Related quotes: And you know the tree...

The Tree

And you know
the tree
has a knotty nose
on a trunk
that changes face
surreptitiously
walks on tiptoe
to another place.

poem by Vince Gullaci
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Related quotes

Marula tree trunk

Strong winds blow against the Marula tree trunk,
They come with miscellaneous objects,
Light and heavy,
And use them to break the Marula tree trunk,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,

Light and heavy rains come,
The Marula tree smiles,
For the plentiful rain water will make
It stronger and taller,

Animals come and sleep under and on top
Of the Marula tree,
Lean and rub their itching bodies
Against the Marula tree trunk,
Relieve themselves against it,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,

The human race use the Marula tree for shade
Against the merciless summer heat of the Limpopo sun,
And eat or make beer with Marula,
But, alas! One vicious human being returned,
And chopped it,
Off goes the faithless Marula tree trunk,
To be scorched by the everlasting home burning fires.

poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!

poem by Jack Prelutsky
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The Giving Tree

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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My Beau

I sat, my back resting against a tree trunk,
The sun shining full on my face,
I felt as if my whole being had shrunk,
As I looked out, at this huge open space.

This tree was enormous, such girth must have been
Created by vast centuries of time,
I was but a speck, when from such distance seen,
Yet it stood strong, as if just in its prime.

The views were stupendous, and over the lake,
Four herons were skimming in pairs,
So elegant were they, as each circle they'd take,
No, rushing with time, and no cares.

And as I sat pondering, the lake sparkled on,
The tree trunk, at my back, my support,
Then all of a sudden the sunshine had gone,
And a shadow across me was wrought.

But still I sat on, in this spellbinding scene,
It held me enraptured as though,
I was part of the landscape, and had always been,
And this tree was my 'soulmate' my 'beau'!

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Moana

Somehow calm as she walks on stage
Her entire empire becomes your taste (x2)
show me
come let me know what you're like (x2)
What's your taste?
I bet she carves your heart when she walks onstage
Her empire slowly becomes your place (x2)
show me...come on
Let me know what you're like (x2)
In your place... your place...
Somehow calm as she walks offstage
An entire empire recall your face...your face...
show me...come
Let me know what you're like (x2)
Your face...your face...

song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The idealist walks on tiptoe, the materialist on his heels.

quote by Malcolm De Chazal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forsaken Knowledge

The tree of wisdom,
once proud and tall,
now a shadow of its former self.

Amber tears roll down its trunk,
falling to the now baren ground.

Knowledge once sought far and wide,
is now forsaken.

In this desolate place,
the great tree of knowledge,
is left to die.

poem by Mandy Lee
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That Knows

the face in the mirror,
grows darker with time...
deep and grainy,
weathered and beaten.
the trunk of an old tree,
where birds hide their nests,
and squirrels meet to plot
the downfall of man.
hollowed and sketched,
with dignity unspoken,
the scars of love and wars,
where insects breed and whisper.
and time itself,
bows in awe and respect,
for the tree that knows
itself to be a tree!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The trunk only beams.

The trunk of the tree beams
That it has sent out beams
Which weigh heavy with plums
And sigh with plum visitors.
Beams don’t reagrd the trunk
06.06.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I wanted to be a Willow Tree

Tangled in the loving slender arms
I would knot the ends
To make a swing
Under my willow tree

It sat next to an old farmhouse
Deserted since the depression
Along the banks of
The Wapsipinicon

Untamed grandeur
During a storm
I climbed into her knotty divide
The tree held me
Like a mother cuddling me to her breast

I wanted to be that willow tree
Its soulful sway
The ability to stand firm
Throughout the worst
Give comfort to anyone seeking it

Someone took an ax
To my willow tree
As if a nuisance
Without regard
For all it endured

Barrenness now resides
Where life once lived
My beautiful tree
I weep for it
Because it wept for me

poem by Wanda Swim Strunk
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Father Squirrel (Dedicated To My Father)

I watch a squirrel outside in a tree,
he seems so alive and free,
hopping from one tree to the next one,
I watch and think what fun. Down the trunk to the ground,
scampering, hunting all a round,
until the nuts have been found,
back up the tree he goes,
while a gentle breeze blows,
tree to tree he leaps,
you can not even hear a peep. Into his home he goes,
the winter harvest he sows,
day by day he repeats these steps,
so his family will be well kept.

poem by Kathleen Johnson-Breakfield
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Which Tree Am I?

Which tree, Which tree, Which tree Am I?
Do gaunt limbs swing high upon my trunk-
Etching signals in the sky?

Maybe my roots are solid and firm,
Grounded in being, strong and thick,
Passing soil and grub worm?

Specifically-
Am I, perhaps, an evergreen?
Warm and welcoming- Sheltering,
Birds within my canopy?

