"poetree" poems
This is past due like the rent paid on the thirteenth
Late better than never-- and I got this here forever
Flow like rain during any kinda weather
Keep this here close to my heart
And when the block comes, I don’t know where to start
Beat-beat Thump-thump
I'll just let the words flow from my heart
But you ain’t feelin me’-- You ain’t hearin’ Queen
So I got to bring you back to the forefront with my so⋅lil⋅o⋅quy
I remind you of all the things that had you fearin’ me
This Army of One, brighter than that star He created we call Sun
Under its blaze, us two can become one
(lets make our Son under His)
While I lay with fragmented words.... spoken
Promises I made to myself remain unbroken
And my gift is as natural as the slender ducts of my abdomen called fallopian
I am Woman
The prototype made perfect and pure
Whose prose is as tight as my kegels allow my femininity to be
Wrath your ******** may not be able to endure
Thought you knew a good Woman and tight ***** make you surrender on your knees
And dream dreams about your seed taking root in this royal vessel
I am Mother Earth
And this is my Gift—my Gyft
I am Myself and such a present I present to thee
For I AM Queen Poetree
So when I seem silent
When you think you hear nothing but your heart beat
Nothing but the cool air enraptured in the breeze
I am the Life that flows from you
I am the Wind rustling the trees leaves
I am the fragrance left in the air you interpret as another
I am the overwhelming sensation made between two lovers under duvet covers
I am the softness of lips and the sensation made by the flick of a passionate tongue
I am that empty space you try to fill with another one
So when you think you hear nothing
When you think you’re all alone
I am every word, every adlib of your favorite song
Every stroke every morning when you brush your hair
I am your deep breath because, baby, I am your air
I am everything pleasurable—every pleasure experienced since your creation
And it all stems from the balance of my concentration during this poetic intrapersonal conversation
I am everything virtuous
I am the eye of the storm
I am your hope, your future
I am the pages of your favorite novel whose cover is worn
I am air, I am sky
I am the clouds, and the Sun’s heat
But most importantly, to my core
I am Queen Poetess B…
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
Don’t ask me to pass the assonance assessment
Or time my rhyming to make you smile.
Alliterative pieces I’m proud to produce
After pondering, my pretty person.
No I’d rather be free
When I write poetree (lol).
Must write with meaning,
So don’t be demeaning,
Even if you are screaming.
Existence, God, Love, People –
They’re what I write about.
Oft without form.
Just enjoy.
Gorgeous gold glory starts the story
That ends with a tune under the moon…
Paul Butters
© PB 20\9\2015.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time
Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again
On but an arm, the koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves
On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?
Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky - Gibran
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
My world,
was overcast in
many ways, dark
cloudy gloomy days,
scary moonless starless nights,
The heart was sinking with pain.
One day with lightning it poured as
rain of words themes, i wrote, wrote and wrote, in the dream space i float, now my grey world is painted with the colorful themes, highlighted with my deepest feelings and in the bright sky the words are dancing with syllables,
The seeds of hope buried in the dark, when watered with the raining words, sprouted. The plant, when nourished by divine grace, fertilised by new ideas and creativity, came out of doom, about to bloom. one day
it will offer the shadow
of solace and the
fruits of love to
wanderers,
stranded
broken
loners
soon
will
turn
into
poetree
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
.
I go by the name of Rook.
Lord of all that you can see.
I cradle and nurture my forest home,
my throne sits in the Poetree.
The canopy stretches before me,
tree tops licked in morning dew.
A finch catches my eye and winks,
greeting his Lord, then off he flew.
The sounds of Dawn, the forest awakes,
shedding sleep dust to the rising sun.
An owl calls her goodnight hoot,
disappears, rejecting the day to come.
Otters sport, play chase, by a stream
that flashes silver as light rays dance.
A Ladybird, yellow with black spots,
lands surprised, to crawl along a branch.
Clean crisp air, caressing nostrils,
invigorating life through cool beauty.
