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Harvest is over,Crops are in, andFalls's first killing frostStirs feelings of melancholySustained by winter's cold,With its bare trees,Migration, hibernation,Wisdom of fallow fields and
I woke up before dawn in a confused state of mind And I stayed awake until daylight It was a Monday morning and I had nothing to do I couldn't cope with the trials of life anymore
Disoriented in a deep forestnoticing a strange looking treewhose dry bark was greatly gnarled,camouflaged well within its trunkthrough its knots it appeared like an old man with a long beard of white
she left me in a meadow and as i could not stand the silence i ran past the ancient groves the secret place of lovers past but as i was not welcome there i ran more quickly past
Lemon Lemon Tree Lemonade Everyone loves lemon Lemon Tea Lemon Bars Sunshine and Lemon Branches and leaves Avocado Tree Shading my lemon tree What the hell, avocado?
Every spring that gossamer explosion of pink, of downy, almost frothy white. Those crabapple and cherry trees of my childhood and that one in particular,
I lurk from the window, To view a beautiful rainbow, With its multiple colour seven, And it looks just like heaven. When the sun sinks in the west, Stars with the moonlight,
The tall, grand tree stares Down at me. I clim and climb Up twisted branches. (A Haiku)
In all the years I have walked among oaks , I’ve seldom sat and let their allures soak. With their limbs , on hikes ,I’ve bumped my head. Roots caught my boot ,on the floor I spread.
Trees, thousands of years old Monoliths of perseverance and life Great behemoths standing tall Never giving in to all that assails them Nor overtaking all that surrounds them Me, only decades old
Time passes by and darkness begins to descend. But still the trees will not bend the darkness creeps ever closer and brings the crisp cold air, yet the trees do not bend. The air gets colder as we all get older, here the first leaves fall.
The animals live as they are adapted to live, but never more. They are primitive. Without free thought, without art and culture, without clothing. The trees give shade and shelter to the animals
But what am I focusing on? I am only here for a short amount of time; then I am gone… Gone with the wind, wrestling the trees, making crisp air for us to breath.
I often watch trees, because I actually like them I may love them really, but regardless I find them fascinating: Standing upright like power poles or bent over like blades of grass in wind
A weeping widow Weeds of mourning Covering your face You hide in the dimmness of the Everglades Moaning For your nation
texas.don.g.nutt,59.poem,trees,tall big large brown an green trees blow they grow they natural life of the world they fall they break they tumbble over they crash they me the planted roots of a planted seed which is strong as they grown strong an
Waves crash gently upon the shore as the tide roles in-n-out. A semi powerful breeze cools the air Standing 4,081ft up, I open my eyes to a 360° view of the Green Mountains. Wind rustling the leaves of the trees.
There was a time I thought nature had forgotten me. That I had been gone too long to hear her breathing. I decided then that I wasn’t going to let her walk out of my life like so many others, so I left.
I had a simple thought on a simple day A spark of mundane revelation as our car passed on its way
Trees, breeze, ripples leaves. falling down, to the ground. to rest, add, to the rest.
A golden beam of sunlight shines through scattered patches. Gold reflects on every surface. The trees illuminate in a sunny yellow, Signifying the timeless beauty that fall has bestowed.
What wonders the sky beholds, What wisdom does the intricate dropets of clouds contain? Trees of rich brown bark, of emerald green leaves,
Like a colony of trees, Resources we share for all to bare Twist and swerve; curl and duck Drawing in and in, each winding root Water, endless pools of pristine liquid
The tall twisted tree, now after so many years staring down the same gentle rolling hill. Her branches weave together with intertwining memories,
Here we go.
Tiny dancer falling from the sky Pirrouetting off her twiggy perch Then twirling gently, gradually, Descending to the ground below - While in her mid-air journey She joins a fancy troupe:
They tease the clouds and tame the hills Tickled by moss, they laugh into rainstorms Thriving in carpets of cement and mountainous landfills The trees talk of truth
There grew a tree by my house of blue. It was an impenetrable fortress, That protected me from the harsh sun. And yet, Gave way to a gentle breeze.
Old trees are our parents, and our parent’s parents.
If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around, does it make a sound?
Tied To Tough Trees The Bouncing Baby Bumblebees Took Turns Turning Teas Tiny Tots Tip Top Blowing Bubbles Bouncing Bop Tiny Tots Top Tip
Dear God, Thank you for creating your masterpieces, trees. Oh God, how nice are Your trees, with branches reaching out to You, with leaves that gleam in the sun, with roots made to gather
naked under a juniper tree bareboned and rigid like the rocky mountains afar feeding on the old mulch blind and dirty burnished hazel protuberant eyeballs dumb as marbles dialeted as the full moon
Often seen,Beneath all tree,Green feather fallen here.GentlyLyingCaringCryingBeneath all tree,Green feather here.
The Mountain tall, It stands with pride. It soars with trees upon its side, A pointing shard, Her Standing guard. Waiting there below his Bride.
Dear You (yes, YOU, reading this), when they write us down in history, what is left to remember us by? will it be the rumble of our cars passing by? spewing posionus gasses that will fill our infant's eyes.
Oh look at the trees the leaves fall every day the trees dont blink an eye leaves are meant to be this way So why do we care about the words someone might say about the look of a stare
Looking at the tree,Under the branches and leaves,Leaf lands on my head.
Life blooms all around you Under your bare feet Above your head Birds churp Insects hum The wind whistles Such beautiful music You walk along Guided by dandelions
In my neck of the woodsWe hide our fears In the trees aboveThat spout our stories for usIn the forested road. With antlers and paws With general retributionIn our own causes. We remember the waterBut are led to no whereBecause we wonder yet trembl
Blue skies and green trees, Yellow flowers in the sun, All is calm, for now
The whispers of secrets Tucked away they lie Seemingly quiet as crickets Yet as boisterous as the sky Bending down to touch the earth Out of the withered hands of an ungodly nook
You don’t know it, but sometimes I sit upon the branch of the highest tree at night to catch a glimpse of this transient life we have on earth, and take in the moon and the stars and all that surrounds me.
i look around this crowded place my heart beats a little faster who's face will be the last i see the end of this final chapter than i see the black dead tree i stop thinking there is no after
I consistently identified comfort and company only with Solitude amongst the ashen and crimson stone walls of my home. Years I spent, a myriad of mornings marveling
It’s cold this time of year Bitter fights White frosted hands and words School is tiring Dull and monotonous It is warm though
Up on the hill in Deer Island Park, a sicamore is felled. no one attends it's funeral, or wears a black veil in it's honour. a man used to sleep under that tree, a woman took her children there for picnics.
Even the trees are more interesting than I, For their leaves change color. From glowing orange to bright red, They please any audience that drives by. An applause in the form of a smile is what is recieved
Who are you? How did you do that? I cried as I looked back in time, He wrapped his icy arms around my waist, we stood there, intertwined,
A soft sky above me floats Wisps of cotton patterns blue Up high the breeze cuts thin Sounding out its sharpest notes Tall in trees, I hear them sing Raining feathers as the flew
All these branches, All these leaves, They're changing colours, Like women's weaves. They're changing. They're rearranging. They're bearing all, For the winter.
If you get up underneath the trees you might know what I mean if you look up at their leaves you'll see the world, in green If you've been feeling down its time to look up high
I wish to be like a tree Have the sun provide all my energy I crave to destroy what I was before In order to become something more beautiful, a part of nature. Instead I'm human The worst of them all
Sweet sentiments the birds sing to me, This greenbelt of tall and lean, shimmering tropical colors of green. It peaks through my window, dancing facets of light. Touches the skin and warms the sight.
A spiral of roots calms a tortured soul— one whose mind is clouded with worry
Arms reaching for camaraderie Fingers intertwining in wooden harmony Hugs paper-thin mutually caressing Weathered hearts
Trees come in forms both tall and short Rooted where they stand Each day they have the same view Of the world and its busy inhabitants below
I used to talk to trees. Often I sought their branches to hold me when I felt my body to small to contain what I held. They would talk me back into it- taught me how to grow inside a husk
As the light shines around me/ all I can see/ is the world broken to pieces/glass is shattered/scattered on the ground/there is no more green/rather everything is gray and brown/death hangs in the air/the fresh air is knocked out of me/what
The gusts of wind through the trees sound like laughs and gasps of ecstasy the sharp grasss grabs at my back to keep me grounded next to roots of trees Then I hear the bugs buzz behind my ears
It started as a gentle breeze,a whisper in my ear:the weeping of a weeping willow,weeping out of fear. 'Why do you weep, weeping willow?There is no reason to cry.'
I know what to say,what to do. It's hard to be in this decay of dignity,of sanityand intuition. It's kind of like trees. Showers revitalize their boughs and leaves,like your ever anticipated but innocent presence does my mind and heart. It can rot
For those of you who think you know me I am just a resource. Something to burn in the fireplace to mix with another resource and written with. To mash up and write on, I am the back drop of your life.
Alone on an island, on its beach where I lay, where the ocean moves slowly, and the palm trees sway. I look in the distance, where I see just the tip, Of the bow that remains of my now-sinking ship.
the effortless breeze roared while the waves were talking the dark clouds got angry while the palm trees were dancing I am screaming while the seagulls are chirping the sun was smiling
Wisdom in each droplet like a sea of broken roads with each forgotten memory to lighten the weight of loads . For every breath forsaken and every tear forgiven
I see you, when you see me I see trees dancing to the wind’s rhythm I see children making music in the park I see water moving down the mountain’s back
Tall oaks rise out of the soil. Abundant in the golden fall, they oversee the many all. They creak and sway yet never turn away from another being. Humbly they stand
My family is the woods. My dad is the dirt, giving us a solid foundation to grow in. My mom is the tallest tree, overseeing everything that occurs. My brother is the opposite bank of the creek,
(If I were stranded on a deserted island I would bring my love and respect for nature with me). I sat up on the hill, My gaze caught the shore, forest, and stream, Oh, what a thrill! T’was the most glorious dream,
We've stood here for centuries. We've stood here since the first defiance Shown through the eating of a fruit forbidden.
The other day, I saw a dead tree,It’s branches broken and its roots free.It had fallen down in a storm the previous night,Knocked over by the wind and all its might.
all write on the living and not much of the dead on a garden of fully grown big, gigantic and enormous trees trees of full green leaves are what is written about
They have stood their lastBut autumn is comingAnd the trees are the firstTo succumb to the changing days.Their leaves no longer lively and green,But now gorgeous shades of yellow and red.
The hardwoods cry in color this time of year As the sun sets an owls call from within the deep hollow can be heard clear There is no path to follow, not one less traveled by, no direction to steer
Trees and brush Have captured me As you can see! 10 word only picture prompt!
i don't expect you to understand; understand—you are not me. you are not six seven three one one four fifty, chipped finger nails and did you see
I wish the trees had just met up And said “let’s not be mean, Why must we work so awfully hard To keep our leaves so green? Why don’t we halt this tiring race, As odd as it may sound,
I listen to the wind under the trees
The air is sharp with winter anticipationComets with tails blazing: stage lightsHit upon the crowd, wondrousHis hair is Spanish moss thatHangs heavy from the oaks,festooned in beads and baubles
Your body is not a temple; it's a tree. Equipt with branches for limbs and leaves for all the little in betweens. Trees are meant to grow strong for years and years with their roots consistently reaching further.
Where do you go when you want to be alone? There are a thousand places in the world i call home. Some I have only been to in my mind. Others are high rocks reached after a climb.
The trees are Spartan spears, Authority and valor pierce the Horizon— They stand dense and hold light and Fog. They do not bend for you and me, they never have. They do not bestow Grace or Mercy
I like to see the leaves fall The trees look pretty tall They start to change color
Away from the commotion, away from the dirty, suffocations of the city.
Away from the commotion, away from the dirty, suffocations of the city.
I saunter throughthe vibrant copseto absorbI becomeverdantI ama treeplantedby the rivers ofliving waters. .
We can only climb as high, As low as we can sink. I love how you keep my head in the sky, And never put a reign on the power of think. I grew roots into soil I never wanted;
All trees are stretching, Shaking off heavy blankets, Buds blossoming out.
