Decline of Day
Gentle breeze,
swaying trees
leaves
golden-green.
Imperfect sphere
sliding through day’s
perfect, blue air.
Ascends the moon
stark and silver
much too soon.
poem by Steven Federle
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Trees
Green with spendour when Summer's here,
Brown contender in Autumn's sphere,
Bare the branches in Winter's embrace,
New growth created, when Spring shows her face.
Stalwart trunks, with many years standing,
Leaves when over, steadily landing,
Branches swaying in the breeze,
How I love all kinds of trees.
Forests of green, where they all meet,
Swaying together as they all greet,
Each morning, when the light appears,
Each growing slowly over the years.
Sentinels of the land they survey,
Strong and upstanding in every way,
Graceful, mighty, powerful and fine,
Tall and sleek just like the Pine.
The Oak, Ash, Sycamore and Lime,
The Rowan, White Beam and Silver Birch sublime,
Each one giving of their glorious best,
To the World - The World's been blest.
What would we do without our trees,
Don't cut them down, will you please,
Remember how they give us shade,
From the sun, within the glade.
Stand and study these majestic creations,
Upright descendants of past relations,
Their dignity, against all weathers,
If it were us, we'd lose our tethers.
But these gallant trees require our care,
They give oxygen, in the air
That we breathe, so, if we want to survive,
Let us keep our trees alive.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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My Walk
Leaves sparkling with colours of red, yellow, brown and gold.
The peacefulness of the walk
a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind,
yet somehow gives a little calm to the raging waves.
Birds chirp their songs to each other
playing musical chairs across high branches.
Stop for awhile
try to catch a glimpse of a field mouse
busy on it's journey through the undergrowth,
but it stays elusive to my eyes if not my ears.
Fallen trees lay about in perfect posture
offering the rambler a seat to rest and look around.
Bluebells in abundance
covering the floor like a carpet,
swaying gentle on the sometimes breeze.
Young sapling trees point skyward
chasing old gnarled ones to reach a passing cloud,
straight as an arrow the young ones against the twisted shape of old.
Walk past a familiar spot once shared
with a lover so far away,
extends my smile.
Clouds on high drift silently along
as if looking for wishes to transport to another land.
I love the sun high in the sky
knowing the warmth I feel is the same it gives you.
One sun warming us both.
RG/NB
poem by Robert Green
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Perfect World
In my perfect world
The sky is a perfect blue
The grass is a soft green
And together are me and you
In my perfect world
The sun is a perfect heat
No global warming
It would be a treat
In my perfect world
There would be no disease
The flowers would bloom everyday
And no one would cut down trees
In my perfect world
No one would be poor
The streets paved with gold
Silver for the floor
In my perfect world
Death would never come
Pain would go away
And no one would be dumb
In my perfect world
The government would not rule
We’d chose for ourselves
What we thought was cool
In my perfect world
Racism would not exist
Discrimination would be over
And nothing would end with fists
But then I remember
I can’t believe it’s true
But my world really is perfect
Because I spend it with you
The Life I Live
It has been said that blue is the color of the sky although others may say
Blue is an emotion when someone is close to tears-
Sad, melancholy and disheartened-
I look upwards toward the sky on a sunny day when
I don’t feel sad and blue.
Green is the color of the leaves upon the trees, although
I have heard others say they are jealous- green or envious-
I enjoy the trees, especially in the summertime,
Blown about in a gentle and cooling breeze-
The same leaves turn yellow, gold and orange in the autumn and
Fire blazes a bright red in color-
It is the fire of my spirit that burns
When anger plagues my troubled mind-
Rain falls and puts out the fires but
The rage inside of me is a shade of red that will not be tamed.
I look upward towards the sky on a sunny day,
As the leaves upon the trees rustle in the wind-
I pray for the rain to fall to quench the fury that burns my soul-
I don’t feel melancholy blue or jealous-green-
I have days when I enjoy the colors of the autumn foliage-
But the color red of rage defines the life I live.
Today I glance upward toward the blue sky and the leaves upon the trees-
Today I feel sad and blue and close to tears because
Of the pain that the fire inside of me that is always burning-
If the sun and the trees could laugh and send me good vibrations perhaps
They would cheer me and I could capture the colors blue, green, orange and yellow-
And perhaps even red as being bold and beautiful-
And with these colors I could paint a rainbow upon my horizon and
There would be no reason for anger to smolder my heart again-
I could laugh with the sun at the splendor of the rainbow against the sky of cobalt blue- And glad to say that raging fire of resentment
Is behind me now and I never feel sad and blue because
I have repainted my world with colors of joy, happiness and eagerness
To live my new life beneath that rainbow of contentment.-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Aubade: Suisun Valley
'Love is not mere emotion or sentiment. It is the lucid and ardent response of the whole man.' Thomas Merton
Waves of grey light
wash over our small valley.
