Mango Tree

Mango Tree

Ramon P. Orticio
  
Planted and grown of Indian stock
A tree that impersonates a native fruit
Sown by a cousin who has gone abroad
Rising so quick bearing fruits to pick
Our mango tree grew big and tall
Giving shades to young and old
Swinging them to and fro and high and low
Under its wings in suspended string
Then one day termites came by surprise
snaking through its body like human veins
Little mama so afraid and angry
Cut into lumber our mango tree, kaput!


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Color Poem

Early Sunrise- Benjamin Moore- 208460

Gaetane Lemaire

The lights turn on

And I open my eyes

As I am shaken awake

By my mother

I catch a glimpse of the clock

It is early

Outside the window

It is dark

The smell of hot chocolate

Lingers in my nostrils

As I get dressed

Into my old cloths

Downstairs,

I join my cousins

Who are already eating

Toast and hot chocolate

Outside, the cool air

Brushes against my face

As the night slowly dissolves

Revealing a dim pink light.

As Grandma drives us to the lake

The trees and cars flash by in a blur

And we all laugh as someone

Tells a joke

The water of the lake

Comes into view

And we park the car and register

As the sun appears behind the trees

First classes begin

We are taught how to put up our sails

How to change directions

How to control the speed

Boats are lifted into the air

By strong arms

And are placed on the cold

And dirty water

I sail off along with my cousins

On the lake slowly lighting up

As the sun rises

Into the pink sky.

More Color Collective poems on Middlemindz

Where I'm From

I am from color pencils,

from Crayola and Caran D’ache.

I am from all four seasons,

from the cold winter breeze to the warm summer air.

I am from the apple, orange, and pear trees,

the dandelions

whose yellow fields stretch out

into the open.

I am from poems on Christmas day,
brown hair and freckles,
from Lemaire and Claeys Bouuaert.

I am from Mom’s soft kisses,
and from Dad’s big hugs.

From Always do your best! and Do as you’re told!

I am from reading the bible
and going to Church once a week.

I’m from small towns,

Where everyone knows their neighbors,

From tomato plants and mint leaves

From the bruises I got from hiking

And the cuts from falling on twigs in the forests.

In my drawers are souvenirs

from trips we went on

and places we visited.

On my shelves lie photo albums

Containing faces I’ve forgotten

And faces I still talk to,

Containing moments of my life

I will never forget.

I am from those times,

When I could laugh around and goof off,

When I felt like I could do anything I wanted,

And when everything seemed easier.