AE01 Mismatch
beneath branches piles of leaves
rise weeds, young trees, skinny
vines wrap around tree trunks
quiet, dark, warm in winter night
with sleeping bag, tent for rain
can foods, gallon of fresh water
no light, i waited for sun to shine
buried my tent with leaves, i see
surrounding with my hunting scope
sleep at day time find food at night
good plan for a dreamer, why hide
world is open wide from hills to tide
poem by Manonton Dalan
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After A Dance At Malaga
In Malaga
at the base camp
you danced at some disco
and drank Bacardi
and coke and it was
well into the early hours
of the morning
when you left
with Mamie
tiptoeing between
tent ropes and the unlit
areas between
and she said
I can't find
where my tent is
and you said
I'd let you share mine
but that young army guy
is in mine
and three in a bed
is a bit cramped
but where is mine?
she said
searching around
touching tent ropes
as she went by
you stood watching
trying to decide
where your tent was
what are we to do?
she asked
let's go back
to the club
until it gets lighter
or we remember
where our tents are
you said
but I'm tired
she said
I want to go to bed
and sleep
you searched around
by the hedge of the field
and then said
wait
I know where
mine is now
and you led her
to the tent
and unzipped it
and there inside
was the army guy
fast asleep
you can come in here
if you like
you said
but she just stood there
in the semi dark
cussing into the night
come on in
and be quiet
you said
I want my tent
she said
I want my own bloody tent
ok go find it then
you said
and began to climb inside
wait
she said
in a hushed voice
and came over
to your tent
and looked in
what about him?
she asked
he's asleep
you replied
what will he say
and finds me here?
you gazed
at the sleeping soldier boy
his mouth open
his eyes closed
a soft snore
filling the air
either come in
or go elsewhere
you whispered
I can't
she said
not with him there
and so she turned
and wandered off
into the semi dark
another chance walking off
into the night
some things you hope for
you murmured
never come right.
poem by Terry Collett
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Evergreen
I’ll sleep within these woods tonight,
That much, at least, is plain.
I’d hiked for several hours
And not much day remained.
The shadows on the ground grow long
As it’s that time of year
when leaves on branches are few or none
and shadows sinister appear.
There is a clearing up ahead;
A friendly glow is seen
A solitary camper sits
beneath an Evergreen.
His smile is warm and friendly
He bades me to remain
with gestures warm and welcoming
Speech lyrical and strange..
I share with him a simple meal
Of pan fried fish and beer.
The meal seems like a miracle
As I know of no lake near.
Dark night has come and both are glad
To spread our bedrolls down
I sleep the night like one who’s dead.
I wake, and no one’s near.
No sign of my host or his tent
No sign that he was here.
I shake my head in wonder
And pack my roll to go.
What the Evergreen has witnessed
is not for me to know.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Cat and The Apple Tree
A house in the garden
Un-robed compound
Dried leaves stretched out
Under an apple tree
Ripen apples fell down
And on the tree like bulbs
Being rotten lied on the floor
Making a quite picture
Leaves fall one by one
Letting to be naked
Surrounding nature gets ready
To warm up the winter
Through a side opened window
An old cat was sitting on the sill
Saying something to ins and outs
On one cannot understand
Postman comes and puts into the box
On one comes to open it
A rain with a rough wind last night
Ruined the apple tree
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Make-believe
Make-believe
The olive tree had three trunks Siamese triplets?
It was old and gnarled, some of its branches had
no leaves and it was lost in an abstract, cosmic
dream and not aware of its surround; I touched
the perennial and thus gave it soul.
A mild breeze blew, a fluttering of leaves and
the three could see the blue sky where a silvery
bird flew northward glinting in the sun. It could
also see how cute other trees looked, when aware
how ugly it was dawn dew dripped from leaves.
Wished it could be a cosmic dream again and
not know of time and place. But look, its tears
had fertilised the ground and around its trunk
flowers so rare they had still to get a Latin name,
sprung up from red/rusty soil.
They are my creation I have created beauty out
of my distress, the plant whispered as in awe.
