Latest Gallery Contributors
Spomienka na lipy
Boli ste malé ako ja
mohla som vás objať dlaňami
stáli si lipy vedľa školy
zelené a podopreté doskami
Dlhý rad stromov, zelené koruny
Srdce nakreslené na každom liste
húf detí domov každý deň
strom za stromom viedli ste iste
Na jar sa zeleneli listy,
Na jeseň lipové kvety voňali,
vždy tam boli – a rástli s nami
a na stenu školy tiene vrhali
Dnes školské časy dávno zabudnuté
v spomienkach, na ktoré nie je čas,
no lipy stále stoja pri škole,
a dospelí ich tieňom deti vodia zas.
There was a tree.
A tree without leaves, not dead, but with many needles.
Not for pricking but to protect itself against acid rain and scorching sun.
A tall tree which radiated an imperturbable calm in summer and winter.
Deeply rooted in the earth and high risen to the sky.
There was another tree.
Completely different. Even the bark indeed playfully spotted black and white.
And it wore leaves that played constantly moving with the sunrays.
As soon as the short summer was over, the leaves turned yellow and brown.
Even before the first frost, they sailed away, as there had never been a green time.
Before the memory of summer faded in the mist of yesterday, the first buds sprouted again.
Tender green leaves made their way out of them.
One day the sky darkened and there was a heavy storm.
With a load roar, it swept through the forest, uprooted shrubs and trees.
After days of fury it disappeared as sudden as if it had been only a mirage.
Completely ruined it left the forest.
Barely a tree t
00:10Woods animated with SketchBook Motion takmaj 620 42
I remember that day like it was yesterday.
It was spring, a sunny Sunday, yet a bit chill.
We took a path into the wilderness,
Leaving the hometown behind.
On the way we met no one,
Peaceful silence surrounded us.
We walked towards the bright Sun,
Heading to distant trees growing on the top of a hill.
When we step into the young forest,
I noticed it was still sleeping.
There was no young vegetation,
like the winter didn't go away.
Tip of my fingers turned cold,
While we were walking deeper into the wild.
I had to watch out where I put my feet, step with caution.
My childish legs were a bit short for the tall grass,
Turned yellow below the snow.
Suddenly, a well known voice called
My name from behind the trees.
An adult hand armed with the knife
Was cutting a thin branch of a young, birch tree.
It handed me the other end, and asked me to drink from it.
I was afraid, unsure was it the right thing to do,
But I moved my lips towards it.
It was wet and colorless like water,
In the shadow of old birch tree
He walked down the street silent as the dream. Eventually he reached park full of old trees. Lights made streets bright and prevent inhabitants from seeing stars. People were not interested in starts or skies above, but in their own, boring everyday life. Unfortunately, no one noticed tall man in a long, dark jacket.
Children are afraid of the dark no without the reason, but when grow up they learned to call instincts “primitive fears from the barbarian period” as modern psychology tended to say. They are turning off voices telling them to avoid dark and unknown. How anyone can be afraid of the dark if we have nuclear weapon and mathematic formulas to reduce the variability?
Man in the dark coat by now way fitted to great city concentrated of boring, everyday life. He came from places none of mannish languages or psychics by Newton were able to describe. He visited words full of shapes and forms unknown to humans, as skies full of singing stars and speaking clouds. H
Tall red trees
tower over the forests.
Creating a wonderland;
an otherworldly landscape.
That is ruled by
Wind in treetops
It is predestined in seeds,
written inside roottips.
tend to stop.
We need rest,
despite dependent on stress.
New repetitions in proteins.
Pines were not.
Properties not stored.
Desert is wet in roots.
Repeating Seasons (DFC 2014)
Far in the Atlantic where nobody goes
among harsh churning waves, a white oak tree grows.
Ten months of the year, the oak's weathered roots sleep--
branches hanging barren, no secrets to keep.
With the month's closing, the dark storm clouds depart;
a fire bird rises, the tree's beating heart.
With burning wings spread, she welcomes a new day
and singing a mourning keeps demons at bay.
High overhead, feathers ruffled by the wind,
phoenix clears her throat and finds strength to begin.
"Far in the Atlantic where nobody goes,
among harsh churning waves, a white oak tree grows.
Ten months of the year, the oak's weathered roots sleep--
branches hanging barren, no secrets to keep
until I return and set the sky aflame.
Your roots are my prison, your branches my chains."
She takes a deep breath, her beak heavy with words.
Wonders why she can't leave. "I miss other birds
but the sea is too cold and I can not swim.
I drown in the waves...and end up here again!"
With closed eyes, she imagine
Fir-tree in the Forest
Outside it is bitter cold,
Frozen I trudge through the forest.
Untouched, innocent, white -
A bare forest-aisle shines.
Once stood the child’s dream
As a green fir-tree
At the great white place.
This, now as a Christmas treasure –
I am missing badly.
Every year, quite solemn,
I went away on Christmas Eve,
Away from my home.
Hurried quickly to my tree
That was my Christmas dream for me.
Kindled a light -
There my prayer was made.
In the midst of the peaceful forest
I felt only seldom cold.
However, this time it is lacking.
Christmas Eve is empty now.
Sadly, I trot back,
Weeping for lost happiness.
Dear Christ child, tell me why
Are people so stupid?
They murder my fir-tree,
They kill my Christmas dream.
Behind marshy fields,
Near the oaks of a thousand years,
The ancient yews,
Where the whitethorn blooms.
Where the spirits unite at night
The beautiful Ayame lives.
In the yews dwell elves,
In the oaks live dryads,
Under rocks sit gnomes,
Nymphs guard the spring.
There in the woods, in the clearing
Ayame moves and dances.
Sometimes in full moon nights,
Ayame rides on a white deer
Through the forest thicket.
