From time to time a poem

 
 
Trees
 
Most die when you move them
i thrive
I need to return home
Knowing full well i shall lose everything
that we were and never will be
 
"Just love him"
The voice never fades
My roots slowly return to the soil
where i was planted
Leaves move in the wind as
voices try to persuade
But its the Silence
that is crushing the last hopes
 
"Just love him"
I shall as i disapear in the Forest
where i will remain
providing oxygen , serving nature
Unavailable to anything
that tries to cut me down
A voice whispers more pressing than ever
 
"Just love him"
As my leaves fall to the ground
 
Marta Lina Thomassen

I make my own path
Where none may follow
Because it is for my steps only
None may mirror
For I leave no sense of my passing
Yet the wind knows me
The sun bathes me
The trees greet me
The earth supports me
For I blend so truly with each element
That my passage is mistaken for life
Lifeforce binds us
No space between
We are one
I am alone
Yet never lonley
I am yet I am not
My beat is felt only throughout the universe
Recognised only in rhythm with the circle of life.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

BY ROBERT FROST

POEM, REVISED DRAFT, taken from "You Took The Last Bus Home: The Poems of Brian Bilston"

I had to write this poem again.
I left the first draft on the train
and now it doesn't look the same.

The original was a paean to Love,
to Truth, to Beauty. It soared above
the everyday and all that stuff.

It would have healed estranged lovers' rifts,
stilled the sands on which time shifts
and stopped the world before it drifts

further into quagmired crisis,
ended famine, toppled ISIS,
employed ingenious literary devices.

I tried my hardest to recall
its words and rhymes, the rise and fall
of the carefully cadenced crawl

through the English language.
But it caused me pain and anguish
for there was little I could salvage.

It certainly didn't end with a line like this.

WILD GEESE, by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Read carefully before you send angry internal mail please...
____

REFUGEES, by Brian Bilston

They have no need of our help
So do not tell me
These haggard faces could belong to you or me
Should life have dealt a different hand
We need to see them for who they really are
Chancers and scroungers
Layabouts and loungers
With bombs up their sleeves
Cut-throats and thieves
They are not
Welcome here
We should make them
Go back to where they came from
They cannot
Share our food
Share our homes
Share our countries
Instead let us
Build a wall to keep them out
It is not okay to say
These are people just like us
A place should only belong to those who are born there
Do not be so stupid to think that
The world can be looked at another way

(now read from bottom to top)

Haiku by Patricia Davis (from today's Haikuniverse):

low buzz
the bee's universe
hums through thyme

Art is pointless, Jasmine Kay Uy

Compare reading the left side, then the left and right together. Have a creative day, temple

Fatally Incompatible

He could not hold me
if it was all
he ever wanted

we never met
we never will

Worlds apart
and ever drifting
further and further

While i cling to the threads
of what i wanted us to be

~Serenity

The Simple Things
by Edgar A. Guest

I would not be too wise--so very wise
That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds,
And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes
To humble people and their humble needs.

I would not care to climb so high that I
Could never hear the children at their play,
Could only see the people passing by,
And never hear the cheering words they say.

I would not know too much--too much to smile
At trivial errors of the heart and hand,
Nor be too proud to play the friend the while,
Nor cease to help and know and understand.

I would not care to sit upon a throne,
Or build my house upon a mountain-top,
Where I must dwell in glory all alone
And never friend come in or poor man stop.

God grant that I may live upon this earth
And face the tasks which every morning brings
And never lose the glory and the worth
Of humble service and the simple things.