Tree Poems | Poemist

Popular Tree Poems

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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A White Christmas

by Carla Jean Laglia Esely

'Twas the night before christmas.
With a blanket of white.
That covered the earth all through the night.
The trees sparkled like diamonds.
With a glitter so bright.
That each little twinkle made its own christmas light.
A hope and a prayer a white christmas would be.
Awaiting the dawn so all could see.
The beauty and joy a white christmas does bring.
To the holiday season as carolers sing.

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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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Hymn To Pan

by Aleister Crowley

Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man ! My man !
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan ! Io Pan .
Io Pan ! Io Pan ! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady !
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and styrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,

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The Newcomer

by Brian Patten

'There's something new in the river,'
The fish said as it swam.
'It's got no scales, no fins and no gills,
And ignores the impassable dam.'

'There's something new in the trees.'
I heard a bloated thrush sing.
'It's got no beak, no claws, and no feathers,
And not even the ghost of a wing.'

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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.

......

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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