In the brown robe of the earth,
With waving green hair,
Ayame rides mute through the woods.
People know nothing about the motionless fern realms
Or about meadow groves, shone on by the silvery moon,
In the old wood
Where no paths exist,
Where the families of the oak trees
Aspire worthy at the heights.
In this green ocean,
Here in the moist soft moss,
In the cushions of heather.
The forehead crowned with ivy.
Blessed in the forest arms
The beautiful Ayame sleeps.
In the ancient spring
A pretty face is reflected,
Dreams in the inner of its own nature
The dream sleep of day,
THE TREE OUTSIDE ME WINDOW
I know it's there...I see it every day
It's only when it's dark
That the tree outside me window
Really makes me start!
It's leaves are soft...no tappin' on t'glass
It doesn't make a sound
It just appears in t'corner of me eye
When t'wind blows it around
There is a tree outside me window
Of me garden it is a part
But when I'm in t'kitchen makin' a brew
It nearly stops me heart
I made a place to nuture it
The room I 'ave is tight
An' this is 'ow it repays me
By scarin' me at night!
It should be scared of me tho'
Coz I need to cut it down
It's roots'll be under t'foundations soon
An' t'council'll be round
But I love me little tree
(An' it's gettin' pretty tall)
If I let it get much bigger
It'll bring down t'kitchen wall!
The Old Oaken Tree
I have sat in your shade and have been dreaming.
Often I have forgotten the time.
Into your bark I have sobbed.
Underneath your roof of leaves I have sought shelter.
My grief, my joy I have told you.
A feeling of safety I have found here.
You are still there - changed - like me ...
After so many years.
You have stood your ground.
I have found a home, a place to strike root.
We share our life at the little creek.
Hardly I can grasp it or word my joy.
The power, peace and silence that surround you
I have already loved as a child.
And when I climbed up your branches and hurt you -
Please forgive me, the ignorant child.
That what I loved to have, you have given to me -
Power, dignity, hope - zest for life.
My Old Friend
I just wanted to see you again, my old friend of childhood days.
I had so many things to say to you
And knew that you would understand me.
Already as a little girl I visited you
With all my problems.
I felt safe with you
And all grief flew away.
When I was weeping in your arm,
You have caressed my hair
With your green leaves,
My old friend.
Today you fell!
I came too late.
You will never sway in the wind again.
You have to lie chopped by the wayside.
Some passers-by do not respect the rest of life
And tear at your green boughs
Which bend to the earth, dying.
Who will give me the peace now
That I found in your shade?
I have lost my best friend
Who connected me to my childhood.
Soon a house made of glas and stone will grow
Where you have been chopped.
Soon grey walls will tower, there,
Where you lie in the sunshine.
Perhaps a miracle will happen?
I will wait for it secretly.
Perhaps in front of the house will bloom a garden
And my tree will come to life again.
But then he will be weak an
Love her, in her grand stature
Our one and only Creator
For she is our Mother Nature
We will remain your traitor
We all must coexist
Yet we bite this feeding hand
Like a curse that still persists
And exploits this sacred land
Concrete buildings and metal structures
Ignorantly creating more pollution
Futile machines we manufacture
Blind of any solution
Is there hope for a future
Of birth and regrowth
Of healing this deep suture
Among humankind and nature both
I found a tree with a knotty hollow
Inside the dark there rested a robin
Standing still with staring eyes wide open
Her plumage lacking lustre
Like a needle felt bird in a craft show
At twenty dollars, delicately made
Waiting in the moss, waiting for a lull
In the icy wind, waiting for the chance
To forage for food for her very life's sake
I put out a careful finger caressed
The down on her red breast and dun hued head
She fell back, tiny claws, legs stretched up, stiff
Like telegraph poles without wires.
One more to add to millions of lonely deaths.
The monologue of the rain
Days of the sun pass the autumn time slowly,
Leisure of clouds for the nature is holy.
So then people will not be able to know:
The sun’s gonna shine, or my wind’s gonna blow.
Either the fog’s gonna cover the ground,
Either my sisters, without any sound,
Are going to cover the sky, or the sun
Is going to rise, so the life’s gonna come.
I won’t let this star be in the grey sky prime,
Autumn and spring – that is my own work time.
Since origin of the world it had not been
Till planet was covered by blanket of sin.
My job returns in the start of the season.
Sisters, who’re covering sky, think of reason.
They’re darker and darker, who’re after the whites,
And look like the fastest, the gloomiest knights.
Hundreds of sisters and two only brothers,
Sound of the stormy cantata then gathers.
The oldest my sister is making a charm -
The lightning is falling without any harm.
Feel: I am lifted above all the cloudies,
Lightning is follow
A Standing Corpse
Under the seething heat of the sun
A juniper stands on a dry hill
Like so many surrounding him
He was burned to death by a wildfire
His twisted branches are smoky white
Still reaching out for all the heavens
In botanical rigor mortis
He is a skeleton of a tree
A standing corpse in desert sunlight
Never to drink another raindrop
As dry as the earth that hold his roots
I step closer to this juniper
Small clouds of dust kicked up by my feet
I gently touch his bark and wonder
How long until his form break apart
The wind tastes the marrow of my bones
Jehovah's movements become evident
Through the leaves of each tree I encounter
And moments can last lifetimes when I pause
To listen for the song quietly sung
By the branches seeking to comfort my soul
What better Elysium can there be?
the Tree of Life is in your hands
the winding of your veins
up and down and through your arms
it ends up in your heart
pulsing Blood is your own story
a tale that’s told in cells
shrinking down in four dimensions
hidden by old Mimir’s holt
on and on into obscurity
hidden by the Veil of Maja
you are a piece of eternity
your final end is God