When I die I want to be a tree, That may seem like a weird thing to be,
You know, there are moments in life when you just look at something that has happened and are disgusted by it. These moments happen far too often. It changes our view on life, and we become bitter for it.
Four trees grew in a clearing A weeping willow An oak A dogwood And a sapling. A stranger planted the sapling
My mother and I walked around outside before her death. She smelled of industrial waste. But I tell myself she smelled like flowers, anyways. ---
A world so empty A tree all alone grown by a young boy. Who planted it
Friends are like trees
Whirl your pointed pines
My memories of you are like the trees Roots planted deep in the ground of my mind Your branches, intertwined with every passing thought
I am a wanderer I allow myself to explore the outer reaches of my mind and world
I am a wanderer I allow myself to explore the outer reaches of my mind and world
I used to see myself as a tree. One of those that come in a bag, (go in a bag,)
The trees whisper to me on windy days,
The leaves slowling falling down So many leaves on the ground Branches swaying back and fourth The wind moves them and makes them free The trees look so alive They move and they breathe
You are the waves of the ocean, Unapologetically crashing to the shore, Then seeping back out to the sea, To rise and fall unyieldingly. You are the trees in the forest, Radiant and confident,
When I was 13 years old, I was sent to a public school. My mom told me to stay strong. To be a tree. With no one to know and no one to know me, I stood alone in the forest society calls middle school.
Where the air flows fresh and crisp And life radiates shades of green And orange and red and colors That run deeper than the scars Of the Earth; Where the grasp of man halts, Giving way to nature,
whispering whispering throught the trees telling secrets telling lies and tall tales too through the tall grass and where the urban street meets the meadow where the wild becomes tame
Green sap oozing from great gashes in trees into paper, furniture, and houses all for human needs like the great stashes of black oil oozing.... into lakes, rivers, and streams
The water is tepid, the sea cool bliss;
What do I see?
I am carbon a diamond in the rough still dull with jagged edges I've been through heat and under lots of pressure but I still don't shine people look and stare in my direction
Oct 5 2014 The sun is sitting on the crown of the trees just due east. Reaching her arms through its leaves, Holding it. Like a mother hugs her child.
You can hear the howling whistle of the air,
I had a dream that the trees were orange and your heart was red and I floated like dying leaves through your head. you said i felt like fire burning through your veins. you spent
Pillows of cotton settle drifting like ghosts masking the view of towering stone hair curling in the palpable air drooping eyelids, heavy breath heels on concrete clicking in step
Now that summer washed away, and school is in full swing, I realized there's no time to play, or warmth until this spring. I must look beyond the gray, and look for all that's good,
The tree laughs Children play below On a hot summer day so slow The tree is shade And the tree likes offering aid The tree smiles A couple look deeply into each other's souls
What I wouldn’t give for a camera to freeze this moment forever and always. To show people the richness of the soil; how it clumps together - dark, shifting,
Fingers wrap around her throat like vines once wound around her branches. Hands grasp and shake her by the bark as the last of her leaves falls to the cold earth.
sometimes, I like to walk out side and let my mind become heavy with pictures of this never ending setting. things get a little foggy, when I can't seem to absorb that one day this won't exsit any more.
Heavy sunshine sets the leaves aflame Until, by and by, it doth remain. But then it cools and remains no more
Trees, A thousand years old, Touched by a thousand hands, Fingers trailing softly over rough bark. Trees, A thousand feet high, Home to a thousand birds,
The woods were encumbering in the sunrise. My gut wrenched with uncertainty of the buzzing feeling atop my forehead. A little green creature rested in the nests of my tousled hair,
Woke up in a dream under asphalt treessoaked in the sap of the sweltering citywearing these old rat rags and sneering at the concreteGreyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve
The Treehouse Wooden beams support, surround. Ladder, crow's nest, food abounds, Kitchen, rooms, high seas are found. Magic beings to work her charm,
I love beautiful Blue Birds Beautiful birds Beautiful peddles Different flowers every where Roses are Beautiful Wind is sometimes calm The wind is sometimes very cold
A dying tree makes me weep.How beautiful it once was,how it will never be again.It’s branches no longer bend.It longs for sleepas Spring brings ever-closerits impending end.
