i am a narra tree
i want you to cut me down
with your sharp ax
slowly
measured breaths
your sweat
my branches
down
down
down
i go to the ground
we leave my roots behind
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
you will want me
curved
straight
smooth
until i am in
the floor
the walls
the ceiling
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
until you want me
out of everything
push me out
drag me out
curse me out
but remember, i was a narra tree
and i wanted you to cut me down

Listen to the trees,
Hear them rustle in the breeze.
They whisper to the wind,
As it bristles all their leaves.
50 shades of green,
Shimmer like a dream,
And the trees give out a clue,
That the wind is passing through.
While somewhere deep inside,
Ghostly figures hide.
Spirits from within the wood
Play with shadows as they should.
The trees see you passing by,
And, with a soothing sigh,
Becalm your beating heart,
And relax your roving eye.

In the quiet embrace of dawn's gentle rise,  
The sun threads golden through the branches wide.  
Between the trees, where shadows softly play,  
A dance of light ignites the waking day.

Silent beams weave through leaves' tender green,  
Crafting patterns unseen, yet so serene.  
Each ray a whisper, a story untold,  
Of warmth, of growth, of courage bold.

The trees stand tall, their roots deep and strong,  
Guiding light along a path so long.  
They teach of patience, of seasons' flow,  
How strength and grace together grow.

In shadows cast by towering might,  
The sun finds paths to share its light.  
For every heart that feels the night,  
A dawn will break, dispelling fright.

So stand like trees, reach for the sky,  
Let sunlight in, let shadows lie.  
For in each moment's fleeting grace,  
The sun reveals life's hidden place.

After a while of enjoying
the greens of the trees
and the mottled breeze,
I let the view sink in
then fade into the long view,

After my heart settles,
that's when I focus on the sapling,
stark in its youth.
I wonder about the speckled leaves
and the cracked bark,
then I follow the flow of the branches,
taking each in turn,
eying each branching to each tip.

It's then that I realise
there's one branch
that holds onto 2 severed,
lesser limbs.  

They look like they are attached,
part of the whole,
but the truth is they are detached,
precarious perhaps,
but enjoying wider movement,  
a greater degree of freedom.

Should I release them?
Should I lay them down to rest?
Or root for the deceit?
Leave them holding on
for as long as they can?

Then the breeze rises
into a gust,
and the choice is taken away.  

That's when I find myself weeping.

unbeknownst
to the human race,
every year the free trees,
those of the forest, the great gardens,
have an annual convocation, a solemn communion and a
delicate conversation

the gathering is attended by insects and avians,
for theirs is the heavy responsibility,
that which the trees cannot do,
they must do, i.e. move, be agents
of pollination

Trees gather, the sequoias officiate,
for they the elders, are wise in the
rings of history that tells of ritual,
sacred sayings, the reasoning,
the young ones don’t full  comprehend

“Who shall give aid and comfort to the human dead?”

Who shall give of their seed
that will be carried by our friends,
they may be scattered planted,
in the graveyards where
those that tended and
sheltered us,  
lie buried,
and the living
who tend to
their ancestral,
will adjoin, all
in need of shade and
comforting song?

there is great rustling of the wind,
the most honored,
query those attendees,
why must we choose?

let each of us contribute
according to their needs,
let the randomized
scattering by our winded
and flighted avian friends
best express our gratitude…

thus forests, parks, great gardens,
and yes, the cemeteries of mankind,
ALL
were seeded, deeded and refreshed,
and the world was cleansed,
commended, interdependented,
defended and extended…

Wed Aug 7 2024

The woods are chopped down,

too bad, I'm going to save --


the tree in the square.

In the inside yard

with trees cut into a floor --


there are birds, whining.