The Tree of Song
I sang my songs for the rest,
For you I am still;
The tree of my song is bare
On its shining hill.
For you came like a lordly wind,
And the leaves were whirled
Far as forgotten things
Past the rim of the world.
The tree of my song stands bare
Against the blue --
I gave my songs to the rest,
Myself to you.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Song of Wrongs
Some songs are trapped, while other songs are free
Some songs can linger, while others need a key
Some songs look Heavenward to find a place to be
While most songs have homes, some songs aren't so lucky
Which song would you rather hear
The song of hope, or the song of fear
The song that has everything, or the song that needs care
The song you care nothing for, or the song you revere
I'd like to listen to all of those forgotten songs
Not the song of rights, I want the song of wrongs
I want the song of solitude hiding in the throngs
I want the song that has no place to which it belongs
poem by Bianca Free
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Amaranth
ONCE a poet—long ago—
Wrote a song as void of art
As the songs that children know,
And as pure as a child’s heart.
With a sigh he threw it down,
Saying, “This will never shed
Any glory or renown
On my name when I am dead.
“I will sing a lordly song
Men shall hear, when I am gone,
Through the years sound clear and strong
As a golden clarion.”
So this lordly song he sang
That would gain him deathless fame—
When the death-knell o’er him rang
No man even knew its name.
Ay, and when his way he found
To the place of singing souls,
And beheld their bright heads crowned
With song-woven aureoles,
He stood shame-faced in the throng,
For his brow of wreath was bare,
And, alas! his lordly song
Sere had grown in that sweet air;
Then, all sudden, a divine
Light fell on him from afar,
And he felt the child-song shine
On his forehead like a star.
So for ever. Each and all
Songs of passion or of mirth
That are not heart-pure shall fall
As a sky-lark’s—to the earth;
But the soul’s song has no bounds—
Like the voice of Israfel,
From the heaven of heavens it sounds
To the very hell of hell.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Grass is easier?
Up on a windy hill a tree is
a grassy field wind is the breeze
birds and bee's play and play
long lost lovers sign there names
in the tree
a tire swing sways and sways
on this tree
children songs and voices
filled the air at the time
now and days the grass is dead
tree is bare and the birds and the bees
play else ware
long lost lovers are lost
the names wore and decay
on this tree
a tire swing once swayed
on this tree children played
now on this tree smoke and ash lay
songs and voices now all gone
for this is the tree we once plaid on
poem by Cody Lee Jones
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Little Bird
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down and sang a song to me
Of how it began
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
The trout in the shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry
About my life
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Tree in my own backyard
Stands all alone
Bears fruit for me
And it tastes so good
Wheres my pretty bird
He must have flown away
If I keep singing
Hell come back someday
Dawn, birds still gone
Guess Ill go mow the lawn
What a day, what a day
Oooo, what a beautiful day this is
Ooooooooo
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down a sang a song to me
The trout in a shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry about my life
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
Little bird looked down
And sang a songto me
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Haunting Song!
A haunting song I hear comes like this..
The song.... coming..... in the wind…
The song coming...... in the wind…
The song coming in the wind...
The song spontaneously flows making eyes foggy…!
The song makes even the stone melt…!
The song makes even dead tree resurrect with leaves…!
The song kisses in many languages…!
The song makes forest animals listen with dizziness…!
When night Moon blossoms as breeze is walking,
A boy in blue colour stands blowing flute forever
And forever my heart melts in the thought of his love!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Blues In Minor Key
'Twas a lovely night in gay Paree
The stagelight was beating on him and me
He took my heart and spoke so well
And told me things no one else could tell
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
He was a lonely tramp in the world of rhyme
With words that caught me just in time
I gave him my body I gave him my soul
In front of the stage I played my role
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
The chimes of freedom rang that night
And stars in heaven were shining bright
The songs he sang were like ice and fire
Leading me through the bush and brier
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
Behind his mask and behind his name
He left the stage with nothin' to claim
Like a shooting star in the empty skies
Our love was done without any ties
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key....
Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved
poem by Göran Gustafsson
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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Hiway Songs
When I walk the hill so high
Around the town where I was born
New york seems so far away
Though I was there just yesterday
I have played on my guitar
In coffeehouses, hall, and bars
Everyone that I call friend
Knows they will not be forgot
Trains and planes and rented cars
Singers, saints, and other starts
I suspect them every one
Theyll never change
Its too much fun
Just for now Id like to rest
In the shade of a maple tree
To the blue canadian sky
Ill say a prayer for the world out there
When I stand on my own sod
It feels so good to be home, by god
The winter wind has turned my head
But I always came up warm somehow
Bottles, beads, and cigarettes
And lovers that I aint found yet
Pickin with a friend till dawn
And singing all of those hiway songs
Just for now Id like to rest
In the shade of a maple tree
To the blue canadian sky
Ill say a prayer for the world out there
When I walk the hill so high
Around the town where I was born
New york seems so far away
Though I was there just yesterday
I would travel all my life
If loneliness was not the price
While headin north across that lines
The only time Im flyin
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
The Piper And The Prey
this is how friday ended
a little bit hard to believe
my perception slightly bending
as the piper came on the scene
it was something so hypnotic
the music even changed
the crowd got up and got chaotic
and they paid so they could play
the pied piper played
the pied piper pushed
songs to make them crave
songs that seemed so good
songs that made it easier
songs down in their blood
songs that take, steal the love
until the song has had enough
at first, the dance was hesitant
not long before everyone knew it
the music spun them 'round and 'round
then it pulled the dancers into it
i danced my dance at my own pace
he laughed, knowing i would change
it took all i had in so many ways
saw others dance until they fell on their face
and still the piper played...