Oak wood standing tall against gusting winds that try to force it down
What would the earth do if I outlast forever? The trees will perish The flowers will relinquish But life will continue on
Trees, the wind blows through them; and all I hear is applause. "What do you hear?" she asks, "do you hear the laughter, and the happiness I do? Do you hear the children playing?
If you think of Spring, what do you see?Flowers, eggs, bunnies, or bees?I see the grass, green and lush;The streams filled with a serene gush.The sky is a blanket, infinite and blue;
The tick tick ticking of time passing by The climbing numbers of a clock while, My mother tells me to stop, the minute hand Whispers to the hairs stretching up I plant seeds that I never see
The beauty that persists Individuality among the mass Her brow is focused Perched upon it, an Owl, soaring through the words Into the unknown. Her eyes lead
If trees could speak, they’d scream. Their brethren die for the business man And with them, everything. The world is slowly turning From green to gray -- From leaves to metal,
I poor it on my pancakes in the morning i write on it everyday it dies it dies i want to to have privacy so I close my door i want to eat in peace so I eat at a red oak table it dies it dies
The knobby boughs, like Witch's fingers, Stretch heavenward as if Trying to snatch A whiff of cloud from the sky.
I will change how you perceive me The world is waiting Clouds clearing Our eyes finally esteemed to what really may be I believe the allusion has sewn our seam The allusion of difficulty
Everyone knows what happens
Ancient oak, tall and strong, Sheltering life beneath your branches. Rough bark acts like a robe, Protecting the wood inside. Sleepy birds rest on your sturdy arms. A crown of leaves rests on your brow,
I've alwasy thought they looked nice,Almost friendly.How their limbs are stretched upward,Like they are worshipping the sky.Always trying to reach and touch it.
Shining down, falling up Spun in circles Flung left, pulled right Not sure where to stand I find the ground, Plant my feet, and begin to grow. My roots grow deep. My arms stretch high.
A carbon atom is small, But it can make you trip and fall. It has many things to do in life, So it will do it while he flies. Carbon forms a bond with oxygen, And they become the eternal bossing gem. They travel through the world,
Trees over the street, curtains, reveal the road.
Something told me to take a walk. I listened. I grabbed the dog and out we went Down to the woods where the wild things live.
The seed sits in the field thristy for water begging for sun light A drop of water moists into dry skin softens its body another drop falls followed by another
The trees see it all. They live life long. And the leaves fall. A little boy will crawl.
Crashing waves and endless seas all across the weeping willow tree. Mists and winds and children’s song leave an echo through them all. And in this whimsy of life we find a spirit in warm delight.
If only I had wings. I would fly.I would fly not with the wind, but against it.I would not flow with society.
Run away though you might, you can ne'er escape The clutching and the clawing of the trees that Rip and tear and spoil earth below with their gruesome limbs and laughing branches.
The day is bright but there is no lightYou wonder how this could beIf you were meYou could surely seeThe beauty infront of me
We constantly hide our faces, like the luminous sun shieldsbehind the colossal dusky clouds.
Twisted and frozen No longer growing, but still Claws wrenching from earth
Did we ask to be born into a world of such scorn, They would surely mourn for the the old ideals, Since those are no more, This is a new world, a much more flawed world, but freer,
You can hear the trees cry As the machine shreds their friends. All the leaves and trunks downward die They cannot speak; they are shy. They do indeed meet their violent end.
Bare Handed Catch Water Splashing in my face, Bouncing on the waves, Going light speed behind a motor boat Soaring like the eagle Swish, Swish, splash, going side to side
Very lonely oak He drops acorns by his side Hoping for a friend
I’ll walk through the forestTo be with the treesThey’ll sway with the windTelling a storyBut you won’t be able to hear itUnless you are quietSo I’ll sit on a rockAnd listen to the trees
Many times a month I go outside and watch the forest I watch the trees dancing in the wind I hear their leaves whispering to me I sometimes understand what they say And other times I do not
To use the antiquated metaphor of a paintbrush stroking the sky creating brilliant hues, chiaroscuro, the simplest form of beauty. The heavens merely blanket the subtle art below.
