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Tag Archives: poem about trees

How To Untangle

Stress
A tangle
a knot
that tightens
to hold a perfect
Center.
Breathe.
Do it again.
Oh, lift your eyes
Look at the sky
softly snowing
Look at the bare maple
stretching its branches
to gather the snow.
Loosen yourself
Let stress unfurl
its cramped limbs. Let it
become the deep green
leaves, the flower
it dreams of, deep in
the heart of the knot.

Gray Skies

Early, fields and trees and sky
all gray. Anchored by fresh snow
crevassed along the hills.
The world feels magical
as if everything is possible
and at peace.

Gray, in this moment,
is not the color of sadness
or of something worn out,
but the color of quiet–
the color of stillness
inside and out.

If A Tree Falls

huge branch cracks
mighty snap and rustle as
smaller branches, leaves, apples
collapse in concert, broken
beneath the weight of too much.
************************************
After,
this view from the forest floor–
How tall the trees look now.
How apples soften into the earth
How dried leaves crumble,
Melt into the dirt.
Lichens gray as cat fur,
Mosses soft and bristled along the flank,
Mushrooms gilled as sea creatures
Bunched together, clustered and
Humming to themselves.
Everything you’ve carried
breathes out, expands
murmurs to the ground
as you soften and disappear
curious about this new glimpse of the sky.

The Sailor Formerly Known As Student

Done with basic training,
a week before he ships out,
he visits us at his old school
crew cut and a camera.
I want pictures of everything, he says—
teachers, cafeteria, library, courtyard, walls,
Books, of course. And the road I live on,
my house, my family, our yard, trees in autumn.

I think of him far out at sea,
with his few carefully chosen books,
and his plentiful photos,
scrolling through his world,
watching maple leaves change
where leaves have never been before
while the ocean swells and wonders
how something so small
captures all this attention.

Root System

Picture trees—
How the roots (they say)
Extend down into the ground
An equal distance
To what we see reaching up
above us
Try this as another instructive way
To think about people:
How our memories, our passions,
Our worries, our loves
Fill up invisible ground within us
History that keeps us upright
Standing as best we can
In this world.

Maple

Steady trunk standing so effortlessly in tree pose.
Above, green shadows,
the sound like water, but not,
like whispering, but not,
this sound that is only itself—
leaves saying something to the sky
or to each other
or to us.

Sycamore

From Sycamore bark, he said.
That’s where people got the idea
for camouflage cloth.

What else could we have learned
from the Trees Back Then
when we listened and
They were so willing to talk
and be seen?

Unplugged

Breathe
is the prescription
when all my cords are frayed
from being wound so tightly
and I no longer remember
how to,
when clearly there is
Absolutely
No
Time
for a refresher course,
busy as I am
in this hectic, important life.
But that tiny part of me
that is not insane,
not addicted to the word
frenzy
Calmly writes this cure
in the margins of novels
I want to read this summer,
writes it across the top
of the dusty picnic table
waiting in the yard,
writes it in sunscreen and lemonade
across the wide lawn
till it meets the trees.

Advice From My Redbud Tree

Flower first
before you dress
in green and
practical leaves.
Why wait
when this very day
can be spent
covered in pink blossoms
and fat bees,
every single one of them
drunk and busy,
lopsided with joy
just to be near you
at the height of
your beauty?
Flower first.
Flower now.
Extravagance is Everything.

Just Like Trees

Rain fell for days, stopped.
This is goodbye,
bare trees like matchsticks
waiting for a flame.

Soon, you’ll burst into
new green, fuzzed like the babies
in your nested branches.
Together may you open, bloom,
take to the air.

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry