Erin Suurkoivu Jan 12

Forests were torn down and
cities built because of surety.

How can your child's face
assure me of my future?

Snehith Kumbla May 2016

the cuckoo still sings
over the traffic smoke,
children still carve
forts by the sea,

gulmohars still bloom
over the widening road,

you could still stir early,
jog through frozen silences,
travel for an hour, still
bathe under a waterfall,

walk up a ruined hill fort,
watch the falling of meteors,

you could still save yourself,  
here in this decay and filth,
you could dig up a little earth,
and ply a little spade on it,

feed it like a little child,  
and make a tree out of it...

Gulmohar - A tree that blooms orange flowers in summer.
Robert C Howard May 2014

The Rockies sing to us at sunrise

      when crystal snow-capped peaks
chant iridescent matins to the dawn,
      the dawn of a fresh new mountain day.

Luminous pastel clouds
     hover across the horizon
painting the hills and valleys below
     in mysterial shades of
lavendar, amber and rose.

The Rockies sing to us at daybreak
      when every crest and vale
unites in raising anthems to the dawn,
      The dawn of a bright new mountain morn.

Forests and fields awaken.
      A bull elk grazes by an alpine lake.
An eagle soars through the morning mist
      over rainbows of Indian paintbrush.
A hilltop lake spills over its rim
      and cascades down the slope
etching serpentine streams in the valley below.

We can hear the mountains singing.
      In every creature, ridge and flower
They bring to us their jublilant songs
      of wilderness, wildlife and wonder

We can hear the Rockies singing.

      The mountains sing forever!

June, 2009

Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace -
Sarah Tayler Sep 2015

Pine tree forests stretch
In the middle of nowhere
And I'm without you

I'm in the middle of nowhere.......oh look a Mcdonalds!
Cori MacNaughton Sep 2015

In the wee hours
as the crickets chirp
and frogs and owls converse
a forest symphony
outside my window

I am reminded why I came here
not so long ago
for the glory of the Milky Way
the Moon and all the stars

as far away from light pollution
as we could have come
for the river
for the woods
for the quiet

And on those days when I would trade
our winters for a song
I think of all the years it took
to bring me to this place

I walk the woods in gratitude
for all our many gifts
and think
the owls feel the same

I wrote this as I went to bed last night, around 3 AM, and at least three large owls were calling to one another.  One was very close, another a bit farther away, and a third I could barely hear; if there were others, they were beyond my range of hearing.  The frogs, crickets and other sounds of the woods gave the background for the sound tapestry.  

Interestingly, as I finished the poem, the owls apparently moved on, as if they had done their job.  ;-)  We have a number of different species in our woods, and I'm not certain which these were, but they were clearly larger owls.

Written 28 Sept 2015, All rights reserved.
Raghu Menon Aug 2015

I like the dark
The dark skies
The dark ocean
The dark forests
The dark soils
The dark nights
If there were no dark
We will never understand
The meaning and value
of Light..

Caitlin H Jul 2015

drowning in a sea of stars and lavender

you fill my head with dreams of forests and our feet on ice

    you text me at 2 am and I pray I am the first thing on your mind

but I'm trying not to let my red string get knotted up in your fingers

   that you play so carefully with

Adelaide Dec 2014

Its been a sad day
The skies are a murky grey
You had wished to be solitary
Into the forest you'd gone, involuntarily.

You walk along the forest trail
Looking about at the leafy veil
When suddenly, you turn to see
A deer overcome with glee

The deer dances and gallops around
It's winter coat flies as it bounds
Why it's so happy? You haven't a clue
But suddenly you don't feel so blue

You turn around and head back home
But the deer to you it seems to roam
You gaze into its brown doe eyes,
And through its eyes, you see the skies.

The stars, the moon, the trees, too!
They're all looking down at you.
They seem to beckon, they seem to call
For you to look up at them all.

You close your eyes, lay yourself to rest.
and wake up in your bed, feeling your best.
You sit up and find, it was all a dream.
But you seem to know just what it means.

Sometimes you just need to take life in deersteps.
Deersteps (n) : A metaphorical term used to display the act of being ignorant of negativities in a situation.
Mark Steigerwald Nov 2014

This is my hope
this is my dream.
A world of bliss
and an undying sea.

A kindled flame
burning within.
A fierce light
no Darkness can touch.

I look into
the eye of my mind.
Searching for what
wonders I find.

And this is what I see
this is the dream,
the dream for me.

Far across the distant seas
across deep waters and gray horizons.
Farther still then the great unknown
to the secret realm
the heavens have never shown.

A land of peace,
a home to all.
Cool waters flowing through silver forests,
green grasses sway in the warm breath
of the summer breeze.

The stars dance as one,
in this realm of mine.
The lights glow warm
and trees sway and swing.

They dance like the lilies
and shout like the lion.
They thunder and roar
they yearn for more and more.

In this dreamy land of mine,
where the sun never ceases to shine.
Where the grass grows tallest,
and waters fall in cascading torrents.

Where the winds softly blow,
rustle the tree tops
and make the fires glow.

In this world of mine
I see a house of blue and of white.
A beacon for the lost
a guide for the endangered.

It stands upon a grassy knoll
flowers and pines embrace its neck.
Jagged rocks and steeple towers
keeping it ever in check.

In this dearest dream of mine,
I see children laughing and a mother smiling.
I see warmth and love
I am surrounded in a perfect happiness.

The kind of happiness
that could only come from such things.
The kind of happiness
that such a life only could bring.

In this world of mine
the bright sun never ceases to shine.
The grass grows tallest
and the stars dance as one.

And in the midst of all the beauty
in the center of everything I love,
of everything I care for
of everything I have ever dreamed for.

In the midst
standing like the golden sight
that covers me
in the early morning light

A clear morning star.
Draped in the wondrous array
of the heavens.

You appear brightest of all.

In this world of mine
You are the star.
You are my home.

Your eyes shine
like the beacons of Amiridan.
They touch the far reaches.
of my human heart.
Your love
fairest of all treasures beheld.
I can close my eyes
and I am whisked away into a starry gray haven.

I can look into your eyes
and I am at a loss.

For your depths are fathomless
your deepness an abyss.
I could swing
and I could sing
and I could dream
and I could float,
upon rivers of joy.

I could dance with you
hand in hand,
just like the stars in my silly little dream,
and dance as one for now and forever.

In this dream of mine
this vision this blurry far off realm,
there is you and there is me,
there is hope for us both.

There is a life
that cannot be shaken
There is a light

The stars
like glowing embers.
The oceans
raging remembers.

The heavens and the far reaches of the galaxy's
they are one
under my dazzling dream.
They are beautiful,
bright and surreal.

They are amazing.

They dominate all other life forms
they cover the darkness and hide the fear.
They blot out the misery
they guard.

They protect us from all hurt
they keep us safe and warm.
They alight the room
they sing melodically
enveloping us as we shift and sway.

And as I take your hand in mine
the stars brightly begin to shine.
And under the shining of the stars
I whisper softly in your ear.

“Darling look, this wondrous world,
this world of beauty of life and love,
this perfect paradise,
this magical land under the shining stars
is ours,
and ours alone.

Scott Sinnock Oct 2014

This summer I saw mountains
   Thrusting out of the sea,
   And mountains mellowed with age,
   Rounded, softer, quietly returning to the sea.

I saw Redwoods: massive
   Majestic, alive,
   And marveled as I held seeds
   From which they thrive.

I wondered at hands that could be so old
   As those that carved the living stone
  In rocks by the sea;

I stood in awe hundreds of feet
   Beneath blankets of branches
   Of ancient trees.

I listened as mountainous streams
   Sang songs of the sources
   Of life-giving waters.

I saw flowers too many to name
   Running up and down grassy hillsides,
   In and out of pine-scented forests,
   Along rivers,
   Through meadows,

But why am I telling you this?
   Because, of course,
   I must prove I am free,
   That I can see beauty
   all around me.
But it seems
   The less I feel free,
   The less beauty I see, and
   The louder I shout, “I am free, I am free”,
   The more I scream, “I see, I see”.
It’s all a game,
   You see;
   you see.

I just try to follow the rules.

                                                        ­        August 1, 1970
                                                            ­  (edited 10/11/2014)

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