My children, must shade them from the hot sun
and bitter winter rain. Vanity be gone, and see,
on its naked branches green leaves grew,
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
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In Winter Still
The axe through the wooden piles plows through
Cleaving, a wintry fog and dry rain leaving,
And chips of timber and clovers left in silence pondering
To cleave, splitting a rock in twain
To cleave, each half of the rock once did to each other
To leave, to cleave and no longer to cleave
A subtle rebirth in passive cycles, yielding the calves
In rebuttal to sterile winter staleness, triggering the valves
Of life beyond winter’s paleness, and winter’s comfort
A world of water, a planet of liquid, full of motion
Churning like oceans as leaves are turned on trees
Tuning to the shape of the wind in flexible notions
The boughs unyielding, in fruit and frozen in place
In still pursuit of life again from hibernation, a close
Of remembrance, hoping to shine in snowy clothing
But feeling no loathing in winter still, calm serenity’s
Waves rolling upon the earth to refreshen the life that is
Paused, a cessation of action in which to reflect the green
That once was, the palette of brown twigs, and auburn leaves
And the empty trees, knowing their leaves are buried
Under whited mounds know they shall return springing
And in winter still, the whited mounds rest, their time
On the ground to hide what lies beneath, all kept in humble
Slumber, in warmth of dreams in shivering air
The wintry fog, bellowing sonorities to nights and fugues
To the daylight, conducts an orchestra of intrigues,
Making its own lost paradise a paradise lost
And deep red, yellow, burnt brown leaves perish in
Internment as the cycle continues; they will rise again
Even in falling, they will continue, even in death
Dunes of radiant snow, some days shining with the sun,
Blinding those watching, what makes some days so bleak
Illuminates them far beyond what the grass ever could
Most seasons burying what the ground will never open
Up and swallow, in the snowy months, the flakes will rain,
Begin a shallow dynasty and reign over sod and soil
Upon which men trod, but no longer, in winter still
Letting the white arcades dominate the land, for they may
Be moved, but never dethroned in months of chill
Although the wind blows harshly, and trees stand naked,
And the grass is dominated by chilling forces unabated
Somehow, there is warmth in winter still.
poem by Hunter Hansen
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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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Sonnet-A new Dawn
Another Dawn is born, a new morrow!
The ground looks sodden from the night's good rain;
I see the dew-drops glisten on the bough;
The mighty Sun is on the rise again.
The ball of fire, dazzles such bright, white light,
The Moon, ghost-like, three-quarters-sized, remains!
It had been raining well all through the night;
This Sunday morn, empty are still the lanes.
The neighbour couple, hose-water the plants;
The leaves are verdant more than ev'r before,
The trunks of trees have busy, crawling Ants;
Some Birds are preening dry their feathers sore.
The Sun has gone high up into the Sky,
Its heat brings warmth to hearts as earth doth dry.
poem by John Celes
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At Dawn
Early in the morning;
Before the Sun had come;
A cool breeze was blowing;
I walked up and down.
Neighbours were still sleeping;
The weather was so cold;
All was very quiet;
Except the chirp of Birds!
It had been much raining;
All through the previous night;
Coffee having taken,
I pranced like a kite.
‘Twas a Sunday morning!
And all would get up late;
Just the noise of motors,
Was in the far-off roads.
The Air was quite freshn’ing,
I breathed and breathed and breathed;
I saw a group of black clouds;
In the Sky inter-weaved.
The plants seemed so smiling;
Their leaves were green and fresh;
The ground was wet, sodden;
And showed some sprouts afresh.
Plantain-trees looked stately;
Their green leaves so well-spread;
I saw green leaf-cutters!
On Moringa-tree leaves.
I had a good night’s sleep;
The family left for hol’s;
I listened to the noise,
Of insects ‘neath the leaves.
Two trees had delivered,
A bunch of bananas each!
One was so much sagging;
The trunk would break, it seemed!
The Sky now brightened up;
The Sun still nowhere seen;
As if someone would come,
The garden next look’d clean.
I stretch’d my limbs few times,
Aiming to breathe better;
I had a bout of cough,
By now, ’twas almost Dawn!
Soon the Air got filled up,
With noise of various Birds;
They flew in joy, singing;
Another Dawn was born!
poem by John Celes
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A Thread scrawled in Timely Autumn
I watch thousands of leaves drift underneath trees,
while in a tree I sat observing
timely autumn air fetching birds –
to gather above the vegetation high up in the blue
birds rise and utter messages
as timely autumn descends on our…?
On our befallen part globe.
To hear the beauty of innocence across
the damp fall ground;
vibrating, that autumn is
going to flee away and…?
And in comes the disturbing winter breeze –
bring out a smile gloating out
on the stricken faces.
Nations fall dead from autumn exhaustion.
Oh timely autumn has come to soon –
to bear a reason of befallen:
sleeping illnesses
on our old earth.
Red, brown, orange, yell a glow
Buried in leaves is our part globe.
And stricken faces
of shadows
flee away into the nest of warmth
as worrying winter breeze crawls
in, regretfully not,
but gleefully.
Swirling around, sneaking in?
In ajar windows.
Oh season is it time
for timely autumn colour to leave
our autumn colour world into
winter darkness?
Not welcomingly the
winter nips at my thin nose
as I watch above
high in this forlorn tree
with no leaves! But what?
Empty branches of crystal snow.
