Your place is your heaven.
Be in the woods, to be a tree;
Be in the grove, to be a pear.
Be in the field, to be a corn.
Be there where you belong to.
07.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Idea Of 'Pear Tree
for Robin Blaser
a pear tree forgets only itself as
an audacity
limbs recall themselves
appear to reach
one cannot see them
reaching
they may be silent but
we cannot know that toward
later sweetness they yearn
then seed a still dirt around
content to lie down
the idea of 'pear tree'
reduces to all sparks
yet
no illusion of darkness
hastens the pear
but O it tastes
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Tree in a Field
There once was a tree,
A tree alone in a field.
And as that tree grew
It got bigger than all 'round.
And people would often stop
Just to look at that tree,
That tree in a field.
Till one day one person,
Went and cut down that tree,
That tree in a field.
And you know what?
That tree learned one thing
Don't stand too tall too fast,
Or someone just might
Cut you down.
poem by Matthew Tener Wade
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Ripened
Ripened!
But on a wrong tree done.
This hybrid thinks it to be pure,
And naturally sweet.
But the tree adopted it,
From despair.
And convince the nut...
It was a fruited pear.
And when the apples growing,
On the tree became aware...
They were taught to respect the nut!
Although they knew,
Never a pear would be there.
Yet,
Ripened to be spared,
From playful impatient squirrels.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Villeggiature
My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
Your solid self, long leagues away,
Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;
And yet you found this Romeo's way,
And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
I watched the still and dewy lawn,
The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;
I listened to you till the dawn,
And half forgot I did not love you.
Od, dear! what pretty things you said,
What pearls of song you threaded for me!
I did not-till your ghost had fled-
Remember how you always bore me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Rise in life is a vanity.
Every rise in your status
Makes you rigid to stoop.
Love that in-flows is false.
Love that out-flows is stagnant.
At last, you end up as useless,
An empty barrel in vanity.
A creeper that hardened to a tree.
29.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song of the Oak
The Druids waved their golden knives
And danced around the Oak
When they had sacrificed a man;
But though the learned search and scan
No single modern person can
Entirely see the joke.
But though they cut the throats of men
They cut not down the tree,
And from the blood the saplings spring
Of oak-woods yet to be.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He rots the tree as ivy would,
He clings and crawls as ivy would
About the sacred tree.
King Charles he fled from Worcester fight
And hid him in the Oak;
In convent schools no man of tact
Would trace and praise his every act,
Or argue that he was in fact
A strict and sainted bloke.
But not by him the sacred woods
Have lost their fancies free,
And though he was extremely big
He did not break the tree.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He breaks the tree as ivy would,
And eats the woods as ivy would
Between us and the sea.
Great Collingwood walked down the glade
And flung the acorns free,
That oaks might still be in the grove
As oaken as the beams above,
When the great Lover sailors love
Was kissed by Death at aea.
But though for him the oak-trees fell
To build the oaken ships,
The woodman worshipped what he smote
And honoured even the chips.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He hates the tree as ivy would,
As the dragon of the ivy would
That has us in his grips.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Song of the Oak
The Druids waved their golden knives
And danced around the Oak
When they had sacrificed a man;
But though the learned search and scan
No single modern person can
Entirely see the joke.
But though they cut the throats of men
They cut not down the tree,
And from the blood the saplings spring
Of oak-woods yet to be.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He rots the tree as ivy would,
He clings and crawls as ivy would
About the sacred tree.
King Charles he fled from Worcester fight
And hid him in the Oak;
In convent schools no man of tact
Would trace and praise his every act,
Or argue that he was in fact
A strict and sainted bloke.
But not by him the sacred woods
Have lost their fancies free,
And though he was extremely big
He did not break the tree.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He breaks the tree as ivy would,
And eats the woods as ivy would
Between us and the sea.
Great Collingwood walked down the glade
And flung the acorns free,
That oaks might still be in the grove
As oaken as the beams above,
When the great Lover sailors love
Was kissed by Death at sea.
But though for him the oak-trees fell
To build the oaken ships,
The woodman worshipped what he smote
And honoured even the chips.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He hates the tree as ivy would,
As the dragon of the ivy would
That has us in his grips.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Pears
Some say
it was a pear
Eve ate.
Why else the shape
of the womb,
or of the cello
Whose single song is grief
for the parent tree?
Why else the fruit itself
tawny and sweet
which your lover
over breakfast
lets go your pear-
shaped breast
to reach for?
poem by Linda Pastan
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The result of love failure
With all freshness after bath
When you go at night to bed
With a man whom you have wed
You are not to know how bad
I crawl pinning in my bed.
21.04.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Way to Heaven
He showed them the way to Rome
They learnt it and went to tell others,
Who in turn said to others, thus the process
Went on, with no one having really gone.
28.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weigh you before you strike.
With right and might,
You can fight
With right and no might,
You can weep.
With no right nor might,
You had better sleep.
You’ll have landed safe.
07.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Choose companions
Woman, appear with women,
Les fair than you,
Or duller than you.
Then you are in focus.
19.02.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Commenting your weakness.
Those who praise you in front
And those who criticize behind
Do so from their cowardliness.
The strong one does neither of them..
21.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kill or Skill?
Spain had a skill.
South Korea had the kill
They played, clashed
In the Korean Soil,
In front of forty thousands
Spectators, in the Quarter
Final of 2002 World Cup
Foot Ball tournament.
Korea beat Spain
By penalty kick.
Kill is stronger than skill
22.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Being cheated is beyond us
Every one wanted to be vigilant
And at the end somehow they’re cheated.
They believe others as per the past
Which others had amended fast.
08.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pettily honest is the big cheat.
First you build up your credibility.
Then what you say or do are accepted.
Treacherous men started as honest men.
Don’t believe them for what they have been.
08.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Real Property
Tell me about that harvest field.
Oh! Fifty acres of living bread.
The colour has painted itself in my heart;
The form is patterned in my head.
So now I take it everywhere,
See it whenever I look round;
Hear it growing through every sound,
Know exactly the sound it makes —
Remembering, as one must all day,
Under the pavement the live earth aches.
Trees are at the farther end,
Limes all full of the mumbling bee:
So there must be a harvest field
Whenever one thinks of a linden tree.
A hedge is about it, very tall,
Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet.
Round paradise is such a wall,
And all the day, in such a way,
In paradise the wild birds call.
You only need to close your eyes
And go within your secret mind,
And you'll be into paradise:
I've learnt quite easily to find
Some linden trees and drowsy bees,
A tall sweet hedge with the corn behind.
I will not have that harvest mown:
I'll keep the corn and leave the bread.
I've bought that field; it's now my own:
I've fifty acres in my head.
I take it as a dream to bed.
I carry it about all day....
Sometimes when I have found a friend
I give a blade of corn away.
poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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True
Sun come shining through
You are still dreaming
I can hardly believe it
Im here with you
Lying in you arms
I hear you breathing
I tried to capture the moment
That I share with you
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Tell me this is true
Drowning in your eyes
Your heart is beating
The world outside it feels so cold
But its warm here with you
Hours they go by
My love keeps growing
Its like we live in slow motion
Im so lost in you
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Tell me this is true
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
Can this be true
I belong to you
You belong to me
I cant believe its true
song performed by by Lasgo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being away is the sweet.
All my beloved remain
As my sweet dreams
As I know them less
And with them I remained less.
The more the knowledge is
The less the liking is
19.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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