and more I seem to see
That Nature can be very complex and far too big a thing for me
And Nature has a billion lessons and the more I learn the less I know I know
About how creatures live in wild state and about how plants and grasses grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet- To Win You Need Right Strategy
The foolish man ventures into the wild,
In dark of night, without much protection;
And though he does, innocent as a child,
He will be dead but for resurrection!
The clever man avoids the danger zones,
And chooses well to win, not get defeat;
And when he does, he leaves unturned no stones,
Until his foe, beats a hasty retreat.
Each one is King in his own sphere/domain!
The Eagle of the skies; Lion, forest;
To challenge them as such would be a bane;
To win by being unfair is the best.
To win by strategy is important;
When you don't need a place, why pay a rent?
poem by John Celes
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When The Leaves Come Falling Down
I saw you standing with the wind and the rain in your face
And you were thinking bout the wisdom of the leaves and their grace
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
And at night the moon is shining on a clear, cloudless sky
And when the evening shadows fall Ill be there by your side
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place beside the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space before the twilight and the dawn
Oh, the last time I saw paris in the streets, in the rain
And as I walk along the boulevards with you, once again
And the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place between the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space between the twilight and the dawn
And as Im looking at the colour of the leaves, in your hand
As were listening to chet baker on the beach, in the sand
When the leaves come falling down,
Woe in september, when the leaves come falling down
Oh when the leaves come falling down
Yeah in september when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falting down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Poem (‘In The Stump of The Old Tree...’)
In the stump of the old tree, where the heart has rotted out, there is a hole the length of a man’s arm, and a dank pool at the bottom of it where the rain gathers, and the old leaves turn into lacy skeletons. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees, where the hearts have rotted out, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and dank pools at the bottom where the rain gathers and old leaves turn to lace, and the beak of a dead bird gapes like a trap. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees with rotten hearts, where the rain gathers and the laced leaves and the dead bird like a trap, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and in every crevice of the rotten wood grow weasel’s eyes like molluscs, their lids open and shut with the tide. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the rain gathers and the trapped leaves and the beak and the laced weasel’s eyes, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and at the bottom a sodden bible written in the language of rooks. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are holes the length of a man’s arm where the weasels are trapped and the letters of the rook language are laced on the sodden leaves, and at the bottom there is a man’s arm. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are deep holes and dank pools where the rain gathers, and if you ever put your hand down to see, you can wipe it in the sharp grass till it bleeds, but you’ll never want to eat with it again.
Contemporary Poetry and Prose, 7 (Nov. 1936), 129.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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And it's really sad when the forest mourns?
Most of the trees
Bear green leaves
Though the fruits
in different colors
and the flavors too.
Yet, the dialect
not much varied
and gives a similar whisper
when the wind blows.
While the robust Lumberjacks
rushing into woods with their
cruel modernized equipments,
I heard your faraway cries!
Like babies....................and
It's really sad
When the forest mourns?
[When I think of the elderly people where they're like old trees in a forest.Millions of adults are suffering with progressive mental decline, a mind-robbing form of memory loss that can rip apart families and lives? ]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Those With Fruits And Leaves
what then is the purpose
about those who have no leaves
or fruits
those bald ones
those dried twigs
brown leaves
and broken stones?
they are part of the choirs
of nature
each has a gap to fill
a place to rot
to shine
to hit and awaken.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Secret Life Of Plants
I cant conceive the nucleus of all
Begins inside a tiny seed
And what we think as insignificant
Provides the purest air we breathe
But who am I to doubt or question the inevitable being
For these are but a few discoveries
We find inside the secret life of plants
A species smaller than the eye can see
Or larger than most living things
And yet we take from it without consent
Our shelter, food, habilment
But who am I to doubt or question the inevitable being
For these are but a few discoveries
Wwe find inside the secret life of plants
But far too many give them in return
A stomp, cut, drown, or burn
As is theyre nothing
But if you ask yourself where would you be
Without them you will find you would not
And some believe antennas are their leaves
That spans beyond our galaxy
Theyve been, they are and probably will be
Who are the mediocrity
But who am I to doubt or question the inevitable being
For these are but a few discoveries
We find inside the secret life of plants
For these are but a few discoveries
We find inside the secret life of plants
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem Is The Poet
THE POEM IS THE POET
The poem is the poet
It tells his story even when he does not intend it to-
It bears his signature even when he forges it-
The poem is the poet-
It reflects his mind his soul-
It cannot be written without what he is
Though he denies what he is to himself-
The poem is the poet
And the poet's contradictions-
It is the mask of his self - expression
And his ultimate definition in words-
When he writes he becomes himself
And when he finishes it
He leaves a part of himself in it for as long as it exists.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Autumn Is Coming
Autumn is coming
With gentle breezes
And howling winds
Autumn is coming
To change the colors
To red, brown, and gold
Upon the forest floor
Will lie the leaves of all the trees
When Autumn is here
When the days cool
And the nights grow long
With a bright silver moon in the sky
When the sleepiness sets in
We will sleep until
Winter breaks
Autumn is coming
poem by Autumn Winds
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