Thirteen Ways To Think Of Trees
The little girl’s hand touches the trunk gently
The bark is smooth in places
But her hand stops at the rough patch
She picks at the scaly edges
Nibbling around the flowering cherry tree base
The fawn and her mother listen carefully
Such tender morsels but then
The dog might appear out the front door of the house
The oriole and her mate assume their home
Here in the tip top branch of the aspen tree
Whereupon they begin the project
Of feathering their nest while serenading the neighbors
Charley looks long at the limb above
He ascends the lower branches with the rope
Attached to the rough and knotty scavenged board
The beginning of his house in the limb crouch
Whistling piercing squeal halfway up the trunk
Appearing every seven years
The cicada joins the myriads of friends
Slowly working their way to their destination
A father and daughter enjoy the swinging to and fro
From the rope wound over the black oak limb
Far above yet leaning out over the mown grass
A perfect summer’s afternoon of glee
Wiping her brow and leaning on the rake
Gramma remembers when she planted this walnut tree
For a moment she questions why she needed so much work
She remembers the warm walnut-filled cakes
Fred and Esther lay in the piled leaves
They gaze at the tall sycamore above
This was the place they fell in love
Everyone called him Freddie then
Soaring out of the azure sky
The fledgling eagle causes the stir
In the park where he comes to perch
On the top of the ninety foot Norwegian spruce
Arriving from Ohio
The voracious beetle nestles into the town’s ash trees
Being joined by a chorus of millions
They begin their decimation
Falling beneath the white oak
The spheres of oak galls litter the ground
They amuse the children who crunch and toss them
A young boy pockets one for a later use as bait
The creaking and moaning of the tree
Ended about 3 am with an enormous crash
The sparks from the wires illuminated
The giant of an oak lying across the lawn
He could hear the scream of the tree
As he watched the man wield the chainsaw
Killing 243 years of memories
He mourned its passing
Carol Voigts c 2007
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Comments: 15
The poem is splendidly written with vivid descriptions throughout of shared memory, perception, and finally loss and grief when the trees are ¨murdered.¨
An exceptional, moving and grand poetic work, Carol, showing your talent on multiple levels, in many frames of observation, in a way that brings these trees´importance to us (not just as part of the environment, but as our spirits, our familiars!) home in a stunning way. I rarely read a poem of such reasoned depth of feeling as this one on Gather: I hope it garners many readers, as it so richly deserves to do.
this reminded me of Steven William's poem too. I like the manner in which you have made each single stanza complete in itself, without depending on it's relation to the others. Love the stanza
'The oriole and her mate assume their home
Here in the tip top branch of the aspen tree
Whereupon they begin the project
Of feathering their nest while serenading the neighbors'
and
Wiping her brow and leaning on the rake
Gramma remembers when she planted this walnut tree
For a moment she questions why she needed so much work
She remembers the warm walnut-filled cakes'
I too, am a lover of trees. Our neighborhood is fairly new, so the Palo Verde trees are only now growing into maturity. We only lost a few over the past week when the monsoon winds kicked up. There's something sincerely satisfying about having trees around that you've watched mature from twigs.
I haven't put much on Gather for quite a while as the comments were getting a bit nasty and I'm not into that. However, I've kept writing. Look for more in the next couple weeks. I'll put some out there.