Cool morning
sea-born breeze prevails
for now.
High-toned birds wait
for the golden sun to ignite
our swaying trees.
Only in the darker eves
do I hear the mourning dove's
steady moan.
In silver-blue tones,
he bids his love
awake!
poem by Steven Federle
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Harmless Gossip
An avenue of stately trees
whose branches meet high overhead
exchanging gossip with the breeze.
This is the way that rumours spread.
When lovers stroll beneath the moon.
The trees observe their every move.
They dance to day to the same tune
their forbears danced to when in love.
Though fashions change, some things do not.
The trees have seen it all before.
All that they’ve seen is not forgot
but added the their growing store
of gossip which the trees then share
with every passing breeze that blows.
The trees will spread it everywhere
to all and sundry I suppose.
Be very careful what you do.
Although no one can see.
Know that the trees are watching you
and they will share quite happily.
Everything that they have seen
with any breeze that happens by.
With consequences unforeseen
By trees and breeze or you and I.
When strolling in a moon lit glade
Beware the moons soft silver rays.
That stir the blood of man and maid
to think this is the time and place.
19/09/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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0377 Should be, but
I should be writing a poem
about those small wisps of white cloud
moving unusually fast across a blue blue sky
on their way to somewhere else
as if they're late for an appointment.
I should be writing a poem
about the way the breeze is so gentle
that it seems to have a secret plan with the sun
and the new green leaves
to do something quite extraordinary.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the trailing geranium leaves
are giving out a scent more white than green
more heavenly than any thought.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the purple and blue and yellow and white flowers
seem to say nothing but beauty.
I should be writing a poem
but all I can do is gaze in amazement
at what I've seen before
and never seen before.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Me And The Moon At Midnight
I awoke at midnight,
and saw the ray of moon,
was touching my forehead,
with its gentle light.
The window was open,
and I stood beside it.
The cool breeze caught
and held my hand,
mesmerized I reached
to the terrace.
The moon at midnight,
and I thus met
face to face....
The trees, the plants
and oh! the houses
around took silver hue.
The stillness, the
melted silver from
the night's one
source inundated the
entire objects to the
loneliness.....
No sound around,
No clamor,
No care,
Only there,
Me and the midnight
Moon to share,
the serenity
of the night,
the borrowed
sunlight...
Me and the....
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Through These Front Windows
See how our neighbor’s trees
fill with dusky breeze
as bright sky fades to bluest steel.
Light laces through the blackening limbs;
swaying crowns arch
while just above
climbs the golden star.
Oh! See how the planet, worlds apart
from our own treading voyager,
glides through God’s black, velvet heart,
and darkness fill the tender earth
as sudden night joyfully buoys
our slowly turning, blue-green world
with His sacred void.
poem by Steven Federle
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Moon All The Way
Through the darkness of night,
behind the branches of deodar,
he peeped thru, O Moon, the only
source of gentle light!
One side there was deep ditch,
another was hill tufted with trees,
in between these two me and the moon's
tender light! He tiptoed all the
way, the moon of Mussoorie.....
The green dark leaves in silhouette,
swayed to say, good bye to me.
They disappeared after a long period,
But, the moon followed me all the way! !
!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Moon, We Look to You.
Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.
Moon, you have a role to play up there –
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair –
You are free from our grotesque disdain.
Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!
Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea –
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing – so we look to you.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Insolvent for my friend Aldo
The silver leaves of aspen trees
which shimmer in the playful breeze.
Each separate leaf reflecting light
like newly minted coinage bright.
Quite soon will be a memory
as autumn winds strip every tree
until no single leaf is left
Their branches naked and bereft.
Though they still shiver in the breeze.
The naked branches do not please
the eye the way they used to do.
I long again to see the view
of silver laden aspen trees.
which dip and curtsy in the breeze..
28-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Magic Of A Sea Of Green
A sea of myriad shades of green
An impute of Mother Nature,
Giving definition to each single tree
Gentle swaying two and fro, as
The gentle breeze rides the waves
Of rustling leaves,
Sunshine paints the shade, a
Stunning panorama for the eye,
The forest, spectacular in its self
A pleasure to see and absorb its fragrance,
Its twitter of its habitants and chorus of insects
Sing the song of life, alive and busy.
As I laze on the grass and close my eyes
The magic vision lulls me into a Sunday sleep.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Cloudy Night Sky
I sat last night on damp plowed ground.
Above the sky felt close around.