The vista of sunrise across the woods,
the source of inspiration for the Poetree.
© Pagan Paul (24/01/17)
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
In the moments that are waiting, crisply, to break into floods of
daytime-issues of deadlines and ***** dishes,
something happens.
In the moments where procrastination is a smile and a fine lie nestled
tight between hope and reluctance
this will happen:
thoughts of warmth, glory and wisdom will flutter
through your spirit- rare beasts, jeweled fruit-flies
or candelabras
(silver)
waiting to be caught, just as long
as you
don't
get
down
to
work.
10 minutes left
you struggle to hold to you
hours of wonder, days of mirth
all felt that one September night, when the rice had warmed your belly
and softened your eyes
and the sky was kinder reflected in the city drains
because at that particular hour at hand, they were rivers of a foreign land
saturated with dreams and magics-transmuted by the rains.
6 minutes left
caught the last train
back
home waited behind a line of tired women without eyes
they were trees maybe
or rushes by the river whispering of a home before a
home before this one,
some ancient stony place of arches and pools
i don't quite know
as the tracks beating under made them hard to hear.
4 minutes left- does thought really
cross at 'the speed of god'?
Such words from plays by beloved men haunt one at the strangest times.
Thus, inspiration once struck, dims.
Thus, the end of the page approaches.
"Thus." cruelly, super-ego laughs.
Thus, work begins.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
Poetry to me is both the tree and the seed.
Weight gets taken off my chest and helps me to breathe
Allowing unhealed wounds to get the stitches they need
In dark times the pen connects fueling the necessary release.
I get to write out the vision of my dreams
And speak my peace confidently,
Because poetry saved me
I've been able to address and let go of what pains me, thankfully.
These words strewn together form a much bigger painting.
I know it reaches beyond me so potentially someone else could read and also find life worth saving.
Cyclically, once again we will all fall like a leaf from a tree.
Ever-important, you are an integral part of life, a whisper in the wind floating on in the breeze.
Plant those seeds and Watch the growth of Being.
Remember You are profound, deep, and
beautiful - like poetry
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 6:49 PM UTC
Tender,purple,leaves abound,
avenue mango tree adorned,
like a comely bride,
unfolds poetry in life!
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
Of what poetic alchemy does this leaden torch
Transmute to golden lines, ear whisperings?
Do our hearts not skip a beat when the comfortable
Silence that is part of our poem's melody's weave,
Within its tapestry, are placed just so?
Is it not a pointless point, my pen's unending one
Does alight, for reading isn't hearing?
Is not a twig of poetree, earthen, sun sparked,
Skybound, too true to expound?
And when our heart gestures,
Bleeding ink lines dance,
Engraving such imagery in a mind's eye,
Feelings within a breast, bemusing the ear,
Do they not accompany
In the Spheres choreography?
Is nature not awoke
When bards extemporaneously
Evoke such wonder that co-creation
Of the universe is quickened?
"Ya got me!", a listener asserts
Dismissively, as the audience laughs.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
Book: African Hidden Info's
Written By: Thando DebrokenPoet
_
To My Fellow Nigros
Lost Children Of Melanin
Fumbling Offsprings Of Mwari
You've Struggled
And Tumbled
In Chena Murume's(White Men's), grasping Hearts.
_
The Enslaved
And Consciously Disabled-
Till spiritually You Drowned
Deep Into Our Oppressors Feet.
Day-to-day You Lowered
And Waxed To Every sovereign state's Begger.
_
This Book Is to My Fellow Afru-ika
Sisters & Brothers.
And Fellow Nigro
Whose Ancestors Suffered As Steve Biko
Did And All Other
Liberation Heros.
To Name Few:Prophet/king Shake Zulu Of The Zulu Clan-
Prophetess Mtsopa, King Langalibalele , Takawira Of Zimbabwe,
Hector Peterson, Credo Muthwa
Mohamed Farrah Aidid Of Somalia.
