To the Tree at my Window

[symphony]

We're shifting home soon i guess...
The following is a piece of a dont-know-what to my window-tree, with which I have been in love for a real long time, and still am. I love to see its leaves shuddering in the rain, love the green delight it poses, love the way it sways in the cool breeze, and the moon shining on it at night... So here goes my little tribute to the Tree at my window, window tree....


And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self is.
But inside I’m shivering
Like your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Roll down my face
Like a nameless ode.


Couldnt find a more appropriate place to put it in, i'n not certain of it being a poem though. :rolleyes:

[Pendragon]

Oh, it's a good poem. What I'd like to see is you work with the words just a bit more, so that the poem itself becomes shaped more like a tree. Visual Poetry. It is basically that shape now, just fluff out the upper part where the leaves would be! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gif

[SteveH]

Like it, but think you should change "mine" to "my" in line 5.

[symphony]

Oh, it's a good poem. What I'd like to see is you work with the words just a bit more, so that the poem itself becomes shaped more like a tree. Visual Poetry. It is basically that shape now, just fluff out the upper part where the leaves would be! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gif

Good idea. Thanks. Okay i should give it a try then...
How does this look?--



A new home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .a vista utterly new;
But even then I find myself held back from this fresh purview,
Running after I know not what, awaiting a life anew…
And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self is.
But inside I’m shivering
Like your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Roll down my face
Like a nameless ode.

But I kinda have a feeling that this doesnt sound too good even if it looks better... :blush:

[edit: the dotted space in the very first line would be a vacant space, which my post wasnt allowing at the moment, so just ignore the dots lol.]


Like it, but think you should change "mine" to "my" in line 5.
Oh i thought "mine" somehow sounds better here, will it not be correct if i use "mine"? :(

[Pendragon]

Right. That will never do. What I had in mind was these three lines





And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self is.
But inside I’m shivering
Like your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Roll down my face
Like a nameless ode.


If you can extend them just a bit, then the shape will round out more at the top. The trunk is already there. Like this, maybe?



And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self feels no breeze
But inside I’m shivering, shaking
The very way your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Roll down my face
Like a nameless ode.

[symphony]

:banana: thank u so much Pendragon, i really really really appreciate it :D it looks way better now! ur a superb editor :D

[white camellia]

The tree of a poet as you produced in me a beautiful sensation.


To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.

The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.

When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.

To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says, -- he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, -- no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, -- my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, -- all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, -- master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.

Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleasures with great temperance. For, nature is not always tricked in holiday attire, but the same scene which yesterday breathed perfume and glittered as for the frolic of the nymphs, is overspread with melancholy today. Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then, there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him who has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the population.

[symphony]

I like the style, very refreshing and enlivening.

I'll specially like to quote these parts, i really liked them:


Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, -- no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, -- my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, -- all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.


There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.

And

The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the population.

:)

[aashishameya]

this is simply good poem, direct come from the heart...

[symphony]

Thanks aashishameya. Yeah its one of those rare poems i wrote without any scratching hehe! (my poems usually tend not to leave the paper unscathed! :D )

[symphony]

Hehehe this was my first poem ever, written at 14. :p It rhymes at some places and doesnt at others, and sounds hilarious :D . But still I thought it'd be nice to share ;) ...


Post Vitae

Once was there a life,
A struggle, a song, a smell, a sunny morn,
Where have I lost them?
Oh, where has they gone?


The demons of time
Grasped all but the remnants of memories of the past;
‘Twas a long way to go through,
or was it?- how long did it last?
It surely wasn’t just the 70 years of pain,
No, I tell you, it was infinity;
I saw, I learned, I cried
and all these left a deep stain—
in the heart of the long-dead man without serenity.

Now I see the mourners beside my grave—
sitting there, thinking of the life
the poor man just gave
away, chanting worships to the Lord.
They realise not that this man
Have died long before…
When they all couldn’t afford
to spend a moment with him,
when he was all alone in the dark,
when he watched the last of the hopes getting dim…
That was when he gave up his soul,
Now I watch them acting their role.


And free from all thoughts,
Like a weightless dove—
I glide to my destiny,
To the heavens above.

Now that I look at it, it DOES look hilarious LOL. :D

[Niamh]

very nice poem Synphony!

