I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
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.
Tag: inspirational god rain poem tree poems
Ourchestra:
So you haven't got a drum, just beat your belly.
So I haven't got a horn-I'll play my nose.
So we haven't any cymbals-
We'll just slap our hands together,
And though there may be orchestras
That sound a little better
With their fancy shiny instruments
That cost an awful lot-
Hey, we're making music twice as good
By playing what we've got!
Tag: humor poems children-s
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
Tag: love poetry evil democracy poems
In the boundaryless forests,
there’re dancers of nude.
Yet in the confines of pasture,
there’s promise of food.
On which is your side?
Ô, but tarry and bide,
ere you decide,
in both do confide.
Tag: life growing-up experience poetry travel poems verse wandering rhymes rhyming-verse
With the need for the self in the time of another / I left my seaport grim and dear / knowing good work could be made / in the state governed by both Hope and Despair.
Roman PayneTag: life poetry work despair decisions hope poem travel choices poems aloneness hope-and-despair seaport
But who are we, where do we come from
When all those years
Nothing but idle talk is left
And we are nowhere in the world?"
= MEETING =
Tag: poems meeting boris-pasternak dr-zhivago
TO what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Tag: life poetry beauty poem seasons april spring poems
If I knew where poems came from, I'd go there.
Michael LangleyTag: poems
When Great Trees Fall
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Tag: life poetry writing writers peace soul death poem poets trees souls poet poems american-writers maya-angelou i-shall-not-be-moved when-great-trees-fall
There is no Space or Time
Only intensity,
And tame things
Have no immensity
Tag: poetry time space intensity poems immensity
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