Trees have always reminded me of lungs. They even kind of look like them. They branch out in the same type of widespread, fleshy mass with exposed meat, and their introverted veins; veins as in branches, veins that act as passages.
There's a beehive in my heartwhose bees buzz all nightthey’ve built honeycombs in my veinsmaking me as stiff as a tin man with no oil I bleed honeyand it attracts bears
You know what they say a tiny ripple can change the day. When scary moments pass we know the sun will rise. You can always see it the slow change. From perfectly fine
So God made the birds and the bees He made these trees He made you and me. Not for all of us the destroy and tear them down. We say we're big and bad, walking around like we own the place.
The leaf falls briefly to its end, Next morn to be swept away. The tree of life from which it came, Lives on to another day. The plight of these is never seen, Through the mist and the yonder gray.
Started out small, I did. Now i have grown Arms Into the sky Feet Into the ground From Mother, we came; Takes care of us, she does Small furry things
Thin spindly trees Find it difficult to grow In such oppression
A walk in the park would be nice the trees blowing, swaying to the winds rhythm It's where the birds sing. Watching as all the humans speak. all the beautiful women flash in the latest and hottest fashion.
I am a tree I am tall I am short I am a majestic titan from ages past I am a tamed dog, born, raised and killed before my time I am seen by the foolish as a barrier to progress to be destroyed and forgotten
In the cool Spring breeze the trees dance fluidly together they're one
Falling to the earth. Blood spilling. Screams chilling. Utterly our ancestors a-screaming.
A cold winter night Oh such a beautiful sight The gentle breeze Yet you never freeze Coldness against the cheek Wet grass beneath the feet Chills down the spine In a straight line
Fingers reaching light Bare trees left till Spring Wake up from slumber Leave us gray morning Arise to warmth and shadows Welcome again Spring
The sun it shines, regardless, The grass it grows, oblivious, The water it sits, fathomless. The moon it reflects, lovingly, The tree it stands, determinedly, The sand it moves, impulsively.
She weeps tears of dew; Her humble boughs sigh. Wind becomes her grace, And the sun her hope. She shields clouds of rain; Veils her heart in leaves. Weather won't weaken, Her roots sink to deep.
The rootless trees are clustered together They search for everything, except the roots they need to survive. The windswept trees cannot stand long without each other. They are blown around by the winds.
On a beautiful spring day, a child was born. The whole family gathered ‘round at the sight of the baby, so adorn.
When dusk fell The animals fell silent. The trees began to stir Whispering among themselves "It's coming!" they seemed to say
The swaying of the trees Puts me at ease In the midst of anger The strong wind against my face Brings me to reality Realities of the world
Looking up through the bones of trees that stretch into a purple sky that darkens steadily as the sun lays its head to sleep. The first star peeps out; a frightened child peeping
A box lies here six sides folded inward weak blankets of dead trees line my insides to be used and discarded, built for the the comforts of a sniveling little child who played in the rain.
Bees are sitting On the Wind Drifting Feeding On the Wind Bringing life to those once dead Bees are searching On the Wind
The Mother Earth that once throbbed with life Is falling into the abyss of death. It is the human and animal strife Which contracts and compresses nature's breath.
We see the trees not just overseas. They are in our grasp but are quite the task. We want to save them but We can't point finders, or limbs We don't know that it was him.
It is the season of sleeping late while dreaming of red-orange trees shuddering in the evening breeze. These are the short days when the thirst for warmth suborns desire and Eros kisses summer love goodnight.
Where leaves are green and trees are tall, Where water roars and eagles call, Where night will come and silence fall, There I wish to be. A place where deer and wolf run free,
The trees webbed together in a mesh of branches and unfallen sticks A beautiful collage of things as spider web of chaos in natural canopy but squirrels and chainsaws the masters
Falling down, the fiery leaves plummet to a cold rigid Earth. How time goes so fast, it soars. A gust of wind brings them home, to become a mountain for kids soon to appear.
There is a sun in the sky Or sometimes the moon Either way I’m not looking At that There is a river It flows to the house That sits on a hill That flowers surround But I’m not looking