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Jikai Zheng Nov 2017
skin covered in shadows
a dead winter leaf bouncing against a flourishing summer tree
                                    catching the handle of a spider string
holding onto the living as if
                     it can escape its crumbling burial
             only can a field of soft, mumbling earth
                             call sleep more swiftly than a mattress
within the green and blue sphere are textured tints that release
            wifts of genuine air spilling into half-filled industrial lungs
                      can art be felt when eyes don't open?
as closed eyelids fall humble to the glowing yellow light
            answered silently with a curl of the lips
Caleb Stevens Nov 2017
Why is there a tree?
A tree.
So green and alive.
Why is there a tree?
Sitting in cracked desert dirt.
There is no oasis.
There is no life.
So, why is there a luscious green tree?
Wait.
It's... her.
She is the tree,
My tree.
She is my life in the lifeless wasteland.
Save me.
Please save me from this wasteland....
Larry Dixon Nov 2017
I wish I could ask that special question.
The one I would love her to answer.
To see that undescribable expression.
To finally get the amazing dance with her.

To see if true love really does thrive.
To see if it does hold true.
To see if in this world it can survive.
To see all the problems it can cut through.

To see the flowers blooming all around.
To see the roots of the trees burrow deep beneath.
Then look to see all the people we astound.
As long as you answer the question our love will never bequeath.

And if you look to your side I will always be beside you.
As long as you say I do.
a knar in this tree
like dinkum squat
where a pin rest in confederacy  
round her bark density
that root of Liberty
only widen orchard latitude
Star BG Nov 2017
I am a walking tree of divinity
and poetry is my life.
Experience after experience
fills the many pages of life.

Some people see my beauty
so we feel oneness,
while others walk right by.

Fall leaves hold
happy and sad experiences
each to be woven in a tapestry.

Winter a time to reflect
and take things in stride
weather storms or blue skies.

Spring a time to blossom
as chapters expand.

And Summer time
to bond with tree
sisters and brothers.

I am a walking tree of divinity
scribing all seasons
for a readers eyes.
Inspired by snowflake thank you
In a place by the lake stood a tall willow tree
It's roots stretching down far beyond where I could see
At first glance I admire its elegant beauty
But there's more than meets the eye, I learned fool-heartedly
Its melancholy dance in the cool summer breeze
Mesmerizes my senses and is enough to please
Then the reflection in the lake made it all too clear
The willow is my love but there's no need to fear
Behind her dark eyes is a cloudy sky
A girl living in fear who's dying to cry
I can see you hiding behind that brave face
Exhausted from a journey you thought was going no place
The tears I see fall are like rain from the sky
Or the branches of the willow that keep this place dry
The leaves that drape down are protecting you so
Concealing the emotions that you don't want to show
The path you traveled is something you thought you'd never surpass
Like walking down a road of rusty nails and broken glass
Like a broken heart, your feet have been torn
Yet you go on beaten and continue to mourn
But the road you walk knows another poor soul
I've been down it too, and I've paid my toll
And the secrets you kept hidden from plain sight
Are now exposed to me in the mystic moonlight
And when you weep like the willow, please know this to be true
I'll love you forever, even when the skies ahead aren't blue

-AJT
Saumya Nov 2017
A tree stands tall on soil,
A human on earth,
The ground,
forming soils upper 'crust'.
But what would thou be,
If sans was the soil first?

We origunated from the soil,
Evolve through it,
One day, we'll be this soil
The soil, on which thou may never sit.

Life still isn't a thing,
without this mere soil.
It endures so much,
Yet gives back peace.
And complains not,
Of its strife's and greifs!

The food we eat,
The air we breathe,
Will all be futile,
Sans soil beneath.

There wouldn't be trees,
Would fresh air we'd breath?
The water we drink,
Would'en really be free?
And Oh, the ground that
Endures you feet,
Would you be standing,
Without the soil beneath?

The soil forms lifes,
Aids us live,
But little we know,
Of its sincerest deeds!

It burns itself,
To prevent us  from heat,
It wettens itself,
And absorbs all heat.

The birds,
The beasts,
the tinniest creatue indeed,
Are the elements indebted
to soil in brief.

Thou life is but this soil,
The soil that reings life,
we are the trees,
Who stand on it,
Who laugh, endure,
Learn, speak,
Yet keeps so much,
like those little seeds.

Thy parent are seeds,
And the roots to be
Thy friends are leaves,
That may shed in weeks,
Thy siblings the arms,
Those helping hands in deeds.

The soil of life,
Sees success, misfortune and griefs,
Yet fertile is the one,
Who masters to smile even in adversities.
The soil is major part of eternity,
And our lives an essential part,
The part, we then call as an 'evergrowing tree'
Just a thought :)

All feedbacks are most welcome.
Thankyou for reading, Commenting and the reactions
Simon Monahan Nov 2017
Hail, King Arbor, vice-regent of the paradisal garden!
Springing, a wooden fountain clawing up and seizing handfuls of sky,
Towering, dancing in winds that cannot bow him,
With every breeze rattling branches scratch out a shout.

Padded with armor layered in sheaves and shingles,
Constant cloak accented of moss and vine and bubbles of fungus,
Weathered of snows and rains and smokes and fires,
Fitted snug o’er the ageless trunk, ever-young beneath time’s rings.

Steward of life, he cradles birdlings in nested branches,
In chewed divots and caves hiding the squirrel and his kin,
His skin alive with deep burrowing beetles and grubs and thousands of worms,
Beneath his leafy mantle are sheltered the fox and the deer.

While branches sway and leaves fly in stormy havoc,
And beasts and creeping things are shaken and tossed,
His stoic roots, unimpressed, anchor the forest to the world,
Laboring buried and ever unmoved, in dark earthen dignity.

Here he stands, shoulder to shoulder with his brethren,
A sylvan army assembled to keep watch as the centuries drift by,
Council of elders evergreen presiding over the passage of epochs,
Terra’s first tribe bonded inseparable under countless dusks and dawns.

And there he stands, all solitary, vertical spire against a flat horizon,
No less regal for the absence of peers, but still defiant and noble,
Standing in judgement uncontested over an undiscerning globe,
Convicting all, dismissing them as airy flights ephemeral.
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