Tree Poems

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
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To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
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Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
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The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
Downward,
...

Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!

In a Harlem cabaret
...

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
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The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
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A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'
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I had a little nut-tree,
Nothing would it bear.
I searched in all its branches,
But not a nut was there.
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There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a bee.
When they said "Does it buzz?"
He replied "Yes, it does!
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For if life is a tall tender tree,
For then, life is joy, life is free.
The tree is dancing in the air, sunny or showers,
With his joy, with his love, with his flowers.
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A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.
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A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With dark green needled memories
Of childhood dreams and mysteries
Wrapped present-like in front of me.
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A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
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Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
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.
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A single fir-tree, lonely,
on a northern mountain height,
sleeps in a white blanket,
draped in snow and ice.
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Tree, tree
dry and green.
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When they torture your mother
plant a tree
When they torture your father
plant a tree
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Sally was playing in her backyard…chasing butterflies and bees
when she decided to rest a while in the shade of her mango tree.

"Thank you for the shade." She said. "It's nice to get out of the heat."
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The roots of a family tree run deep for they were planted long ago.
generation upon generation have nurtured and watched that family grow

into a tree whose strength and beauty is impossible deny.
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Sometimes it's the first one we pick up…sometimes it's the fourth or fifth…but when we find it…we mutually agree…for we always know when we have found our perfect Christmas tree.

And though we know it is a symbol of what this season is meant to be…for us it is also a once a year representation of what has become…our family tree.
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Ugly is an ugly word…whether in prose or in a rhyme…and I apologize for not only using it thrice already…but in this poem…you'll see it three more times.

On a walk the other day a man and woman a little distance ahead of me…looked up and said simultaneously…"That…is one ugly tree".
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Yesterday before the sun awoke as odd as this may be
I paused while I was walking to have a conversation with a tree.

Now you might think it crazy conversing with a tree
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Each year Deborah and I share one Christmas tradition-we do this religiously.
Together the day after Thanksgiving we buy our Christmas Tree.

As we head out to purchase our tree we are filled with anticipation
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Where life exists
You often find a carpet
Of grass or moss or whatever.
And in sacred groves and forests
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Like many families who believe in Christmas
either religious or spiritually
Deborah and I set out each year
in search of our perfect tree.
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The tree with sweet and beautiful fruit,
The tree with cute looking leaves,
The tree with beautiful single stem.
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