the pied piper played
the pied piper pushed
songs to make them crave
songs that seemed so good
songs that made it easier
songs down in their blood
songs that take, steal the love
until the song has had enough
bodies on the floor
unconscious and awake
the piper gave them more;
they took all that he gave
he played a new illusion
while the world began to sway
the dance became delusion
our hearts became the prey
and i danced as he played
and i danced as he pushed
songs that made me crave
songs that seemed so good
songs that made it easier
songs went down in my blood
songs that took, stole all the love
until the song had used them up
until that song had had enough
saturday was forgotten
by closing out the early sun rays
many dancers have fallen
lost, forgotten, thrown away
the music was their everything
but again they stayed to late
the song kept them spinning
dancing into a darker place
giving in without hesitance
hypnotized by the pipe's melody
until all became the song and dance
the piper was the only one to play
the piper and the song had demands
but they'd nothing left to give away
all that was left was the pipe's trance
and the dancer became the slave
the pied piper played
the pied piper pushed
songs that betrayed
songs not to trust
songs that got heavier
songs itching in their blood
songs that demand the dance
until the song has had enough
that was how sunday ended
and it took several years
now the song gets in my head
and sometimes brings me to tears
now i chose to stand so still
not to give in to what i hear
the song can not destroy my will
the song has nothing left i fear
(2008 & 2010, new orleans, la, usa)
poem by Thomas Quentin Sims
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Life Songs
When a child is born into this world,
what kind of song will his or her life be?
A song of joy?
A song of hope?
A beautiful rhapsody?
One of sadness, or of grief?
A song of misery?
When a newborn cries and opens its eyes,
what will its song be?
A song of greatness, a song of wealth,
or one of poverty?
When trouble comes, and surely it will,
what will that child's song be?
When we are born our song begins
and we enjoy its pleasant tune.
We sing its melody in the innocence
that leaves us all too soon.
As we grow we hear the songs of
people in various places.
Songs of pride, songs of hatred
and of conflict among the races.
The songs of children playing together
are very pleasing to hear.
Regardless of race, status or color,
their sweet songs don't cause fear.
The Master told us that with childlike qualities
we'll see God's heavenly city.
To miss such a goal because of hearts so cold
would be a tragic pity.
We hear life songs every day and
like smoke they fade away.
But lives that are sung with childlike meekness
will 'inherit the earth' someday.
To sing a song of wonder and worth
is how this life should really be-
with all the innocents throughout the earth
and with love as our constant key.
When a child is born into this world,
what kind of song will his or her life be?
A song of joy?
A song of hope?
A beautiful rhapsody?
****************
Matthew 18: 3
****************
poem by C.F. Wilkins
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The Mountain and the Wind
The mountain stands
The wind plays with her
Leaving her treetops in disarray
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the rustling gossips
Of him and her.
The mountain stands
The wind serenades her
A sighing song among the leaves
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the thousand songs he gave
Echoing in the bamboo grove of her heart.
The mountain stands
The wind dances around her
A waltz, a tango one eventide
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the face he left behind
Carved forever in her heart.
poem by Angelina Pandian
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A Song Of Comfort
"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:
"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song
And the task ye left while your hands were strong.
The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,
And the task that was joyous be weary at last."
To the winter sky when the nights were long
The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song:
"Do ye think with regret on the sunny days
And the path ye left, with its untrod ways?
The sun might sink in a storm cloud's frown
And the path grow rough when the night came down."
In the grey twilight of the autumn eves,
It sighed as it sang through the dying leaves:
"Ye think with regret that the world was bright,
That your path was short and your task was light;
The path, though short, was perhaps the best
And the toil was sweet, that it led to rest."
poem by John McCrae
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Nature’s Christmas tree
I saw the most beautiful Christmas tree,
Adorned with a star,
For the world to see,
Standing proudly in the night,
On the top of the tree
Was a bright shining light,
Soft blankets of snow,
Covering the leaves,
This is the time,
For the world to find peace.
Inside the heart of that tree
there may be natures
Small creatures of the wild,
On top of the tree,
in the world so dark,
A star shines for the wonders
of man, woman and child,
The birds sing sweet songs,
That words can’t speak,
Look into your heart,
For the truth you seek,
The proof is
The star
,
Shining through the trees,
Don’t you think it’s time
For the world to find some peace?
Look into the distance,
It shines near and far,
For the prince of peace
God sent a shining star
For the world to see
Look on top of Nature’s Christmas tree
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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A Noon Song
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!
How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!
Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!
There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The Bare Necessities
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam
I couldn't be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin' in the tree
To make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants
Then maybe try a few
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don't pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don't need to use the claw
When you pick a pear of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue ?
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
So just try and relax, yeah cool it
Fall apart in my backyard
'Cause let me tell you something little britches
If you act like that bee acts, uh uh
You're working too hard
And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
The bare necessities of life will come to you
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice Of My Heart
A poetic song, a serious song
Songs from over the sea.
A star was born on the very morn
You sang on our anniversary...
Love Songs just for me.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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March Mornings
It sings to me
- the tree, the window tree.
Its leaves open as melodies
to the sheen of Spring.
It speaks to me
its words of green,
says now is the time
for everything.
It fills my dreams
with hopes and things,
making me believe
in what is yet to be.
The tree, the window tree,
brings the birds to me.
Songs come fluttering,
sliding on sun beams.
It dances the breeze,
smiles for me
on mornings like these
- absolutely free.
It sings to me
- the tree, the sweetgum tree.
Its leaves open as memories,
like love to me.
poem by W.I. Stoneberger
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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