Don't brand as ungrateful dogs.
I grew a fruit tree that failed to bear.
The hope and joy I got in its growth
Being the reward for my efforts,
I should not curse the tree for its failure.
Let the grown up children desert you.
Let those you helped grow, have forgot you.
The pleasure you experienced then
Is the reward to act as gratitude.
12.02.2012.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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A Tree in the Desert
A tree in the desert thirsts for water
A tree in the desert gets too much sun
A tree in the desert is alone in the freezing night
A tree in the desert might never be seen
A tree in the desert might never be touched
A tree in the desert may or may not thrive
A tree in the desert struggles to stay alive
poem by Leo Valencia
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Upon The Barren Fig-Tree In God's Vineyard
What, barren here! in this so good a soil?
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Art thou not planted by the water-side?
Know'st not thy Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree:
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
Hast thou been digg'd about and dunged too,
Will neither patience nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Would, if on thee were found but one good fig,
Preserve thee from the axe: but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!
The utmost end of patience is at hand,
'Tis much if thou much longer here doth stand.
O cumber-ground, thou art a barren tree.
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Thy standing nor they name will help at all;
When fruitful trees are spared, thou must fall.
The axe is laid unto thy roots, O tree!
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
poem by John Bunyan
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False Hope
A tree was planted watered by the rain
watered through these hands
until it grew, then grew till grown
and still I see no fruit
I wait and no treet to have
I have been decieved
that's why I decided to cut down that tree
poem by Godfrey Morris
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Knowing Of A Tree
It is a good thing indeed
When someone plants a seed
And to watch and help it grow
So someday, it to be a tree.
It is a good thing in truth
When a tree brings forth its fruit
Or to shade someone's head
Or its branch be a robins nest.
It is good when a tree is used
By nature, or by me or you
To protect or shelter lives
For a tree; it never dies.
A tree is someone's home
A tree is someone's good book
A tree is never alone,
For to know a tree, all you do; is look.
It is good to plant a tree
It is good to plant a seed
For someday it will be grown
And a tree, will be known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Tree of Liberty
WE’LL PLANT a Tree of Liberty
In the centre of the land,
And round it ranged as guardians be,
A vowed and trusty band;
And sages bold and mighty soul’d
Shall dress it day by day:
But woe unto the traitor who
Would break one branch away.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty
For the vow that we have made;
May it so flourish that when we
Are buried in its shade,
Fair Womanhood and Love and Good,
All pilgrims pure shall go
Its growth to bless for happiness—
O may it flourish so!
Till felled by gold as bards have told,
In the Old World once it grew,
But there its fruits were ever sold
And only to the Few:
But here at last, uncurs’d by caste,
Each man at Nature’s call
Shall pluck as well what none may sell,
The fruit that blooms for All.
By gold ’twas felled as bards have held
In the Old World where it grew,
But here the power that there dispelled
Its life shall be its dew:
The evil bout of Time is out,
And gold no more a thrall,
Shall here but build for Truth and gild
The fruit that blooms for All.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty,
And the men who shall defend
Its glorious future righteously
For this all-glorious end—
That happiness all men to bless
Out with its growth may grow—
Our Southern Tree of Liberty
Shall flourish even so!
poem by Charles Harpur
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Where have all the trees gone Dad?
Dad! When I was in school the teacher showed me a picture of a tree
I've never seen one of those before, tall and handsome and brown and green you see
Do you remember seeing a tree when you were young? My teacher says there were many
She says that they grew all over the world but now days there aren't any
What did they look like? Did they blow in the wind?
Did the leaves fall in the autumn or was it in spring?
How high did they grow? Did they sway to and fro?
Did they look pretty covered in winters first fall of snow?
Dad, teacher says they'll grow no more, she says the climate has changed forever
She says we're all poorer now and explained to us how we'll have to suffer together
I heard that there was a tree that grew as tall as a skyscraper
But they cut it down and mulched it up to make us all new paper
It would be nice to see trees growing proud and strong
Reaching up to the sky with their branches so long
But that's just a dream I know I'll never see
It's just a vision in a picture never to be reality for me
My teacher said there used to be birds that lived amongst the bows
They flew around from branch to branch but we don't have those either now
What are nuts and berries and fruit the trees all used to bear?
