Mystery Obscured
Far away from nothing,
The trees in the sky is what I see.
I hear the wind - it's coming,
Stirring up the pine trees.
I hear the ocean behind -
Smell salt in the air.
The wind it finally reaches me,
Mixing pine with salt air.
The sky is steely grey,
The sun obscured by clouds.
It casts a mysterious light,
On trees and ocean alike.
poem by Aimee Nell
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The Sea Loving People
The true sea loving people never live far from the sea
They pine if the ocean they can't hear or see
The feel of the sea spray where the wild breakers roar
Where huge waves pound the stony cliffs overlooking the shore.
They can only live near to where the surf waves roll
And to them the breath of the sea air is good for the soul
In towns by the ocean they grow old and gray
From salt-water they could not live far away.
The sea loving people enjoy the coastal sunshine
Inland from the ocean they surely would pine
To live two miles from the ocean for them does seem far
Though in distance that only a short drive by car.
The sea loving people love the rumble of the big surf waves
In cemetery close to the cliffs are their ancestors graves
They would pine if they could not hear the sea breakers roar
They only could live in towns near the Sea-shore.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Calling Of The Trees
The wind.
The calling of the trees,
Whose leaves flow
Endlessly through the wind,
Calling the sound,
Of water,
Like waves
Of the beach.
Beyond.
The row of trees
Standing in line
Along the shore,
Through them
Pass to where
Green grey water
Meets the sand,
In constant push
Through the shorebirds legs.
Crows call, geese horn
And the wind
Flows steady, strong and sure.
The wind smelling of salt and green.
(7.18.7 The View)
poem by Heather Z. Hanna
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From this High Window
From this high window
the invisible wind
moves silent trees:
motion without sound,
dance without song.
Behind painted walls
and heavy curtains,
I cannot not hear
the tumult,
but opening the heavy door,
at last I hear the trees sing,
stirred to passion
by unseen hands
waving branches
swept up
by the compelling wind,
and drawn outside,
exposed and complete,
finally I face the clear maelstrom,
my own hair flying free,
and gaze at the trees,
wild men
dancing as they chant
savage hymns
to their howling god.
poem by Steven Federle
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Until they lose everything
In the Springtime
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most beautiful flowers
In the Summertime
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most beloved fruits
In the Autumn time
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most painful leaves
In the Winter time
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their hope.
And the wind beats again those trees
Until they lose
Their most important spring buds
Again and again
Until they lose their sap
Moreover
The wind beats the trees
Until they collapse down
To the ground.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Deserted Island
This island is deserted
It is very hot
like the desert
with tons of sand
only theres trees
the trees sway in the breeze
like a cool wind blowing through the village
the water matches the sky here
It's clear blue
you can see everything right down to the sand
under the forever going ocean
there's coral and bright colored fish
it's as warm as
the hot sand under my feet and the summer sun
the isolation is unbelievable
it is unspeakable
the only movement is of the ocean and the trees
there is only me
this island is deserted
poem by Kristen Otto
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A Little Wonder
the place just below the wind
trees undisturbed for so many generations
a pool from the eye of the deer
pine trees lining on the eyelids of the day
you are not around
and that is the time when i begin
to discover these things
solitude is the path that i have to tread now
wondering
where shall this silence take me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Trees Are Blabbermouths (Fun Poem 113)
A song on a south wind
whispers stories to the trees
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know,
but the trees are blabbermouths
telling anyone who’ll listen
all the secret that they know.
If you pass a tree one day
when its leaves are rustling
just listen and you will hear
the secrets it has been told
of love affairs illicit
that no one should know
because trees are blabbermouths.
They shout their words across the breeze
so everyone can hear.
If you have a secret
and want it to keep it that,
make sure the trees don’t hear
or that secret won’t be a secret
because the trees are blabbermouths.
14 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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What Is the Wind For?
What is the wind for?
If it's not for songs in trees;
What is the wind for?
I feel a song inside of me.
Every day the wind blows,
I think of thoughts from my heart.
Wind melodies come and they go,
Without me knowing where they start.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs like these.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs in trees.
I have been going through life,
Both with comfort and pain.
I have been going through life,
Both with effect and in vain.
But still I hear wind songs,
As they steadily grow;
With melodies chanting,
That no one really knows.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The and My Wind
Swishy air on my face,
blows around,
turning the leaves,
carrying my cry,
for the world to hear,
I am near,
carry the seeds,
Oh wind!
make new trees,
Oh wind!
make the fruit of life,
Oh wind!
take me out of my strife,
Oh wind!
my wind!
my wind!
put us out of misery,
for we are creation too,
you hear me don't you,
don't torment us wind!
poem by Aamir Zain
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Among the Trees
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for the one my heart calls for
I wonder lost among the trees
I see your light amongst the dark
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is brighter then the rest
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is out of my reach
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light comes closer
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is bright like an angel from the sky
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light fades away and leaves me alone
I wonder lost among the trees
Without a hand to guide the way
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for my guiding light
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost, alone
I wonder afraid of the world
Around me I look for the one
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost and alone forever...................................
poem by kelly Martini
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Poet's Epitaph
i see the lights of a far distant shore.
i hear the moan of thundered skies.
i smell the perfume of rain not fallen.
i taste the lips of earth, and of trees.
i see the fire in cold artic winters.
i hear the words the wind desires.
i smell the scent of passion held back.
i taste the blood of coming death.
i see the dawn of the blackened cave.
i hear the weeping of mountains still.
i smell the coffin, and shovelled dirt.
i taste the spirit set free in flight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Fourth Amendment
THERE IS always something
to say,
something that you may not
want to hear
and break the drums
of your ear,
the truths are always covered
and sealed
like pressurized champagne
which when finally
opened
in a surprising bang
bang
all attention is caught
to the scents of life
the smell of vapor from
the pine trees
the sparkles of champagne
on the glass
that you hold tenderly
and slowly
sip
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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4: 39 A.m.
the strong wind keeps on blowing
howling
above the house and the trees bending
in different directions
there is this sound of tin roofs
about to be blown away
i hear them
and feel the fury
of someone
coming
to the mind of my wife
it is nothing
but a typhoon coming
on schedule
as predicted by the weather bureau
yesterday
and to her
i am just overdoing thoughts
and things
playing always
the role of the poet
even when
the wind is the wind
and nothing
but the wind
and nothing else
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wind.
