Hopeless Pines
When a pine is felled in the forest
What can the other pines do, but rue
Helplessly rooted to their spots
They rattle their boughs in scared demur
Rock their trunks as if trying to uproot
All in vain, it is but the nature’s rule
To stand desolate amongst piling ruins
Waiting in silence for their turn
But in what way is a common man
Better than the immovable pine
Walking, talking, eating and sleeping
Yet a vegetable enduring
Domineering Machiavellians
Living like a forlorn human pine
Without a fight, bending his spine
Yielding down to ruthless exploitation
.
(The first stanza and the basic idea of this poem are inspired by a sloka (Sanskrit poem) from Ramayana by Audikavi Valmiki)
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Related quotes
In A Northern Wood
FRAGRANT are the cedar-boughs stretching green and level,
Feasting-halls where waxwings flit at their spicy revel,
But O the pine, the questing pine, that flings its arms on high
To search the secret of the sun and escalade the sky!
Rueful hemlocks, gaunt and old, with boughs a-droop, despairing,
Clutch for touch of mother-earth; the while the pine is daring
To rock the stars amid its cones and lull them with its croon,
And snare the silver eagle that is nested in the moon.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Lone Pine
Lone Pine! Lone Pine! Our hearts are numbly aching
For those who come no more,
Our boys who sleep the sleep that knows no waking,
Besides the Dardan’s shore.
Through all the years, with glory sad and sombre,
Their names will deathless shine;
No bugle call can wake them from their slumber:
Lone Pine! Lone Pine!
They did not quail, they did not pause or ponder,
They counted not the odds;
The order came, the foe were waiting yonder,
The rest was with the gods.
Forth from their trenches at the signal leaping,
They charged the Turkish line,
And death charged too, a royal harvest reaping,
Lone Pine! Lone Pine!
Nought could withstand that onrush, backward
driven,
The foemen broke and fled.
poem by Edward Harrington
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In the Dark Pine-Wood
In the dark pine-wood
I would we lay,
In deep cool shadow
At noon of day.
How sweet to lie there,
Sweet to kiss,
Where the great pine-forest
Enaisled is!
Thy kiss descending
Sweeter were
With a soft tumult
Of thy hair.
O unto the pine-wood
At noon of day
Come with me now,
Sweet love, away.
poem by James Joyce
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A Tribute To My Great Poets (Revised)
I forget who it was that invented the first electrode.
Let me praise the guy who invented the commode.
Love is all that matters in the solar system and universe
Some poets and writers like to compose using free verse.
I like to write my poems using ending rhymes.
Some poems I like to read over one hundred times.
The inspiration for some of my poems are from the divine.
The writings and poems of Jane Austen can make me pine.
A moving poem by Robert Frost can inspire my mind.
Let me mention another great poet name Edgar Allan Poe.
He wrote a poem called ‘The Raven’ about someone in woe.
So ode to the electrode, commode, the solar system, and the universe.
Hooray for poems that rhyme, things that are divine, and even free verse.
Bravo to poets who make me pine and all those who inspire my mind.
Let me pay a final tribute to the poets; Austen, Frost, and Poe.
I love to read a moving poem about loss and great human woe?
My favorite Frost poem is Road Less Taken; My favorite Poe poem is The Raven; And my favorite Austen poem is Ode to Pity.
*Definitions of pine: noun: have a desire for something or someone who is not present
Definitions of woe: noun: intense mournfulness, or misery resulting from affliction.
poem by Nichole Kaci McKnight
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Poem - III
Through the dark aisles of the wood
Where the pine-needles deaden all sound
And the dove flutters in the black boughs
Through twilit vaults of the forest
Where fungus stifles the roots
And the squirrel escapes with a cone
Through the dim alleys of pine
Where the bent stick moves like a snake
And the badger sniffs at the moon
Through the green graveyard of leaves
Where the stoat rehearses his kill
And the white skull grins in the fern.
poem by Henry Treece
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Cold Wind In August
I waited for you
You waited for me
That it seemed like, seemed like a mighty long time
Baby I had to have you
Oh, I had to have you
Come rain, rain or shine
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin in your garden
In the california pine
I was standing shivering
Ive got the fever in the rain
But I cant come on back to see you
Again and again and again
I said i, I had to have you
Baby I had to have you
Come rain, come rain or shine
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
And I was standing in your garden
In the california pine
California pine
(instrumental)
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin in your garden
In the california pine
In the california pine it was a cold wind in august
I was pushed on through september
Oh pushin through september
In the rain
Pushin through, pushin through september
In the rain
Ooh
It was a cold wind in august
Shivers up and down my spine
I was standin standin in your garden
In the california pine
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
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A Pine Tree in My House
A tree that grows in my garden
A robust pine tree
Stands big and Proud
Sinks its roots deeply into the Earth
A pine tree in my house
Spreads its seeds every where
Sheds needles all over
Drops big cones onto my lawn
Survives within the sun
Ambles forth in all direction s with each gust of wind
Bends over the roaring storm
Tosses its branches in magnificent enthusiasm
Attracts the colors of a million sunsets into its needles leaves
Sways gracefully with the wind
Whispers with the blowing breeze
Cuddles joyfully with the changing seasons
Tries to reach the sky!