My teacher says they were things we could eat at the end of every year
Well do you remember seeing a tree when you were young then Dad?
The like of which I have just explained and a pleasure I've never had
What do you mean they died out long ago, long before you were born
Now I'll never know why we cut them all down and my heart will always be torn.
poem by Glenn Ford
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From The Same Tree
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit....
From the same tree
the good fruit goes to the market
the bad fruit...to the soil.
From the same tree
is the reason for the lonely farmer
to wake up each morning
to see how the fruits grow well...
and is the reason for the lonely farmer
for not winning the heart of his beloved
who prefer the city life
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The Sour Lemon Tree
A sour lemon tree flower attracts the bee
While its fruit is bitter not so its flower
White is its flower sweet and very pretty
Only the fruit is bitter and that's just a pity
As the beauty of its flower resist not a bee
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
With fruit that is bitter bears a lemon tree
But useful is its fruit good for everyday use
Once said a bee... your flower is very sweet
It carries fragrance scented out in the street
Yet bears you fruit bitter no one wants to eat
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
A citrus tree with fruit no other tree bears
Then out of the tree came a nice neat voice
'Twas like a voice of one who's very wise
This is what it said trees are not so free
One made a decree for every bearing tree
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
The Creator decides the fruit a tree bears
Whether it be bitter or whether it be sweet
The Creator decrees for every bearing tree
To bring forth fruit ordained for it to bear
Then sweet or bitter bears a tree its fruit
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree.
poem by Clarence Prince
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It is Basic Management 101 that if you reward failure you are going to get more failure, and if you want success you should reward success. But if you look at the way this administration has approached national security, they have kind of got that principle backwards.
quote by Chris Van Hollen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reservation For One
This is my tree, my tree, my tree,
My one lone tree, pear tree,
It grows, overflows, it grows it’s fruit,
Alone, only for me.
If I could go to a far-away place,
With just me and my tree, pear tree,
I’d pack my bags, my bags I’d pack,
I’d pick up my bags and flee.
There’s nothing at all, no nothing,
At all, that films me more with glee,
Than those globes, those globes,
Of precious fruit in my tree, pear tree.
I sit beneath, beneath I sit,
Its laden canopy, I polish it’s leafs then,
Set a table of fruits,
Of wine, and bread and brie.
This tree, my tree, could feed the world,
Find me a wife and camaraderie,
It’s powers, it’s powers are vast but I
Can’t pass on its secret sadly.
I’d tell the world, the world I’d tell,
If they weren’t all so hungry, you see.
But my fruit, my fruits, my laboured.
Fruits, I grew only for me, for me,
No none are as hungry as me.
poem by Suzanne Louise Bishop
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The Blasted Fig-Tree
One aweful word which Jesus spoke,
Against the tree which bore no fruit;
More piercing than the lightning's stroke,
Blasted and dried it to the root.
But could a tree the Lord offend,
To make him show his anger thus?
He surely had a farther end,
To be a warning word to us.
The fig-tree by its leaves was known,
But having not a fig to show;
It brought a heavy sentence down,
Let none hereafter on thee grow.
Too many, who the gospel hear,
Whom Satan blinds and sin deceives;
We to this fig-tree may compare,
They yield no fruit, but only leaves.
Knowledge, and zeal, and gifts, and talk,
Unless combined with faith and love,
And witnessed by a gospel walk,
Will not a true profession prove.
Without the fruit the Lord expects
Knowledge will make our state the worse;
The barren trees he still rejects,
And soon will blast them with his curse.
O Lord, unite our hearts in prayer!
On each of us thy Spirit send;
That we the fruits of grace may bear,
And find acceptance in the end.
poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
Grow grass, not corn
If you want to help someone grow up,
Do it like growing grass in a lawn,
Not like growing corn in a farm
Growing corn expecting a harvest
Will mar the pleasure of your efforts
In case the harvest turns a failure.
The pleasant mind grown out of the helps given
Need not be painted with bitterness
By putting to the test the one you helped.
