Skip to main content

Ode to a Tilted Tree

Your body tilted
Your leaves wilted
Your energy royal,
your friendship loyal.
But you are discouraged and tired
of being sparingly admired.

Your head bends steadily towards the water,
The by-standers do not seem to bother
to listen to the stories you can reveal,
Allowing the history and your presence to heal
the wounds one carries in her mind;
You seem exhausted yet humbly kind.

Welcoming strangers with a warm embrace
Your wrinkled skin and a weather-beaten face
contrasts with a jovial and mischievous grace
of the young branches so naive but stable…
How much you must be grateful -
for these smooth slender arms,
With your inner protection nothing harms.

 

Anon.

Currently Popular Poems:

Forever Searching

Search the walls Scan the corridors Express the highs Scribble the lows Writing explores The state of my mind.   Judith  

Let Me Play

Children at play filled with innocence, Trees in the playground where they hide. Running, shouting no cares in the world, Waves of freedom flows higher than the tide. In that playground stands a child all alone, Fraught with sadness, with nobody to play. His dejection surges as his tears threaten, Just wishing a shrill of a whistle would end the day. Being so alone is a solitary game, Thoughts of “what have I done” The shrills and screams of play, Ending a game for those that won. Standing all alone playtime is long, Children running all unaware, He stands still alone, Envy and sadness, he stands just to stare. Sheridan

So Much Yellow

There’s gorse, of course and sometimes broom, the lichens yellow on the tomb and every churchyard has its fill of lovely yellow daffodils. There’s dandelions and celandine and yellow primrose, I suppose, and fluffy yellow chicks are born and yellow toads from slippery spawn. And green is seen on every lawn, at April’s end the woods turn blue and tulips bloom in pink and red with drooping leaves in every bed but yellow bellows all around: spring’s mating call, a joyful sound. Julia Duke

Jungle Walk, Henstead Exotic Garden, Suffolk.

Broad-leaved trees, spreading palms, fingers outstretched, shield me from the sun’s heat. Beneath a green umbrella’s shade, the perfect spot on a blistering summer’s day, so cool, serene. Round, fluted lily pads rest flat on inky waters where golden fish glide, finding refuge in silence. A tiny oasis, place of shelter enfolding, embracing me within its safe circumference. Julia Duke

Woodpecker Squall

The five feathers of Autumn weather Were a woodpecker’s downed chatter Under an Oaks wings And the rain’s prism sang in my lashes Over and over Ring in fast skies September October The beak of the sky Pummelled the wood But I dried it’s staccato why By waving the feathers of my hand Until the spots merged Back to fine weather Then left altogether. Stephen Kirin

Ballinasloe Station

Flood plains replenished and diminished, a deceiving here-and-there fluidity and the flat statement of stubborn water. Occasionally trackside trees are stranded, littered in swirling pools that soundlessly disappear. On the horizon, tall walls and radio mast mark the far-off asylum neatly screened with its avenue of trees. The people are hidden beyond the town, their tears reaching as far as the railway lines. The train navigates the flood’s edge like logic escaping emotion, trim engineering escaping danger, holding firmly onto the rails. (Ballinasloe was a major mental home in County Galway) Pat Jourdan

Feathers

It’s as if all the birds In every weather Had dropped every feather The weight sometimes Of all those why's A ton of lead Or a ton of words unsaid Down on a feathered bed The weight belies The width of squawks When the birds are dead And they sing remembering When a ton of song Weighed the same as Fly away Autumns Flu away fall Feather or not Bird at all. Stephen Kirin

Very Important Invitation

V VULVA! Did I capture your attention? E Each of us have our own experiences, relevance, compliments & complaints to mention R Race, religion, gender – cervical screening has little constraints it’s about prevention and Y You are in control. I Investment in your health, time to talk, education about look & feel M More talking about our bodies, knowing the facts and questions we have all tried to conceal P Putting it frankly, simply and laid bare O Out in the open and then you find yourself sat in the chair R Red rosy cheeks, being asked about your periods, dryness, sex, safety and infections T That’s an odd question A And did the nurse forget to mention? N Not only do we want to do your cervical screening but we want to check your safe at home too T That’s the aim of our holistic game. I Invest in your time to learn, to read, to look after what you need N Now if you ARE in need we can promise you one thing can be guaranteed V Very Important Invitation will be here to advocate,...

Paradoxical Party

Only inebriated by our own troubles, with no form of sobriety in society and so intoxicated by our own thoughts. We are just circling around one another in the party of that I see as life. When we meet a death of our paradoxical minds, the death of our bodies or both intertwined, life carries on. So, as we reside in our physical form, celebrate. Have your cake and eat it. Please don’t step on anybody else’s footsteps if they are not dancing to your rhythm. Dance your own design, truth is, the party never ends live to love in celebration and hold onto your hats! Lauren.x

Twenty-First Century Willow

I have always been proud of my body: lithe, supple, quite elastic. Watch me while I bow to reach my delicately painted toenails. I have always been supple. My sturdy trunk withstands the wind which gently stirs my slender limbs and sets me swaying, tossed like the ocean’s waves, rippling the fronds of my lime-green hair. Don’t waste your pity on me. I have a reputation for weeping but I am content with my lot. I am not one of those weepy women you love to despise. Snivelling, you call it. I have always been flexible. Don’t let that thought mislead you into imagining that I am easily led. Supple, flexible, I may be. Pliable, I am not. If you are inclined to stay, we may indulge ourselves in a little laziness. Rest a while beneath my boughs, see how I catch the sunlight in my hair and we will dip our toes together in the river’s flow. I am a little moody, a touch melancholy you might say, and inclined to droop. There are times, I admit, when the river flows by unheeding and I crave a li...