Looks beautiful in a peaceful state,
Is wise in its silence
Grows lush in all seasons
Allows the birds to perch and soar
Never holds them back
Never pines for their return when they fly away
If our hearts were like pine trees
We would have no apprehension in our minds
No one would wish to bring us down
No one would wake us up at night
A pine tree in my house
I Call it the tree of paradise
What I’ve got, I know it matters
For paradise, I wish to pave the way!
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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Brahma
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Brahma
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Meet In The Middle
(chaplin hartford/jim foster/don pfrimmer)
It was seven hundred fenceposts from your place to ours
Neither one of us was old enough to drive a car
Sometimes it was raining, sometimes it would shine
We wore out that gravel road between your house and mine
Id start walking your way
Youd start walking mine
Wed meet in the middle
neath that old georgia pine
Wed gain a lot of ground
cause wed both give a little
And their aint no road to long
When you meet in the middle
Its been seven years tomorrow since we said our vows
Under that old pine tree, you ought to see it now
Standing in the back yard reminding me and you
That if we dont see eye to eye theres something we can do
Id start walking your way
Youd start walking mine
Wed meet in the middle
neath that old georgia pine
Wed gain a lot of ground
cause wed both give a little
And their aint no road to long
When you meet in the middle
Babe I love the way we work it out
Thats what loves about
Id start walking your way
Youd start walking mine
Wed meet in the middle
neath that old georgia pine
Wed gain a lot of ground
cause wed both give a little
And their aint no road to long
When you meet in the middle
Id start walking your way
Youd start walking mine
Wed meet in the middle
neath that old georgia pine
Wed gain a lot of ground
cause wed both give a little
And their aint no road to long
When you meet in the middle
Id start walking your way
Youd start walking mine
Wed meet in the middle
neath that old georgia pine
Wed gain a lot of ground
cause wed both give a little
And their aint no road to long
When you meet in the middle
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Poem Has Feelings
This poem has feelings
This a poem of sorrow, hurt and pain
This is a poem of struggle, sufferation and poverty
This poem has feelings
Stabbing beats
kill my joy with a sad song
This poem will speak
This poem will fight
This poem is angry
This poem has feelings
Cruel thoughts run and rule my thinking
Uncognitive, unrational, jut cold and hardhearted
This poem has feelings
poem by Zanele Mavuso
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The Tide Rock
How sleeps yon rock, whose half-day's bath is done.
With broad blight side beneath the broad bright sun,
Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping.
Yet, nearer drawn, beneath her purple tresses
From drooping brows we find her slowly weeping.
So many a wife for cruel man's caresses
Must inly pine and pine, yet outward bear
A gallant front to this world's gaudy glare.
Ilfracombe, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The World Is a Poem
Scrutinize around you and see poem
See poem in the air
See poem in the sky
See poem in the sea
See poem in plants
See poem in man
See poem from man
See poem in his eyes
See poem in his love
See poem in life
See poem in death…
Now what is a poem?
Poem is nature
Nature is the world
And The world is a poem.
poem by Chinonso Uche
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Do Not Read! ! !
Don't read this poem!
Turn back while you have the chance
Or you will regret it
This poem is a poem of darkness
This poem is a devourer of souls
It will destroy you
Consume you
Absorb you into its black depths
I tried to warn you
I told you not to read it
Why are you still reading?
If I had named it 'READ THIS POEM! ! ! '
Would you have even bothered?
This poem is pulling you in
It has your feet
It's eating you
It's shattering your soul
It's never going to let you go
It's murdering you
This poem is a murderer
It is a criminal, it is evil
It is unnameable, unbreakable, imperfect
This poem has you
It's too late for you now
There's no escape for you now
Too bad
This poem has you
This poem's devoured you
Yummm, good
This poem is satisfied now
You should have listened to me
But you didn't
And now the poem's taken you
You're dead.
As the Pine Cypress tree would say
I want to be like the Cassia tree-
The Cassia tree by the river side
I want to be like the Cassia tree
firmly rooted in the soil inside
so when the winds play its tune of tempest
I will sway left and right as it would have me sway
Sway and not break or lose a footing
as the pine cypress tree would say
I want to be like the Cassia tree-
The Cassia tree by the riverside
I want to be like the Cassia tree
firmly rooted in the soil inside
so when the clouds gather and dress the sky in
dark clothing, for the ritual of the rain
I will stand its pour to the rage of the thunder
Stand and not break or lose a footing
as the pine cypress tree would say
Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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