28.12.2008.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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The innocence of a tree shaken into guilt
my legs, running but not touching the ground
my hands as if I was tying a very tight tie
thousands of blood vessels trapped
I used to love that tree
My legs helped me climb the tree
my hand helped me tie the knot
thousands of thoughts trying to escape at once
My cat used to love that tree
My friend helped me down from the tree
my friend also undid my tie
thousands of breaths all at once
no nobody likes that tree
I nearly died, the tree did.
The tree didn't do anything
but it got chopped down anyway
an eighty three kilogram burden within one high branch
poem by Geof Lusins
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The Pain Of Moving On
A tree looked up to one star and that one alone,
It didn't see any other stars but that one.
It was its bestfriend.
Its happiness.
Its everything.
The tree continued to grow taller.
Hoping, wishing that his height would bring him and the star closer.
Instead the taller the tree grew the further the star got.
The star tempted the tree on some nights, letting its star shine so bright...
so that it seemed closer.
Then it really was.
But the star just wanted to see its beautiful reflection on the tree.
Not to spend time with it.
And the tree watched.
Cried.
Hated.
As he watched the star shine for another tree and forget about him.
Wasted his time.
Cared too much.
For a star he had known all his life,
He watched put others before him.
The sadness was too much to bear.
So it wouldn't grow and was cut down
Down.
Down.
Down.
The star continued to move
Up.
Didn't even stop and think.
About what it had done.
poem by Aurelia Ivy
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The Fruits of Mankind
Taste the bitterness of the fruits
that grow and rot within.
They lack the kindness that erupts
and oozes out as sin.
These fruits are part of every tree,
the tree from which they've grown.
They look like all the other fruit
but are different and they've known.
what lies within them is not right
and still they do conceal,
hoping to blend in with all the rest
until the skin does peel.
The tree cannot be blamed for this.
It's just the way things are.
We must discard these fruits to protect the rest
or they will leave their scar.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Curse Has Killed The Laurel Tree
The power of Dracula's curse is felt everywhere in Transylvania
The countryside is run down
The towns are feeling older than they should
Bridges are broken apart in pieces
And the minions of the undead grow in numbers more and more every day
And interestingly enough
Someway, somehow
The curse has killed the laurel tree
Walking up to the laurel tree
While protecting myself from the effects of evil
While being blessed in the time of sunlight
I can tell the laurel tree is so far gone
I can tell it's dead
And in my heart, I feel its pain
I feel for it, I really do
Because it didn't deserve this fate
And to the people as well as myself
We all could've prayed for the laurel tree to survive
We all could've prayed for a miracle
But now it's too late
The curse has killed the laurel tree
poem by Justin Gildow
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Ode To The Cherry Blossom
I have grown up with this tree,
as my father had grown with it,
and his father before him.
The cherry blossom tree where I was first exposed to the beauty of nature,
where my baby seat was set upon the picnic blanket in the grass,
and I could watch the petals fall and dance around me and my family.
and they would land in my seat,
and I would play with them.
The cherry blossom tree,
with its long branches,
where I first learned to climb,
and where I got my first broken bone,
after I slipped while pretending to be a monkey.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first play date together.
We ran around and played two person tag,
and two person hide and seek,
and two person leap frog.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first date,
where I picked a blossom and put it in your hair,
and called you my hime,
my princess.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took shelter from the pouring rain,
and I gave you my jacket to put over your head,
and we ran home to take a bath in our clothes,
Because they couldn’t have gotten wetter anyway.
The cherry blossom tree,
under which we said our vows,
and got married,
and you cried,
and said you felt beautiful,
and I kissed you,
and said you looked beautiful,
and we ran through the blossom petals.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took our two daughters,
and watched them pick flowers,
and give them to you.
The cherry blossom tree,
where our daughters took their loves,
and probably got caught in the rain,
just as we did.
The cherry blossom tree,
which we would watch from the near by bench,
watch children who were not ours play there,
watch couples who were not us date there.
The cherry blossom tree,
where I go to remember you,
where I sometimes cry for you,
where our daughters cry for you.
I grew up with that cherry blossom tree,
and now as I wait to rejoin you,
my love,
I watch others grow with it too.
poem by Evan Puglisi
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