The Jacaranda Tree
~Here's the wisdom shared with me... by the Jacaranda Tree~
A friend of the wind...
I sway and I bend...
I'm the fifth season...
A poem without end...
Equatorial...
The oldest of new...
Blue Jacaranda...
More lilac than blue...
The rain forests, rich...
With hills of deep green...
I'm far and I'm near...
I'm here in-between...
The loud, silent voice...
Both heard and unheard...
The whispery shouts...
The unspoken word...
My flaws are perfect...
I'm plumpish and lean...
My roots drink from clouds...
In the month: Thirteen...
The moons of morning...
A flame's frozen heat...
The all and nothing...
The bitter of sweet...
The sun rising West...
A dim shade of bright...
An empty fullness...
A wild, wingless flight...
Blue Jacaranda...
I'm mystery and clue...
The universe, vast...
I live inside YOU...
The ancient future...
The steep upward fall...
The bloom and the wilt...
I dwell within ALL...
I'm the dusk of dawn...
I am bound, thus free...
Humans have crowned me...
The GREAT POET-TREE!
I AM SPLENDIFEROUS! ! !
As
ARE
YOU!
From the new book 'Storm Child' by Todd-Michael St. Pierre- Coming Soon!
http: //www.louisianaboy.com/
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Poem Of Syntax
A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree
The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue
The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog
I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue
I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Underneath The Jacaranda Tree
On a windy day, I saw her standing there,
Underneath the jacaranda tree.
With purple blossoms in her hair,
Amidst a purple sea.
The purple reflected in her eyes,
As the clouds went rolling by.
I swear I could hear the angels cries,
From heaven's throne on high.
Underneath the jacaranda tree,
A little fountain ran.
With crystal waters running pure and free,
The purest in the land.
In the fountain she dipped her hand,
In crystal waters cold and fine.
And let water drip on the sugar white sands,
Long ago when she was mine.
The jacaranda tree withstood the test of time,
It has grown old along with me.
The purple blossoms still wax divine,
They rain down falling free.
And the wind blew through the boughs,
Of the jacaranda tree.
Raining purple like it still does now,
But she is gone from me.
When the jacaranda tree blooms in the spring,
And purple blossoms fill the sky.
I hear her and the angels when they sing,
Somewhere in heaven, way up high.
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whispers of the Wind
The Tree stands tall,
Listening to the Wind,
Whispering its cautionary tales.
The Tree stands tall,
Listening to the Wind,
But does not bend, you see?
You are the Wind,
And so I shall be the Tree,
Never fear, dear friend, I shall listen to thee.
Yet I shall not bend,
To your valiant assumptions,
To your hollow allegations.
Impetuous is the Wind with only it's tales to tell me,
But I shall stand Tall,
For I am the Tree.
poem by Zoe L Mathias
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain
Thoughts of rain at sunset
Clouds of rainbow blue
Thoughts of sun on sand-dunes
Where the seabirds flew
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of leaves in autumn
Falling from the trees
Thoughts of hoaring tree tops
Leading to the sea
This was our season, no lies and no pretend
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of springtime rainfall
Touching flowers that bend
Thoughts of wind in willows
Days that never end
This was our season, but sorrow waited round the bend
For my love left with the rain.
Rains the way you move now
Sun the way you seem
Leaves the way you wonder
Flowers the way you dream
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are The Tree, I Am The Wind
You are the tree, I am the wind,
You alter my course, yet you also bend;
No longer is either the same after each-
I am the wind, be my tree, I do beseech!
Ethereal, unseen-yet alterations I may make!
Magnificent, beautiful-away, my gust, you take!
Together, we are an ever-changing landscape,
Making wondrous reality out of our dreasmscape!
A tree, without its wind-breathless, becalmed:
A wind, without its tree-purposeless, withdrawn!
The wind sweeps around the tree, the tree dances
More inspiring is this than all other romances!
I, the most powerful wind, you, the most beautificent tree;
Wonder do I what, as one, together, we may be!
