‘Tree in my Neighbourhood’ Competition.

//‘Tree in my Neighbourhood’ Competition.

Write a poem and be in the running for ‘bask aromatherapy‘ products. Australian owned and made, bask use only the finest, organic, botanical ingredients, gently blended with essential oils. Your skin feel silky soft and your soul soothed. Bliss!

‘Tree in my neighbourhood’

No rules on the poem, it can rhyme or not, be a Japanese Haiku or even a limerick. The only stipulation is that it is an original poem about a tree in your neighbourhood. If you win, I will ask you to pop out and take a photo of the said tree to show us all.




Renowned Ballarat poet Ross Gillett, will be reading your entries and judging the winner.

Ross’ poems have been featured in The Age and The Australian and have been widely published in journals and magazines. His numerous awards for poetry include the Melbourne Poets Union Poetry Prize. He has lectured in Creative Writing and judged a number of poetry competitions.

Please be aware that I will be sharing all your original poems on this website, Facebook and encouraging others to share.

The competition is open until the end of October 2015 for Fifteen Tree subscribers. Submit your poem in the comments section.

Not a subscriber? Sign up, sign up …..

Slainte – Colleen

By | 2017-12-15T10:42:40+00:00 September 29th, 2015|Blog|12 Comments

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  1. Callum Hercus September 30, 2015 at 10:23 am

    ‘Tree in my neighbourhood’

    The luscious leaves,
    Brushing against the harsh brittle bark,
    The sunset glistens on the debilitated gum tree.
    Driven past day by day,
    Showing gracefulness,
    It allures the viewers eyes,
    like a childs’ to sweets,
    A warm cosy home for luxuriant wildlife,
    A perky playground for wondrous children.
    A safe haven for me.
    Callum Hercus 2015

  2. Simon Carroll September 30, 2015 at 12:56 pm

    Our Willow

    A great willow, planted in memory of the homeland dances exotically in response to the ever – changing music of the wind.

    Supple branches bend this way and that, whilst roots and trunk hold firm to scaffold the languid movements.

    Never still and always in time with the rhythm of local forced though it’s providence lies far, far away.
    Simon Carroll 2015

  3. Alan Cuthbertson October 1, 2015 at 7:41 am

    There’s a Moreton Bay Fig near Uni,
    Whose branches are thick and quite roomy
    My girlfriend and I,
    Would climb it and sigh
    Now she’s my wife and is quite looney
    Alan Cuthbertson 2015

  4. Rachel Hammett October 1, 2015 at 11:09 pm

    I was planning on writing a poem – had my game face on – and saw Alan’s poem posted above and just couldn’t stop laughing and had to show everyone in the office how funny it was! But here goes:

    “I live under a massive Poinciana Tree. I would write a sonnet or stanza about it, but anyone who lives with one and follows it through the seasons every year would know that to attempt to put its beauty into words would only cheapen it”

    Rachel Hammett 2015

  5. Karolina October 7, 2015 at 7:57 am

    Oh Paulownia of my garden great,
    consolidation is the craft of Winter.
    Stripped bare of leaf
    patience is rewarded with Spring.
    Caressed with warmth,
    you are encouraged to reveal your hidden glory.
    Spires of trumpets
    unfurl to orchestral heights,
    you have awakened in regal splendor
    Karolina Artist 2015

  6. Brittany Thompson October 15, 2015 at 10:25 am

    The old lady
    The old lady stands on the corner of the playground.
    Bent, but taller than the two story classrooms. The yard is empty – void of laughter and children’s cries.
    It is night.
    Her arms sway with the gentle breeze – a branch snaps. A possum crawls down her knurled fingers in search of food – awake with the coming of night.
    She sighs.
    Her feet are long and ugly. They have tripped many, causing heartache and pain.
    They have been sat on and jumped on – yet are still strong.
    She is old.
    Her womb is barren. Yet she has nurtured generations.
    Loved and cared for them as her own and shared her warmth.
    She is deaf.
    But has heard the secrets and heartaches of the school yard children, and their children.
    She has laughed at their calamities and cried with them.
    She is blind.
    Yet she knows each individual, from the size of their palm, to the weight of their foot, to the kiss they leave on her wrinkled skin.
    She wears bland clothes.
    But her skin is tattooed with dreams, wishes, initials and lovers declarations.
    Inked generation after generation.
    She has no income and charges no rent.
    The possums and birds nest and return year after year. Always open she never rejects. Expanding to fit her increasing tenants.
    She is weary
    She is lonely
    The gates banged shut last Friday – silencing her cries.
    The padlock was fastened.
    Separated from her children she stands yearning – waiting, hoping, praying, for their safe and quick return.
    It is holidays.

    Copyright. Brittany Thompson 2015

  7. Jill Clarke October 26, 2015 at 6:38 am

    “Tree in my neighbourhood”

    Hey Tree
    A quick note
    I just have to say thank you
    for the shade
    for the air
    for the smell
    for holding up the micro bat box
    you are the best
    Say “hi” to the Raven family for me
    love from your neighbours across the way.

  8. Mark Dower October 26, 2015 at 10:14 am

    Willow Tree..

    We had a big old willow tree, where we lived as kids.
    Climbed it almost everyday, to view our neighbourhood.
    From way up there could see the creek, the footy ground and more.
    Built a ripper cubby house from timber that we scored.
    Nearly burnt it down one day, a bonfire to wild, on cracker night.
    Poor old Dad, equipped with just the garden hose, it gave him quite a fight .
    Drove past there the other day, not a willow Tree in site.
    But I noticed I was smiling my memories still held tight.

  9. Bill Hall November 1, 2015 at 10:51 pm

    The tree. Rooted in time and space,
    Its place temporary.
    Transmuting poisonous gas,
    Life giving for humanity.
    Its growth from tiny seed a mystery.
    Home, refuge, resting place, its unity
    Of leaf, branch, trunk. A source for carpentry.
    Its origins divined, another form of life,
    Predating man’s existence, countering his strife.
    As we plunder earth’s resources,
    What is it that we gain?
    Give thanks for the wonder of trees,
    And for the carbon they restrain.
    Bill Hall 2015

  10. Brendan McCuskey November 1, 2015 at 11:03 pm

    Down by the river,
    Murray Big Red,
    Gum tree grew.
    It grew there for everyone,
    Including one,
    Including you and me.

    Brendan McCuskey 2015

  11. Pauline O'Shannessy-Dowling November 2, 2015 at 12:42 am

    “you are my one & only tree”

    here i stand alone with thee,
    you are my one & only tree,
    your beauty & your form take me,
    to a place of tranquility,
    thankyou, lovely, sweet, dear tree,
    from my heart, my soul ….. me.

  12. Colleen Filippa November 2, 2015 at 1:18 am

    Crushed leaves from the Peppercorn tree bring
    instant memories.
    A school yard with nuns paroling,
    ensuring the boys and girls played in their separate areas.
    Milk in little bottles warming in the sun.
    Bats in the lunch shed, tucked up in between the rafters.
    School uniforms hitched up too high,
    Cardboard over the holes in our shoes.
    We were a scruffy lot.
    School days were seemingly endless.

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