[symphony]

glad that u like it :lol:

[Riesa]

I love this poem.

trees have always held me in the grips of their tips, fondling the moon..lol..

or maybe it's just their solid backs to lean upon, always beautiful. and your use of language moves...thank you. :)

[symphony]

Thanks for the kind comments, Riesa :) . I assume u are talking about that previous poem to my window-tree. I have a kind of weakness for that poem, the poem itself is nothing special, but the affection for that tree is (in a way, its an affection for all trees, but that tree sure holds a different esteem). Besides, that poem rushed to my mind right on what they call "the spur of the moment", smooth like that, without giving it a moment's though i wrote it down. :) + a hundred other reasons why it feels so special to me, although so short and abrupt.

[Riesa]

I refer to this poem below, symphony. sorry, it doesn't copy like yours did. a most beautiful ode. and I know what you mean about a pouring of words, exactly..spur of the moment.


And so it is,
Now that I am leaving you,
I am as silent as you always are,
Just as calm and just as indifferent
Mine outer self is.
But inside I’m shivering
Like your leaves did
When the rain rushed upon them—
The panorama that never
Failed to enchant me
By its divinity;
And so it is, now that I gaze
At your silent silhouette,
A single tear
Roll down my face
Like a nameless ode.

[symphony]

:D always good to find people who understand u.

And yeah I had figured out which poem u were talking about, no probs. ;)

[Riesa]

to speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child.

thanks, WhiteCamellia, what a beautiful article..and we, all of us, including symphony, see the sun. I meant to say symphony, that i loved your intro..shifting home. that is lovely and deserves a spot in a future poem perhaps?

[symphony]

perhaps :)

[symphony]

The following poem isnt a great one by itself, but the person it talks about is.


To Maliha

Heaven’s beauties adjourn!
Shining high now is only a light divine—
A divinity captured in a frame of dark curls,
That light in those very eyes shine,
And with every smile Heaven itself unfurls!
Since times unknown, a heart as such was never born.

Dances, jubilant, a love embedded
In her face. Together the cosmic colours blend
Into a white innocence innate—
Bringing in kindnesses that tend
To astound us, mere mortals as we are! While shrewd fate
Fails and surrenders to that great divinity untainted.


Does it sound too bad? Havent written anything about a particular person before this... this one sounds like it lacks clarity...like I havent managed to express eveything I had in mind...
Comments will be most welcome. :)

[symphony]

What is it? Is it really that bad that noone even wants to comment?! :eek:
Or was I just stupid not to post it in another thread?!! :eek:

[symphony]

The Rebirth of a Phoenix

Saturday, 30. June 2007, 06:27:55

From the ashes
Of the old me, rose
A new self, unforeseen;
The world rejoiced once more--
A new phoenix has born today.
What remains now is just memories--
Distant echoes of yesteryears.
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.

[Pensive]

The Rebirth of a Phoenix

Saturday, 30. June 2007, 06:27:55

From the ashes
Of the old me, rose
A new self, unforeseen;
The world rejoiced once more--
A new phoenix has born today.
What remains now is just memories--
Distant echoes of yesteryears.
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.

Hi symphony! I liked this poem especially. Very precise, and seems to have rhythm in it. Very hopeful as well! :)

[Pendragon]

Post Vitae

Once was there a life,
A struggle, a song, a smell, a sunny morn,
Where have I lost them?
Oh, where has they gone?

The demons of time
Grasped all but the remnants of memories;
T’was a long way to go through,
Or was it?- how long did it last?
It surely wasn’t just the 70 years of agony,
No, I tell you, it was eternity;
I saw, I learned, I cried, I laughed, I loved, I lost:
And all these left a deep stain—
In the heart of the long-dead man without serenity.

Now I see the mourners beside my grave—
Sitting there, thinking of the life
The poor man just gave away,
Chanting worships to the Lord.
They realize not that this man had died long before…
When they all couldn’t afford to spend a moment with him,
When he was all alone in the dark,
When he watched the last of the hopes getting dim…
That was when he gave up his soul,
Now I watch them acting their parts—hypocrites!

And free from all thoughts, like a weightless dove—
I glide to my destiny, bound for the heavens above.



One thing Sy. No putting yourself down. I do not allow that. If you wrote this at 14 or 41, it is something you wrote, and that makes it important. I did a little editing. Tell me what you think.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[Pendragon]

The following poem isnt a great one by itself, but the person it talks about is.


To Maliha

Heaven’s beauties adjourn!
Shining high now is only a light divine—
A divinity captured in a frame of dark curls,
That light in those very eyes shine,
And with every smile Heaven itself unfurls!
Since times unknown, a heart as such was never born.

Dances, jubilant, a love embedded
In her face. Together the cosmic colours blend
Into a white innocence innate—
Bringing in kindnesses that tend
To astound us, mere mortals as we are! While shrewd fate
Fails and surrenders to that great divinity untainted.


