Tag Archives: #Tree


There was,

some might say,

a necessity

for a Teapotupatree;

me, I can’t even see

the point in tea.

Three Little Thirds

Three little thirds

flew into a tree,

as one.

An Wedhen (The tree)



an wedhen.

When the Poet climbed up the Poet Tree.

The Poet climbed the Poet Tree,

he had to,

because it was there;

he wrote a word,

climbed up with it,

taking care

not to reach too high,

too soon,

as the Poet Tree

can reach to the Moon,

and even beyond –

on Mars there’s a pond.

The Poet,

reaching the top

of the Poet Tree,

pinned the word

to a high, thin twig,

then climbed back down

for another word,

that from the ground he’d lovingly dig.

A warning heard,

but ignored,

didn’t stop his next attempt

at reaching the heights –

see the Poet

with his hair unkempt,

and his simile trailing

like a kite tailing in the breeze;

a poet loves the ascent of trees.

Carrying words from the Earth

to the heights,

at anytime of all those innumerable days,

unaccountable nights,

is what a Poet must do;

for what is a word

if left buried in soil,

if it’s not to be heralded

by a Poet Tree toil?

Crows in a tree

Two crows, sat in a tree’;

I counted them twice,

and, the second time,

I counted three.

Three crows sat in a tree

I shouted loud

and, so, they did flee,

because congregating is not allowed,

and three is a crowd.

No crows sat in a tree;

I counted them twice.

“I am the last leaf on the tree.”

“I am the last leaf on the tree”

The last leaf on the tree,

that’s me;

the others left home,

forgot about me;

never write, never call –

once the tree was family,

once the tree was all.

I am the


leaf on the tree.

The Tree That Grows the Golden Apples – a Song.

The Tree That Grows the Golden Apples – a Song.

I’m a tree on an island

just watching the distant boats go by,

I’ve never spoken to them

they do not visit,

I don’t know why,

perhaps they are shy.

And I’m so lonely here on my own

Just me, my leaves, my branches

and the fruit that I’ve grown.

I’m the tree that grows the golden apples

and my branches are oh so full

Nobody knows

and nobody cares;

if they did all my branches would be bare

I’m the tree that grows the golden apples

on an island in the middle of the sea.

New Forest Poetry 10-10-2015


New Forest Poetry 10-10-2015

The tree that fell
It wasn’t well
It lost its grip
Began to slip
Sad to tell
It lay on the ground murmuring –
A sad sight
Quite profound;
Whilst all around
Were none to see
The tree
Without a sound.

Fallen Tree

New Forest 08-08-2015

New Forest 08-08-2015

Tall and free
Fallen tree
Came down to earth
With a bump, you see
One minute fine
The next one arrived
Russian Roulette
Which trees survived

From sideways on
The forest seems changed somehow
What was then
Just isn’t now.

Ugly Tree Fruit

New Forest, Hampshire

New Forest, Hampshire

I fell out of the ugly tree
Hitting ‘all’ the branches on my way down
‘That’ is why ‘I’ am looking a little dishevelled
And am wearing a frown.