Who has seen the wind?
Of course, neither you nor I!
It's weak or strong
No body sees its appearance
Who has seen the wind?
Of course, neither I nor you!
Only feel trees are shaking,
I know the wind is passing through.
There are some winds called typhoon.
The residents are afraid when it's coming.
People most fear about the tornados mostly.
Everything’s being terribly pulled up to the sky.
It brings three days raining if a typhoon passed.
Therefore I don’t think they are too hateful.
There will be some affection when wind is coming.
It may bring us happiness or sadness.
Do you love the wind?
I love spring wind kisses on my face;
it is so soft like a lady’s touch.
I love autumn wind blows on fruit trees;
it brings the fruit’s smell to my nose.
Do you hate the wind?
My heart might be broken if it’s too strong.
I pray God lets lovely wind blowing.
I wish bad wind never causes harmful again.
Pray for people get help from the wind;
No body hates wind for the whole year;
I hope get more love from the wind.
Hope every body loves them as the friends.
poem by Albert Wong
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Where the Blue Begins
In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins,
We came to rest awhile and play
On sun-drenched islands known as Tremiti,
Where the breeze blows fresh
And pine trees shiver and the salt sea
Washes the likes of you and me,
In the southern Adriatic, in the wind-blown spray.
In the bluest water, just where it begins,
We came to play awhile, came to rest
On rocky shores of barren coves,
As the swells arrived and water splashed
And reflected sunlight jumped and shimmered
Among the cliffs and overhangs and grottoes,
In the Adriatic, where that sort of thing begins.
In the clear blue water that the swells bring by
Out of the sunny Adriatic Sea,
We came to rest and play and bathe ourselves,
As the pine trees swayed on the bluffs above
And wind dispersed the salt sea spray,
In the sunny Adriatic, where a way of life begins.
We came seeking an immersion, to find ourselves
In waters clear enough to fathom
A bottom profoundly blue, to see it seemed
All the way to Greece or any other site
That water washed as well or sun could so ignite,
Came to see ourselves in a world of dreams,
That words might furnish what place implies,
That place might finish what a word begins.
We came seeking clearest water, sunniest sky,
Came, you and I, to see what would be seen
Immersed in waters consummately blue,
In sunlit swells that carried their dark secret,
Tiny hosts known as meduse, whose fragile arms
Glanced and stung and burned all day
And raised the blush that blossomed on our skins,
Aggravated by the sun and spray,
By our own attempts to hold each other,
As we swam out of ourselves and were swept away,
In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins.
poem by George Bradley
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Epiphany
Outside the surge of the wind, the wind in the trees,
The rush of leaves, and the sighing in the pine-needles,
Outside the sound of the sea-shore, distant, remembered,
The waves breaking on the gray rocks, and the evening approaching,
The restlessness, and the interminable noise.
Silence in the room, and solitude,
A sense of spaces, remoteness and nearness, and the soul's awareness,
Desolate is the hearts desire
And the loving knows no end,
When the morning in the clouds breaks across the sky,
And the forests sway and bend.
Outside the wind, the wind in the trees,
And the sighing in the tree-tops.
Noises from the town, heedless, unthinking, indistinct,
Recurring, fading,
And silence in the room, and solitude,
The shadowy dimness, the darkness of evening,
A pause in time, and the soul's awareness.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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These Pines
These pines are not the ones that i'm used to
They won't carry me home when I cry
Am I too far gone to recover
Or can I turn if I try
Should I trade my soul for another
Should I stay and pretend that I'm happy
Like so many times before
Yeah these pines
Are not mine
They don't smell so sweet
like the ones in my mind
And I search the needles
'Til I run out of time
But I don't see you in These Pines.
Di I stumble or falter my words
When I'm saying everything is all right
I'm not one to release my depression
But these trees bring it out every night
Well i don't talk 'cos I'm trying to listen
To the wind take me home through these leaves
But it's quiet and don't hear nothing
Cos the wind doesn't blow through these trees
song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Your Touch!
i cannot judge
the distant star
by the light that reaches...
my eyes.
i cannot understand
the ocean's depths,
by pressing the shell to my ears...
and listening.
i cannot comphrehend
the freedom of the wind,
as i walk 'neath the trees
in the moonlight.
but i can know love
that moved whole mountains,
and stopped eternity....
in your touch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ode to Salt
This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
v oice,
a mournful
song.
In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Au Jardin
O you away high there,
you that lean
From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,
I am below amid the pine trees,
Amid the little pine trees, hear me!
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
Well, there's no use your loving me
That way, Lady;
For I've nothing but songs to give you.
I am set wide upon the world's ways
To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,
But you never string two days upon one wire
But there'll come sorrow of it.
And I loved a love once,
Over beyond the moon there,
I loved a love once,
And, may be, more times,
But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.
Oh, I know you women from the 'other folk',
And it'll all come right,
O' Sundays.
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
poem by Ezra Pound
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