poem by Celine Berghmans
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Life for Death
A newly born flower
Slowly blowing her horn
Fresh grasses all over
Smiling on its thorns
Breeze dancing
Moist climbing
Trunks twisting
Leaves flying
The majestic flower
Now walking through mountains
Of darkest trunks whispering
Of bloody leaves haunting
Passing through the pavement
Blear eyes on strength
Largest trees on coven
Fangs of leaves on vent
Her breath on every fight
Burning with her own light
Searching the truth inclined
The strength behind enemy lines
But they have covered the night
They have killed the knight
Bless the flower tonight
She had made her last sacrifice
Let Me Wake Up Young
Let me wake up young at early dawn again
And welcome the showers of spring first rain
Let me love and peer up at the morning sun
With half shut eyes and comfortable fresh cheek
Let me live a sweet life tale full often to seek
Through meadows and pathless woods where rivers fall and run
Let me love again my brightest beautiful one
Of heaven and divine let me slowly speak
These love tunes to the night and the starlight meek
Or the moon, if that her hunting be begun
Let me know, let me relive these delights and be prone
To moralize upon a smile and a tear
And find at once a region in a world of my own
A meadow, a bower for my spirit where it will steer
To alleys of forest gloom where pine tree dropp their cone
Where foxes hide, robins chirp and leaves are fallen sere
Let me wake up in strength and vigor hope
Worship the morning, the mystic night, the light the shade and lush lea on slope
Let me glance again fresh on wide plains, fair foliage trees, and at sprouting flowers
Call on birds over clear streams, smooth calm lakes, and long stretched bowers
Let me lost in the happiness of pathless woods with tall towers
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New For Old
Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.
poem by Adrian Wait
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The Rain
I don't know how far I can see
'cause it's all blue water streaming towards me
The sun needs to shine normally
but it's all grey rain
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
Chorus
So I will find a place, where I can hide from the sky
And I will wait in this place,
'cause I know you're trying to
Open up your sky
Push away the dark clouds and shine
Forget the thunder so loud, don't be afraid
Show yourself ! Don't hide now !
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
I don't know how high you can see
but it's all grey water falling down on me
The sun needs to shine normally
but it's all grey rain
Chorus
song performed by by Kate Ryan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Retrospect
In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
Love, in you, went passing by,
Penetrative, remote, and rare,
Like a bird in the wide air,
And, as the bird, it left no trace
In the heaven of your face.
In your stupidity I found
The sweet hush after a sweet sound.
All about you was the light
That dims the greying end of night;
Desire was the unrisen sun,
Joy the day not yet begun,
With tree whispering to tree,
Without wind, quietly.
Wisdom slept within your hair,
And Long-Suffering was there,
And, in the flowing of your dress,
Undiscerning Tenderness.
And when you thought, it seemed to me,
Infinitely, and like a sea,
About the slight world you had known
Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .
O haven without wave or tide!
Silence, in which all songs have died!
Holy book, where hearts are still!
And home at length under the hill!
O mother quiet, breasts of peace,
Where love itself would faint and cease!
O infinite deep I never knew,
I would come back, come back to you,
Find you, as a pool unstirred,
Kneel down by you, and never a word,
Lay my head, and nothing said,
In your hands, ungarlanded;
And a long watch you would keep;
And I should sleep, and I should sleep!
poem by Rupert Brooke (1914)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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What Might Have Been.(Poem)
You had been in Tangiers
until the early hours
of the morning
and was brought back
to base camp on the truck
as the sun was beginning to rise
over the horizon
and had then gone
to crash down
in your tent
too tired to undress
and slept through
until midday
then showered
and sat in the bar
when Mamie came
and sat beside you
and said
where'd you go last night?
I thought you
were going to walk me
down by the beach
and watch the sun rise
from the sea?
I was too tired
you said
I crashed out in my tent
she looked at her glass of coke
I could have joined you there
she whispered
and done what?
you said
slept beside me?
she shifted her buttocks
on the stool and said
well it would have been better
than sleeping in my tent
with that Scottish hen
as her brother calls her
you sipped your drink
and watched
the old Moroccan guy
in the corner
inhale on his marijuana smoke
plus I had her snoring
and moaning in her sleep
Mamie added
giving you her side on stare
yes
you said
it would have been
better than that
and she put her hand
on your thigh
and rubbed it back
and forth and said
but it didn't happen
maybe next time
you replied
imaging it all
in your mind
right down
to the last removing
of clothes
and trying to move
in the tent's small space
your body drained
of all strength
wanting only sleep
the Tangier booze
and belly dancers
and nightclub smoke and music
clinging on your flesh
and ringing in your ears
and she trying
to get you in
the right place
and you closing your eyes
and drifting away
like one who dies.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Water That Quenches Your Thirst
at four o'clock in the morning you wake up.
blood is boiling and you look for water to quench the fire.
there is no water in the kitchen.
you go upstairs
no one is there.
you open the window
there is no rain.
it is just the silence of the world
that becomes the water
to your soul.
you drink every moment of this silence.
every dew
in the leaves
of the tree of
solitude
you are refreshed and from that moment on
you know where water
is.
what dew is
what leaves are.
there is a thirst that you have just
defined.
it is not their water
neither yours.
it is beyond the ownership of everyone.
and you know
now
where to find it
because you
also know
what it
really
is
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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O Night O Trembling Night
O night O trembling night O night of sighs
O night when my body was a rod O night
When my mouth was a vague animal cry
Pasturing on her flesh O night
When the close darkness was a nest
Made of her hair and filled with my eyes
(O stars impenetrable above
The fragile tent poled with our thighs
Among the petals falling fields of time
O night revolving all our dark away)
O day O gradual day O sheeted light
Covering her body as with dews
Until I brushed her sealing sleep away
To read once more in the uncurtained day
Her naked love, my great good news.
poem by Stephen Spender
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