Or-
Do I sag, like a willow,
Showcasing agony with each wind,
Whispering melancholic mellows?

Which tree, Which tree, Which tree, Am I?
Oak, Redwood, Willow…. Bonsai?

poem by Lazarus Knix
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On the Avenue

Male?
Female?
God doesn't care
about sex
& the long tree-shaded avenue
toward death.

God says
the worm is as beautiful
as the apple it eats
& the apple as lovely
as the thick trunk
of the tree,
& the trunk of the tree
no more beautiful
than the air
surrounding it.

God doesn't care
about the battle
between the sexes
with which we amuse ourselves
on our way toward death.

God says:
there are no sexes;
& still we amuse ourselves
arguing about whether or not
She is male
or He

female.

poem by Erica Jong
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Stronger

See my scars,
See my wounds,
All over the place
Far from perfect;

...Just like everyone.

Cracks and wrinkles
Run all over
Like the trunk of a tree;
Like any tree in any forest,
Battered by rain and wind.

Baby days long lost
Cheated away by the world;
The frost who kills and steals
From every tree and every forest,
But my roots run deep,
Deep in my father's womb
And my leaves are not blind
Fed by the Sun above...

I shall live.
Day, or night,
Stronger with every storm-
Like how it has always been.

Wilson Khor W.H. @ Seymour Nightweaver

poem by Wilson Khor Woo Han
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Banyan Tree

Banyan tree, banyan tree
that century old banyan tree
standing grandeurly for us to see
banyan tree, banyan tree.

Cool breeze passing through
seeking blessings of banyan tree
branches shaking in approval
banyan tree, banyan tree.

Glassy green with majestic trunk
touching the earth, not breaking free
shelter home for different birds
banyan tree, banyan tree.

Yellowish streaks, some with reddish tinge
welcome every season with a glee
symbol of eternal life
banyan tree, banyan tree.

Shedding leaves, like tears falling
a grandfather lamenting on its knees
new plants cuddling around
banyan tree, banyan tree.

Lord Buddha became its buddy
meditation was the only key
peace you get underneath
that is why it is banyan tree.

Banyan tree, banyan tree
wish fullfilling, it is banyan tree
just pray here and let you see
Banyan tree, banyan tree.

A life giver and just for free
Banyan is my national pride
preserve these at any cost
don't commit a homicide?

poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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The Face

On my walk along the old lane I came across a tree that
has on its trunk the outline of a sad pastry chef’s face,
of one who has just burnt his cakes; and has to open his
shop, now he had to rush out, buy up pastries in other
places; theirs, of course, will not be as good as his own,
but he got to have something to sell. He’ll grind up his
burnt cakes put the crumble in tiny paper bags and sell
them to children on their way to school, or old folks who
are going to the park to feed the ducks; ten cent a bag.
His wife’s fault, she came to the bakery - they haven’t
been married long- they kissed, canoodled; ok, we get
the picture. He has made it clear that she mustn’t upset
him during baking hours, he isn’t mad at her, not since
she told him she had a bun in the oven herself.
And the tree, it’s an olive tree- silvery in winter light- is
silent but there is a stir of a smile in the air.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Unmediated Experience

She does this thing. Our seventeen-
year-old dog. Our mostly deaf dog.
Our mostly dead dog, statistically
speaking. When I crouch.
When I put my mouth to her ear
and shout her name. She walks away.
Walks toward the nothing of speech.
She even trots down the drive, ears up,
as if my voice is coming home.
It’s like watching a child
believe in Christmas, right
before you burn the tree down.
Every time I do it, I think, this time
she’ll turn to me. This time
she’ll put voice to face. This time,
I’ll be absolved of decay.
Which is like being a child
who believes in Christmas
as the tree burns, as the drapes catch,
as Santa lights a smoke
with his blowtorch and asks, want one?

poem by Bob Hicok
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The Green Bay Tree

'Where is the place of their first fond meeting,
'Where, oh where, is that green bay tree,
'Under whose cover
'The maid and her lover
'Plighted their troth and their constancy?'
O the winter nights were bleak and dreary,
The storms of summer were fierce and free;
Its trunk is shattered,
Its branches are scattered,
O! withered and dead is that green bay tree!

'Where are the lovers who courted its shadow,
'Where, oh where, may those fond ones be?
'The troth which they plighted,
'How is it requited-
'Say, have they forgotten that green bay tree?'
The lover was fickle, and would not remember;
He met with another more fair than she;
For her-broken-hearted,
Her peace hath departed,
The maiden doth fade like the green bay tree!

poem by Charles Mackay
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Neglect not meditation

Do exercise; Branches are strong.
Do hatha yoga; Trunk is strong.
Do breathing; Root is strong.
Branch-less, trunk-less,
By root alone too can live a tree.
11.07.2001, Pkd