The clouds were broken by silver rays;
Each was a blue and gray curtain array.
All moved swiftly on their way.
The moon a silver sphere seemed very near,
When the clouds allowed it to appear.
The refreshing beauty of the sky was made,
In the marvelous broken patterns, hues, and shades,
of silver, blue, and gray.
Blue Wall / Green Wall
What comes to my mind when I see a green wall?
A green wall reminds me of the grass so green
And the emerald most rarely seen
A green wall reminds me of the leaves so green
And a forest where I have never been
A green wall reminds me of trees with a lot of shade
And the fresh vegetables kept for trade.
What comes to my mind when I see a blue wall?
It reminds me of the sea so blue
I feel like jumping in it too
A blue wall reminds me of the blue sky
You can’t touch it cause it’s very high
A blue wall reminds me of the deep blue bear
It is very dangerous so beware
A blue wall reminds me of a blue whale
To reach it from the shore you have to sail.
poem by Risha Ahmed
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The Cool Summer Breeze
The Cool Summer Breeze
Have you experienced the cool summer breeze?
Have you witnessed the constant swaying trees?
How about the buzzing of the bees?
Have you seen the falling of the leaves?
I have, and I love the cool summer breeze.
poem by Abdul Malik Habibalah Wajid Hunter
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The Leaves on Those Trees Spoke About Me!
The leaves on those trees spoke about me,
They leaned their flat, green shapes against each other,
Then came together to talk,
As the breeze pushed them up and down.
I wondered how they even knew,
That I was of modern mankind true,
That I could be their friend or foe,
That once I decided to go.
And follow out that mission of modern man's progress.
But their green body swayed with ease,
They breathed their breathable breeze,
And continued their green soft speak,
They weren't sure their future looked,
Sunny or bleak in this modern world.
And as they observed me standing there,
Down below the trunk,
Staring at my determined stare,
I wanted to fell all trees,
To fell them just to show I could.
So the leaves presiding over their g reenland,
Commenced their dance and speech.
They couldn't decide whether I was an environmentalist,
Or a man with no green conscience with no red heart.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Golden Tree
In the dark late night she appeared
A golden tree dancing
Before a sky of azure blue
Somewhat purple hued.
Her branches grew haphazardly
Playing hide and seek with cirrus clouds.
Inside she prayed for rain to shine upon her.
Through a kaleidoscope she could read the songs
Of her wounded soul,
Although the approaching dawn was blackening.
Electric blue were the eyes of midnight.
Mistrustful, they hid behind a wall of deceit
This golden tree danced in the early morning breeze,
As she shivered to ward away the fallen snow.
She wept for all of the hurt through which she lived.
When she read the world through that kaleidoscope,
There were none but scattered shards of broken glass
“Dance and dance”
All tell this golden tree,
For she shall grow when the sun rains upon her gilded heart.
She is loved, in all her lustrous glory.
Red birds of ardor,
Robins with their breasts of copper,
And the new moss that grows upon her fragile trunk
Shall arrive within a vessel christened “springtime.”
She reaches out with agile limbs
To trees with silver branches
Swaying to and fro,
Dropping leaves with veins of woven silk,
That wilt with each and every touch.
In the dim moonlight when the air is bittersweet
There appears a golden tree that dances,
Far from where the rippling creek is crawling over
Gemstones dampened by the rain.
Against a sky of azure blue
Touched with purple hues
A lithe, dancing golden tree can be found
In any place, time or realm,
She could be you or me-
Perhaps anyone’s wounded soul,
Where its world seen through a kaleidoscope
Is none but a shattered dream…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Farewell
Not soon shall I forget--a sheet
Of golden water, cold and sweet,
The young moon with her head in veils
Of silver, and the nightingales.
A wain of hay came up the lane--
O fields I shall not walk again,
And trees I shall not see, so still
Against a sky of daffodil!
Fields where my happy heart had rest,
And where my heart was heaviest,
I shall remember them at peace
Drenched in moon-silver like a fleece.
The golden water sweet and cold,
The moon of silver and of gold,
The dew upon the gray grass-spears,
I shall remember them with tears.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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My Love Is Not Perfect
My love is not perfect.
It does not flawlessly sail the seven seas
It clears no mount in single bound
No epic stuff this
My love is not perfect.
Threats may not be seen
Predators may be invited unwittingly
My love is not perfect.
It is often blind to dangerous flaws
It can be the staircase of a catastrophic fall
My love is not perfect.
It can hurt unknowingly
And injure me fatally
Yet this imperfect love
Brings forth my best 'me'
Without this love
I could not be.
This imperfect love is strength
For imperfect me.
8/9/2009
poem by Claude H Oliver II
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