I tell all my secrets to wizened old trees,
They capture them, whispering, past leaves on the breeze.
My secrets seep slowly through gnarled, crusty bark,
Creep under their roots where it’s damp, cool & dark.
Trees will not share trust, though they’ll rustle & quiver,
On cold winter days boughs will rattle & shiver.
A poem of love,
forged by heart, through my hand.
Please pause, and listen, then you’ll all understand.
No words for a lover, no flowers for a friend,
Hear the sounds of my heartbeat
In these words that I’ve penned:
I’ll paint a blanc picture, to shine pure & white,
An artistic impression of springtime in flight.
First, the outline; crafted green shoots,
Pushing up, light-bound from bulbous, pale roots.
The punishing battle through hard Winter frost,
The toils of the icy ground, all worth the cost.
Wintertime tree, just look at you!
Magnificent there, with your wild hairdo!
Devoid of plumage, there’s little sound,
Until the burly wind roars round!
But lucky you, although you’re old,
You won’t be permanently bald!
Seasons change, and so will you,
Another day, another do!
Little lanterns light the way,
Capture sunbeams while they play,
See them bouncing, orange & yellow,
Late noon dims, bleached colours, mellow.
Soon your glowing hue will quell,
Where tiny creatures strive to dwell.
Mother nature’s delicate lace,
Lies dying, decaying, free from grace.
Each beauteous stitch so fine, so neat,
A marvel, flawless, in defeat.
An empty mosaic that once was whole,
A piece-less jigsaw’s, segments stole.
Gone, the succulence and the sheen,
Gone, the countless shades of green.
Like soft angel hair caught on gnarled twigs & hedges,
With ice-diamonds scattered by cherubs on sledges.
Listen intently, hear the squeals of delight,
As they dance, prance & play, unseen, in the light,
Twirling & swirling, red cheeks all aglow,
Bewitched by all the elements,
The tousled hair, the cold, red nose,
Small price to pay for the magic path to dampened cheeks & frozen toes.
Hurrah for snowflakes tickling my chin, that sit on my eyebrows, then melt on my skin!
Rejoice as the wind blows strong & uncouth, though it wrinkles my face & steals my youth,
Dance free in the rain & forget who’s around,
If it’s heavy enough deep puddles will be found!
Feel the eerie mystery of grey mist & fog,
Scary shadows & sounds, wide-eyed face all agog!
Then open your arms, feel the warmth, so adored,
Close your eyes, & enjoy the sun’s rays..your reward!
30th January 2019
I wrote this poem after being inspired by a beautiful cross headstone in the church graveyard. I love the art nouveau design, & how the moss & lichen cling to the stone, adding to its character of age. It made me wonder about the person who lies below. It’ll most likely still be there long after I’ve gone, so other generations of our changing world will also never meet the individual, but may also be curious about them & how they lived their life. The other grave caught my eye, as the sun shone directly on it, this morning. However, today is also Holocaust Memorial Day in the UK, so it seems appropriate to share. …………………………………………………………..
Life can seem like reflections,
A complete, aligned universe,
Something the same, only different,
A blessing, or maybe a curse.
Another place, happening all over,
We’re certain we’ve seen it before,
Look carefully into the image,
Is it the same, are you sure?
One is straightforward & sturdy,
The other takes on a new form,
There’s ripples, rubbed lines, jagged edges,
Far from the strong, from the norm.
