Tree Poems | Poemist

Popular Tree Poems

Disabled

by Wilfred Owen

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-

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The Creation

by James Weldon Johnson

And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I'm lonely--
I'll make me a world.

And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp.

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Talking Turkeys!

by Benjamin Zephaniah

Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,

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Palme

by Paul Valéry

Veiling, barely, his dread
Beauty and its blaze,
An angel sets warm bread
and cool milk at my place.
His eyelids make the sign
Of prayer; I lower mine,
Words interleaving vision:
--Calm, calm, be ever calm!
Feel the whole weight a palm
Bears upright in profusion.

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Duino Elegies: The First Elegy

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.

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Recent Tree Poems

To Love A Tree Is But To Love Yourself

by Pijush Biswas

They were boys, curious 'bout oranges
While these ripe, and time to grasp
Thus days go on
Until at least the days come,
While at least no a bar works fine

They spend whole the year,
So full of love of the dear trees;
So the day can't be a vain one
From them,

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Tough Tree

by Ayatullah Nurjati

The dry leaves are shaken off by the wind
The wind softly whispered in the tired of the dizzy climate
The land regenerates willingly on the animals that inhabit it
The leaves are ready and willing to be eaten by insects, worms and slugs

Trees that soar high reaching the sky have been tested by various storms as if they are still strong even though they are old but still protect every habitat below
them
His organs seemed willing to die and regenerate because that was the sacrifice of his life
When the harvest season arrives, it's not uncommon for him to be stoned or his
branches deliberately broken to get something, but he still reciprocates by giving the fruits he produces.

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World's Wine Drinks Dry Desire

by Ayatullah Nurjati

The tree dangles in all directions
Lush and green leaves seem to be in sync with the landscape amidst the bustle
of the city noise flanked by high-rise buildings
The ripe fruit seems appetizing to be enjoyed instantly
The air was now already felt stifling chest

Indeed, this city glistens with splendor similar to the composition of wine which is
the prima donna for its enthusiasts
The colors green, red, purple are good when the raw materials turn into wine,
they are only social starification and markers for the producing trees, similar to

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It Grew on Me

by Evelyn Judy Buehler

I was a fashionable horticulturist, for elegant flowers keep eternally in style,
Like the saffron sun, coming and going, always causing dark skies to smile.

Plants were a jade preoccupation, long before glad days of my rosy career,
Filled with such mystery and magic, bringing rare surprises year after year.

My fascinated friends adored my garden, at the corner of Violet and Green,
Visiting an August of creamy asters, after a showy, July 'falling star' scene.

My oaken door was always open, to the fine family of my affectionate heart,

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An Old Fashioned Love

by Evelyn Judy Buehler

I was a dedicated, expert arborist, bringing joy and comfort to shady spaces,
As mountains give cool joy to blooms, in butterscotch afternoon's last traces.

A love of trees grew in youth, when climbing our oak, four hundred years old,
Then having fun in my tree house, soaked in fervor of sunshine uncontrolled.

I kept gnarled, graceful trees healthy, giving pleasure and beauty to big eyes,
In the greenest possible idle fashion, like the plummy sunrise, full of surprise.

Good friends and I picnicked under its limbs, as it was still in the noble family,

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