Poet-tree

Oxman

Oxman

Location
Seattle
O flourish, hidden deep in fern,
Old oak, I love thee well;
A thousand thanks for what I learn
And what remains to tell.

Tennyson, The Talking Oak
 
"Talking to trees isn't necessarily madness. Talking rubbish to trees - that is madness.
Trees can bear a lot but they don't have wooden hearts. They can bear your woes, they can hear of your happiness, but your clever lies, your cunning defences, your smooth talk -
All that learned, stimulating fraudulent stuff - that tricky, closed up pseudo friendliness and charm - so easy and habitual - trees would rather listen to the wind in their branches.
All those automatic, cunning verbal constructions and strategies assembled and enacted between souls to prevent them from simply being together - trees can't hear that sort of thing. It's madness to even try it.
Being together requires openness, risk and the clumsiness of spontaneous words.
This bears fruit. The relationship blossoms. Slowly but surely. This is not madness."
Leunig
 
THE REDWOODS

Here, sown by the Creator's hand.
In serried ranks, the Redwoods stand;
No other clime is honored so.
No other lands their glory know.

The greatest of Earth's living forms,
Tall conquerors that laugh at storms;
Their challenge still unanswered rings,
Through fifty centuries of kings.

The nations that with them were young,
Rich empires,with their forts far-flung,
Lie buried now-their splendor gone;
But these proud monarchs still live on.

So shall they live, when ends our day,
When our crude citadels decay;
For brief the years allotted man,
But infinite perennials's span.

This is their temple, vaulted high,
And here we pause with reverent eye.
With silent tongue and awe-struck soul;
For here we sense life's proper goal;

To be like these, straight, true and fine,
To make our world, like theirs, a shrine;
Sink down, Oh, traveller, on your knees,
God stands before you in these trees.

Author: Joseph B. Strauss

Builder of the Golden Gate Bridge.
 
"A man of eighty, planting! To build at such an age might be no harm Argued three youngsters from a
neighbouring farm, But to plant trees! Th' old boy was plainly wanting. 'For what, in Heaven's name,' said
one of them, 'Can possibly reward such pains, Unless you live to be Methusalem? Why tax what little of
your life remains To serve a future you will never see?"

'Is is so?' said he. 'My children's children, when my trees are grown, Will bless me for their kindly
shade: What then? Has any law forbade The Wise to toil for pleasure not their own? To picture theirs is
my reward today, Perhaps tomorrow also: who shall say?"

Jean de la Fontaine 1621-1695
 
Trees are Sanctuaries,
Whoever knows how to talk to them
Whoever knows how to listen to them
Can learn the Truth.

-Herman Hesse

Give fools their gold and knaves their power
Let fortunes bubbles rise and fall
who sows a field or trains a flower
or plants a tree is more than all.

-John Greenleaf Whittier
 
Here's the classic, plus my meager attempt to update it (makes me cringe a bit to read it again now, but, WTF, we're all friends here, right?):


trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth`s sweet flowing breast
A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree

--Joyce Kilmer

Trees Revisited

I hope that I shall someday see
My children climbing old-growth trees
Experiencing what it means
To be away from city scenes
They ought to have this chance, I think
But we could lose it in a blink
As fast as wood becomes a mere boards
They all could vanish, only cords
These trees depend on fools like me
I hope I that I can prove worthy.

--Keith Babberney
 
Tender willow
almost gold, almost amber,
almost light . . .
José Juan Tablada

willow leaves fallen
clear waters dried up stones
one place and another
Yosa Buson (1716-1784)

Cherry, apple, rose,
blossoms in countless colours--
each one of them pink.
Paul Brown

Wind howls
pine needles on the walk
outlined in snow.
Paul Brown

Cold wind blows
moving limb
under my feet

sanborn

The smell of
Cherios,sawdust
Ailanthus

sanborn

[ March 08, 2002: Message edited by: John Paul Sanborn ]
 
Life is but a breeze upon the TREES:
a whisper in the night,
then it is gone.
Make life last,
to be remembered


This poem was found on a Wagon Train Toll Road from I-80 South to Virigina City, Nevada
it was written on an old bathtub used for watering animals!!!
 
Well you wanted it, so here are some tree Haiku.

Swinging free aloft
The rope holds or liberates
Tree as medium
AET

Bare tree dark in rain
Elegant fingers dripping
Reach to frozen sky
SLT

Nothing between us
Ninty-three million miles
You, sun give me life
AET

Progress tore me out
Bare roots scream in air. Replaced
I live, comic bush.
SLT

I come to the woods
Seeking something beyond me
Ant on the first page.
AET

Cat scoots up tree trunk
Wild eyed, bush tail, scrabble of claws
Buds swell pink above.
SLT

Climb me under sky
Cut me down to see inside
Are you friend or foe?
AET

Limb to limb I move
An age, an epoch above.
Breathe in forever.
AET

This last one is a haiku for Peter D.
I once fought a war
Then trees showed me good men too
Thanks Pete, goodbye all.
AET

I hope you enjoy.
 
rain running down stem
slippery limbs, thunder chrashes
the smell of hot nylon

--

last stub left
long day, ends long week
a tear

--

Gentle breeze, swaying limb
wind rustling branches
chikadee twiters near my head

--

Just paint a picture with as few words as possible. Anyone who has been there will saw "Yeah!"

join in Y'all!

[ March 19, 2002: Message edited by: John Paul Sanborn ]
 
Trees are cool
trees are neat
throw me a saw and here them weep


Just a sick thought I had reading all these nice poems.
grin.gif
 
THE MAN

Thy prayers are heard, oh beauteous tree!
And soon will spread from sea to sea;
Though starless was thy night of gloom,
Thy light shall shine as bright as noon.
Thou pleadest well for all thy kind;
Thy prayers are heard by highest mind.
Be calm and do not think us "rough"
As we remove this odious stuff;
For life and death at war will be,
Alike in man or beast or tree;
These hideous wounds! this rotten wood,
Is "home" for bugs and makes them food.
"Ouch" did you say ? well do not flinch,
we move this virus inch by inch;
With mallet, chisel, drill, and saw,
We clear the way for Nature's law
To reconstruct and build it strong-
A body that will last you long-
And teach the world what all should know
Trees must have care or cannot grow;
They cannot heal while DEATH is hid
In body, root, or branch, or twig.
So now stand forth and shout thy call,
And show to youth and age and all
The "law of life" is much the same
In beast or bird, or tree or man.
With careful process, day by day,
We've taken all dead parts away,
Just as a dental surgeon-wise-
We clean the tree before your eyes.
We use no "liquid," "wash" nor "soap,"
Nor any kind of secret "dope,"
But clean the tree of "scale" and rot,
And give the aid it long as sought;
Yes, "sought" by mute appeal to all,
Although they did not hear the call.
"Tree life" but few could understand;
But lo! they wake throughout the land,
Aye! with love and zeal, unique, sublime!
Inquiries come from every clime!
From South, beneath the torrid heat,
From frozen North, so cold, so bleak!
Around the world, upon the breeze,
Goes forth the call to "save our trees!"
This call at once we all should heed,
And give the trees the care they need;
Not "medicines" from "quacks" and "fakes,"
But commonsense is all it takes,
Combined with knowledge of a tree,
With "ears to hear" and "eyes to see"
When troubles rise and where it leads,
And head them off with careful deeds.

by John Davey, The Tree Doctor, the care of trees and plants (1907)
 
"Woodman, Spare That Tree"

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.

'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thy hew it down?

Woodsman, forbear that stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
O, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its graceful shade;
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters played.

My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand--
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling
Close as thy bark, my friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.

Old tree the storm stillmove!
And, woodsman, leave the spot!
While I've a hand to save,
Thy ax shall hurt it not.

--George Perkins Morris
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

New threads New posts

Back
Top Bottom