Does it sound too bad? Havent written anything about a particular person before this... this one sounds like it lacks clarity...like I havent managed to express eveything I had in mind...
Comments will be most welcome. :)Nothing wrong with this poem. Your friend should be pleased!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[Pendragon]

The Rebirth of a Phoenix

Saturday, 30. June 2007, 06:27:55

From the ashes
Of the old me, rose
A new self, unforeseen;
The world rejoiced once more--
A new phoenix has born today.
What remains now is just memories--
Distant echoes of yesteryears.
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.
I have one suggestion for this poem. This line:
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.
, has too much of a good thing. Let's try rewording it, while keep to the theme of Rebirth, which is what a Phoenix is all about.
"And now, fresh with restored and refurbished dreams
All aglow with new life,
A gleaming countenance arose,
From the ashes of the old."


Take with a grain of salt, Sy, if you don't agree.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[symphony]

Thanks Pensive and Pendragon. :)


[/COLOR]

One thing Sy. No putting yourself down. I do not allow that. If you wrote this at 14 or 41, it is something you wrote, and that makes it important. I did a little editing. Tell me what you think.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

I'll keep that in mind. :nod: And thanks for taking the trouble to edit it, it sounds better now, u gave it a touch of maturity that it missed.


Nothing wrong with this poem. Your friend should be pleased!

Pen

She is :lol: a lot!!


I have one suggestion for this poem. This line:
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.
, has too much of a good thing. Let's try rewording it, while keep to the theme of Rebirth, which is what a Phoenix is all about.
"And now, fresh with restored and refurbished dreams
All aglow with new life,
A gleaming countenance arose,
From the ashes of the old."


Take with a grain of salt, Sy, if you don't agree.

Pen


Hmmm i have to admit that the last part of the original poem could be embellished if i wanted it... but i still would prefer to keep it this way, i particularly wish not to break the ascending-to-descending syllable order (u see this is in a 4-5-6-7-8-9-8-7-6-5-4 form) and once this new order hit my head i liked it so much that i'm now planning to write more this way hehe.

[Pendragon]

Hmmm i have to admit that the last part of the original poem could be embellished if i wanted it... but i still would prefer to keep it this way, i particularly wish not to break the ascending-to-descending syllable order (u see this is in a 4-5-6-7-8-9-8-7-6-5-4 form) and once this new order hit my head i liked it so much that i'm now planning to write more this way hehe.Ah. I see now. Still repeated words in that little clump are misleading, to me anyway. I seldom worry about syllabels unless writing Japanese style poetry, I just let it flow. I applaud you. You knew what you were doing and stuck with it. That is sterling. Never accept change unless it improves the poem if the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe appears and tells you to change it! http://www.cosgan.de/images/kao/figuren/e030.gif

Pen

[Debrasue]

Ah. I see now. Still repeated words in that little clump are misleading, to me anyway. I seldom worry about syllabels unless writing Japanese style poetry, I just let it flow. I applaud you. You knew what you were doing and stuck with it. That is sterling. Never accept change unless it improves the poem if the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe appears and tells you to change it! http://www.cosgan.de/images/kao/figuren/e030.gif

PenWow! I caught right away what you were trying to do with your poem and it's word arrangement, Symphony, but as usual I doubted myself that it was a 'proper' form of poetry!...Thanks Pen...now I feel a little more validated that I recognized the pattern! BTW...Excellent poem...I had no problem with it! Very pretty in my eyes!

[symphony]

thanks *bow* i'm flattered :D

[symphony]

Waking up in my bed was a glowing face,
Waking up in my lips was a thrilled smile,
Waking up out there was a jubilant sun,
While a secret sun in me warmed my soul.

Dawn rolled in with a fresh radiance,
Darting through my mind were half-forgotten fragments--
Distant sounds and visions scurried through,
Dreamy eyes longed for rewound sights.

In the myriad curls of the warm sheets
Imbedded dreams rested,
Within me they merged
With each breath taken.

[symphony]

I wrote the following today during a zoology class (well i was being bored to death, the lecturer might as well be singing a lullaby! I have to admit, zoology is not my strength) so turn a blind eye if it sounds too stupid.

A Love-ly Bird

Oft among the heavens I swing
And perch myself on the lovely bough
Joyful hearts greet me as I sing
Chirpy songs for those who can still love.

Oft above the finest heights I fly
With spirits higher, wings aloft
To embrace the blue bliss of the sky
Reaching for those who have once loved.

Oft the hymns to Love that I voice
Ring in to keen ears, and surf
And dance and flutter and rejoice
The hearts that can, and will, dare love.