Maurice Harris,30 August 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Singing Tree
(words & music by owens - solberg)
Youre the one who beckoned the wind
And fanned the flame when our love began
So dont pretend you dont know me
Our names are carved on you, singing tree
Oh singing tree
Sing to me
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
And bring her back, singing tree
Your leaves have turned from green to blue
Sometimes I think you loved her too
But since she left and our love died
You stand petrified, singing tree
Oh sing to me
Singing tree
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
And bring her back, singing tree
Oh sing to me
Singing tree
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whisper
There's a gentle whisper in the wind
It is most soft and simple,
I named it wisdom
I also deem it my friend.
It guides me and warns me, as only it can
For this friend wisdom / wind can arrive anywhere at anytime,
A true blessing, a cosmic blend
Therefore until my departure, my expected end
I shall never be without, my faithful, loyal friend.
I shall give praise to the Creator.
I shall thank him for the whisper as I thank him for the wind.
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Tree
Against a clear and deep blue sky,
One tree stretched tall, its branches high,
And stiffly they, of movement none,
Stood true and straight, their course to run.
The wind it whistled strong, and shrilled
Between those branches, stiff and chilled,
But not one twig could it but sway,
And having tried, swept on its way.
Against a clear and deep blue sky,
One tree stretched tall, its branches high,
And with great dignity, it kept its stance,
No wind would ever make it dance.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Blue Season
Snow in springtime, storm in the sea
Mist at my window, no leaf on my tree
Showers in the garden with no flowers to touch
When will you bring us your sunshine and such.
Season tell me true
Whats been wrong with you
Wont you turn again
Blow away the rain
Blue season, turn away.
Wind in the evening, dust in your eye
Heart full of shadow and cloud in your sky
Everythings wrong and you know youre to blame
Nothing will change while youre still the same
Cold in the city, tears on the street
Faces are empty in those that you meet
Lovers and losers who fail in the night
When will it be that youll treat them right.
Season tell me true
How much do we need you
Wont you turn your wheel
Hide your heart of steel
Blue season, turn away.
Countries and people caught in the rain
When will they learn to feel fine again
Wandering lost now for nothing is clear
Waiting for signs of the turn of the year.
Season tell me true
Whats been wrong with you
Wont you turn again
Blow away in the rain
Blue season, turn away.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hinterland
Poems have a hinterland.
They come from a mind
that’s left behind, a family,
a tribe, a nation,
in the dense equatorial forests of the human heart;
yet in its backpack, precious souvenirs..
has trekked through swamps and uplands,
dangers, adventures, pleasures,
then the scorching arid desert sands,
and there in front one day,
the matter-of-fact sea, lapping
with the lazy always-there…
and leaning down, place nonchalantly
the poem now a paper boat,
into that glittering, faithless blue,
launched to tide and wind;
should you have put it in some green bottle,
you who think it’s precious,
with a name, address, so that they know
how far it’s travelled…?
Somehow, that matters little in this present moment,
as the poem’s past prepares to meet its future self;
Yet, you watch it, silent, ’til it disappears;
how close, to children, is horizon’s curve.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Smokey Mountain Boy
(words & music by rosenblatt - milrose)
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
The closer and closer I get to home
The more excited I am
Those were the mornings Id roll out of bed
Start the day off with a hot corn bread
Smothered in huckleberry jam
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
I can almost hear the hounds running through the woods
Close on the trail of the hare
How I long to be with them following the hounds
A-huntin again
Gettin me a big old grizzly bear
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
I traveled around and met lots of girls
No matter how many I see
I left some pretty ones behind
I know back home is where Ill find
The girl whose love is meant for me
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Broken Branch, A Fervent Tree
Such compassion and beauty be,
With the comfort strongly felt,
A friendship intensely made,
By the obstacles both sides have dealt.
I have no life without my other half,
No laughter unfeigned, no smile undelayed,
Immensely crafted into a bond,
So resilient and true, yet not dismayed.
I am a branch without a tree,
If I'm not with you, I fall, I am unbalanced,
You are my inner strength, my inner warmth,
A clandestine unglanced.
Such a friend you are,
A friend that one could never imagine,
A feeling of mirth and undeniable care,
As warm as a joyful grin.
