Tag Archives: #Tree

Dec. 9th – Bird Song – #PoemADayForDecember

High upon the branch

of a leafless tree

perches a tiny song bird,

chirruping free;

calling out welcomes, or Winter warnings,

or just singing a tune;

he throstles and thristles, and whistles,

about the heat of the Sun,

or the light of the Moon;

who has poked her face

through a cloudy day;

and the song bird comments

upon this, and that,

and has lots to say.

High upon the branch

of a neighbouring tree,

perches another tiny song bird,

who listens, happily.

The race to be

Is it you,

or is it me,

who’s going to be

the last leaf on the tree?

Every other leaf has fallen,

we’ve been left behind;

and when one more leaf

has heard its calling;

there will only be

one last solitary leaf

upon the tree to find.

Teapotupatree

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)

edhen

yn

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

last

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

image

New Forest Poetry 10-10-2015

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