And Many Unrealised, Unrecognised
Misunderstood Hero's, like the Xhosa Prophetess-
Nongqawuse
The True African Freedom Fighters.
_
Skinned Dark, Rough In Complexion
Creator's Mastered Creation
Though Notified
To Be Mvelinqangi's Rejected
Child.
Said Black pigment, displays
Alah's Curse Upon You Dark skinned.
_
Through Thy're Undying spirit,
mandate passed to Prophet Radebe.
I'll Unpack Africa's Hidden Truths
Self-owed By homme blanc(White Men).
_
My Intro, For My 10 Days
Of Poetree.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
“many who are first will be last, and the last first.” Mark 10:29
the mixed drink of finance terminology
my stock and trade, or,
used to be anyway, when I was gainfully employed,
intersects with a place I don’t habitually frequent,
seeing as I am an Old Testament kinda guy
dollars to doughnuts,
this errant thought makes me smile,
the devil and me (a/k/a the devil in me)
have a warm milk with KAHLÚA,
in the dead of night, across the kitchen table,
doing repartee and bad poetree
and biblical textual emendation
on the verse in question
having been present, the devil likes it just the way it is,
but the old nitpicking me always thinking,
a little editing makes the ‘milk’ go down easier,
suggests a reversal of emphasis:
the last shall be first,
for many who are first, will be last
less threatening and the point better made
lead with your right, taught my boxing master,
and the last shall be first is
very right
you see, many call me,
the lender of last resort
which is true enough,
but my preference is best
when addressed as
lender of the first resort
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC
Poetree Inn
A WOMAN'S REVOLT II By; Esther Esuga
I am the one with the sonorous rendition
My words transports wise counsel to the minds of the young maidens
I am the feminine face to humanity
Man also but with womb
I am no weakling
I know my worth
My virtues are golden, pure and unique
I am bold, beautiful and desiring
I am the beautiful lilies that can not be crushed by antagonism and suppression
I KNOW how to put my home in order at the same time be relevant and sit on the front liner of my sphere
I am intelligent, bright and not doomed
I am the eagle that can soar high with her eaglets guiding them to the path of success
I AM THE SWEET VOICE
Pleasant, loud and clear
I am the one with the sonorous rendition
WRITTEN BY; ESTHER ESUGA.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
I’ll scale these branches over time
in rain or shine I’ll never stop
but
it don’t matter how high I climb
I know I’ll never reach the top
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:03 AM UTC
I plant my words into potted soil
Water them with just enough water
And give them just enough sun
Hoping that they will germinate
And when that seed begins to sprout
I will sow my verses into the ground
And watch them grow
Into beautiful works of poetry
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
San frontieres, a twig of poetree,
topological, roots and wings,
once more to the breach,
dancing betwixt ears, ungestured, bays,
I'd be as a mayfly, only alive a day,
rather than as long as an eagle flies, not whying.
Fathoming delves ley lines realizing increasing
wingspan, height of flight, intensity of sunlight.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 7:58 AM UTC
Written by: Thando DeBrokenPoet
Book: Simple Poetree
_
I Feel Alone,
Like A Statue
Living In A World That Is Unknown
_
I feel Ignored,
Like No One Cares-
If I'm Sad Or Bored.
My Life Is Filled With Nightmares
Which Steal My Sleep.
_
Pain Went So Deep,
at Night-time I Soak Under My Pillow And Cry
Asking My Self Quetions With too Many Why's.
What's The To Live For
This World Is So Cold.
_
No Family
No Friends
Just enemies
And rivals.
_
If You're Reading
This Note, Help My Bleeding
Heart.
Because
it's Torn Apart.
_
Depression filling My Soul
Darkness, A Big Black Hole.
No one Can Understand This Pain
Nothing To Lose, and nothing to Gain.
I'm
Just Some Reject From Heaven
To Hell.
_
I wish All Could Go Away
So I could Live A Normal Day.