I am a branch without a tree,
Incomplete without a tree,
I am the branch, you are the tree,
A broken branch, a fervent tree.
- a poem for Lorena -
- a poem for CHULCZ -
poem by Nashy Lamen
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The Oldest Game Played
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
Initiating disturbances,
And claiming to be victimized...
Is decreasing in its effectiveness.
People finally are opening their eyes.
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
They begin with pretense to befriend someone.
Like the smile of a demon,
To ensure its welcome.
And then to make claims...
Of something despicable the innocent one has done,
To then defame and assassinate good character...
With a perception that success,
Is soon to be won!
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
Those 'Woe is me I don't know what happened' facades...
Are being stripped away for what they are.
Those who deceive and lie,
With pity party invitations...
Have devastated friendships and relationships,
Behind masqueraded false faces.
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
'Why would they lie like that?
Deceive and create conflict? '
~What is it that you have they might perceive,
As a value to them? ~
'Well...
Nothing I haven't with them shared.'
~They did not want it shared!
They wanted it theirs.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beneath This Breathing Tree
Come my friend,
join me beneath this breathing tree,
and sit on the crispy grass,
smother yourself with its scene,
full of emotion and laden with wisdom,
Be ease my friend,
each worry smeared your face with wrinkles,
alas, the city neon still blind you with lies,
now that you with me under this tree,
throw all your stress and be free,
Don't worry my friend,
all the unsolved hectic of your life,
are fugitive running in its own prison,
never to be free, never to be captured,
but you my friend are their warden,
taking of a day off sitting beside me,
under this breathing tree,
Smile my friend,
under this tree there are rules to be obey,
no worry, no lies, no reality,
relax and then you will see,
it's just me,
and this breathing tree..
poem by Syafiq Syahmi
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The Tree's Devil
The tree, how it sits
so still in the ground.
It is its homeplace,
forever it stays there,
unless it is rudely uprooted.
It's branches slowly sway
to and from with the soft breeze.
Soon, night will come
and with it it will bring
the devils wind.
It will howl and whine
threw the tree's limbs,
and the tree will anger
and slash its branches out,
trying to stop the dreadful wind.
poem by Alison Miotke
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Nothing..
This poem is not about love..
This poem is not about pain..
This poem is not about the things i have learned...
This poem is not for the broken hearted..
This poem is not for the ones seeking help..
This poem is not for the depressed...
This poem is for no one,
Because no one can contain nothing...
This poem is not filled with wisdom..
This poem was not written with love...
This poem was not written for a lover nor a brother...
This poem was nothing special...
Not quite remarkable....
But it is nothing because that what it was...
Nothing and it will never be anything...
poem by Jenna Marie
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Dedicated to Paddy Martin (Rondeau Redouble)
It's time to ring Church bells on this new day,
When dawn still means sad tears for a friend,
A very dear friend who's gone away
'Cause fought a fight of faith until the end.
The bark and leaves of willow tree still bend,
His time on death row found another way.
His spirit into heaven will ascend.
It's time to ring Church bells on this new day.
Though gentle wind through branch of tree would play,
He stretched his clouds to rain upon the land.
We need to cry with him, we need to pray,
When dawn still means sad tears for a friend.
In words sad tears learning how to bend,
Let roses live their dream of yesterday
And try to say goodbye to our friend,
A very dear friend who's gone away.
When things are transfigured in their way,
To death the roses all perfumes can lend.
We read his poems and for him we pray
'Cause fought a fight of faith until the end.
His love made everyone to be his friend,
He wrote in such a fine poetic way,
But human heart will be a piece of land
'Cause spirit goes to reach The Lord today.
MCN: CKTAK-UDWYR-KQXNQ
© copyright Mon Feb 07 22: 56: 13 UTC 2011 - All Rights Reserved
poem by Marieta Maglas
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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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Willow Tree Lullaby
Written by dan peek, 1973
Found on hat trick.
Dont wait for me at the willow tree
Love will be waiting for you
The wind through the leaves plays a symphony
Harmony, rhapsody too
Dont bend with the wind
Love must not end but begin
Dont bend with the wind
Your love must not end but begin
La, la, la, la ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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