Oh, God Is So Far Away
Who Can Brighten My Day?
_
My Thoughts Are Unkind
Every Time The Pull Me
to My Darkest Side,
And
If Only The Future I Could See.
_
I Keep Pulling My Self Together
But, Will This Loneliness
Last Forever?
Because
I Wish To Ascape This Sadness.
_
Tears All over My Eyes,
Scars All over My Hand,
Blood All Over My Legs
And Rope Surrounding My Neck.
_
To You Cruel World, You Thought I Was Weird
Sitting The Alone.
You Thought I Was Mad
for They Bullied Me, And I Smiled.
No It Was The Feeling Of Pain
Tickling My Brain.
_
No One Could Understand The Pain Of Orphan
Birth Pains Are Less Than Those Of An Orphan.
I Sit Alone
For I fear To Be Treated
Like Brandon.
_
The Wierd Guy On Generations,
That Coloured Dude
Whose Different From Others
In His School.
On earth We're Treated Like Freaks,
Kids Laugh at us Cause We're Wimps.
_
Death Taste Bitter
But Life Ain't Better.
Suicide Bubbles Keep
Blowing, Wierd Voices
"Join Us Thando, These No-love
In This World For You".
_
"Those Who Gave Birth To You,
Dumped You In ******* Bin
If They Rejected You
Who Will Love You?"
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
Judge me
not by my writes!
Under the shades of poetree,
In the lane of memory,
is my habitat.
To feel is my trait,
and the spilling words
are my asset....
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
Betwixt words,
Weaving paths of study,
Between lines,
Flowing within its own
Rythms, rhymes,
A birthplace is divined,
A twig of poetree to be,
Becomes in chrysalis,
Being you, evoking.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
Like budded seeds,
Like unbundled reads,
Like olive leafs
which cannot be plucked off
poet tree's grows
within me,
when you are
in my thoughts
as one of my own parts
By Williamsji Maveli
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
*
In a second life;
If I get in another time
I will adore you
in me and in you
With lights and shades;
in colours and odours
woman made of flesh,
soft as the soft flower petals
let me to nest in your breast;
and the scream
of my poetree growing in you
Oh... my woman chiseled in breeze.
your exquisite fingers
sweetly intertwined
in the pocket of my heart ?
*
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email:
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
I am a walking disease. I am angry and hateful and full of sharpened spite and I may never forgive you. I want to hurt you but that means hurting me, too. It just takes longer for me to feel it. (All good things take time.) I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I was a happier, nicer, more loving person. I wish I wasn't so ****** in denial. I hate myself and I hate you. I am rotting. I am killing my soul. Yes, I have one. YES, god is real. Yes, YEs, YES. SHUT THE **** UP already. Hit me so I can hit you. Feel it so I don't have to. I wish I was different. I wish I was dead. Don't help me up.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
After visiting the lava-tree
I washed my hands with toile-trees
The weather outside, was sort of win-tree
Affording me no pleasan-trees
As my thoughts become arbor-tree
But hear no words of bigo-tree
So studied the elemen-trees
Looking for some asymme-tree
I sat within a conserva-tree
As i pondered on the fores-tree
Wishing to write something complemen-tree
It all became a mys-tree
I thought for a while on trigonome-tree
And the sciences of chemis-tree
Got completely lost in microcircui-tree
So sent myself to Coven-tree
So i'll finish this piece of coque-tree
As dwell upon my ances-tree
As i delve into lost his-tree
Then return again to the lava-tree!
by Jemia
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 2:53 PM UTC
Reeling in the living art, unbeckoning
the hand, pen, weaving paths of study,
words, into lines, betwixt which the poetic
tapestry's music is detailed by life's loom,
flowing within it's own rhythms, rhymes,
Metered within eternity's, space's time,
with echoing silences define, an ear will hear,
a birthplace is divined, a twig of poetree to be,
becomes in chrysalis, being, you, evoking
from a Cosmos evolving, we, One, Thee.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC