Thank you, Justin. I don’t do these too often. By the time I think of something, days are liable to pass. Thanks for the prompt. Friend @Richbee alerted me.
I completely understand. They’re difficult exercises, especially when trying to conjure something up in the moment. You’re always welcome to share—even if it’s days after the fact. I’ll be sure to keep the fire going for you!
I feel this in my soul, Caro. There are a couple sections of my property that I just let run wild at this point. I’ve fought a losing battle for years. Mother Nature wins…she always wins.
There’s something almost restful about the surrender once you stop fighting it. Don't you think? I've stopped trying to tame Mother Nature too. Anyway, she just shrugs at you and keeps doing her thing. 😉
Wow! I love this, Caro. I used to try to rid the garden of dandelions. I gave up and now I just thank them for their freely-given, lovely yellow flowers. Who are you and I to decide what is a weed and what is not? Thank you.
I’m glad you love it and can relate. Yes, I fought the same battle with dandelions, and now, I find myself looking for their joyful yellow heads in the spring. Of course, it helps that they're useful. Every part edible, good for pollinators early in the season when not much else is blooming yet.
I'm working on a poem that relates, although it doesn't comply with the requirements here. Still, it hits so close to this prompt, I thought I'd post it.
How absolutely delightful!! Having been raised as a Catholic, I am ver well acquainted with the notion of Purgatory. It always scared me the way the nuns described it. Had I thought of different types of purgatory to atone for different types of infractions, I think a load of fear might have been lifted. Great story.
Thank you so much, Linda! I agree with you. The notion terrified me as a child, but now it makes me wonder about all the possibilities. And the writer in me can’t help but say, “What if…”
Under The Pine (An Uncanny Tree)
Night brings its shadows with it.
I cannot tell what the hour is.
Light rests on its own reflection.
Everything holds.
Even the wind stands aside
as I sit there under the twisted pine,
dry needles beneath me,
until the shape of the sky
becomes the shape of my looking.
Thanks for sharing with us, Paul. Your writing is very atmospheric. I dig it!
Thank you, Justin. I don’t do these too often. By the time I think of something, days are liable to pass. Thanks for the prompt. Friend @Richbee alerted me.
I completely understand. They’re difficult exercises, especially when trying to conjure something up in the moment. You’re always welcome to share—even if it’s days after the fact. I’ll be sure to keep the fire going for you!
Grateful to have you on board! 🙏
And thanks to @Richbee for the alert!
Eye of Walnut Tree (Uncanny tree Poem)
Alone the tree stands.
Look through the cracked open seed,
There's a door. See blue sky.
That reflects auras;
Across-clouds smile.
Grasp the beholder’s hand.
See our self become two;
Cheerful dark eyes open
Gaze wide to meet next door
To see life anew from a black walnut’s eye.
Lovely, Rich! Thanks for writing and sharing with us.
An Uncanny Tree [prose poem]
I climb up into the time-twisted oak tree in the backyard.
These tired old bones don’t take me very far,
but my feet are off the ground.
I sit on the lowest branch,
yet, from this height, I see my entire childhood unfolding.
And I hang on for dear life.
“Time-twisted oak tree” — such an evocative line! I loved this, Sharron! Thanks for jumping in. 🙏
Great!
Thank you!
The Volunteer (CNF)
Every spring it comes back. I cut it to the ground three years running, dragged the root ball out with both hands. Burned it.
Now it grows from the chimney.
I leave it alone. There are things that want to live badly enough that you learn manners.
I feel this in my soul, Caro. There are a couple sections of my property that I just let run wild at this point. I’ve fought a losing battle for years. Mother Nature wins…she always wins.
There’s something almost restful about the surrender once you stop fighting it. Don't you think? I've stopped trying to tame Mother Nature too. Anyway, she just shrugs at you and keeps doing her thing. 😉
I completely agree with you, Caro. And yes, she sure does! 😆
Wow! I love this, Caro. I used to try to rid the garden of dandelions. I gave up and now I just thank them for their freely-given, lovely yellow flowers. Who are you and I to decide what is a weed and what is not? Thank you.
I’m glad you love it and can relate. Yes, I fought the same battle with dandelions, and now, I find myself looking for their joyful yellow heads in the spring. Of course, it helps that they're useful. Every part edible, good for pollinators early in the season when not much else is blooming yet.
Who knows?--prose
I looked up. It stood alone, this oak. It dwarfed me and everything around it.
I’m capable of wonder.
I wonder why trees grow. Some would say it’s obvious, but none can explain.
Do the birds in that uncanny tree see its uniqueness? Or can only humans see the unseen?
I really enjoyed this, Chip. Thanks for jumping back in and sharing!
I'm working on a poem that relates, although it doesn't comply with the requirements here. Still, it hits so close to this prompt, I thought I'd post it.
This little seed
Knows so much
And yet is ignorant of its
Potential.
*
This little seed
Contains the knowledge
That it takes
To become a tree.
*
How does it do that?
Why?
Science tells me how
But it does not tell me why.
*
This little seed.
Does it know it's alive?
Does it have hopes and dreams?
Fears and doubts?
*
Why does it try?
It lies dormant
Displays no aspirations
Hopes for nothing.
*
This little seed
Discontent to remain
Inert
Forever.
*
This little seed
Will know when the time is right
If right ever comes
Then it will know to grow.
*
This little seed
Is a key
To us all
From where we came.
*
Why do we try?
Why do we aspire?
Why do we seek the Sun
And new beginnings?
*
This little seed
Knows
But it cannot say
Why it tries.
*
Let us learn
Then,
Not by being told
But by example.
*
We borrow the Sun,
Do not own it,
We blaspheme the rain,
Though it sustains us.
*
We know no more
Than the seed
About why we are
Here.
*
Coincidence?
Moshing of molecules?
What math
Made us?
*
I think we are
Not meant to know.
Like the seed
We can only grow.
Fire away, Chip! What a profound poem, and the final stanza delivers an important message. Thanks for posting this here! 🙏
Twisted Trunk Travels
You can't we it, but a river’s near
My branches reach through to reach it my dear
You saw me and instead of forlorn
You saw the beauty and a blog was born
So now I stand as a symbol to a journey
One day we’ll continue, now no hurry.
Oops! 😜
Justin, that is a beautiful story. I love that last line.
Thank you so much, K.C.!
If that's Purgatory, sign me up.
Haha, same here!
Love this one. Traveling this week
Thank you, Scott. Safe travels to you, my friend!
Thoughtful sequoia or majestic oak that remembers thousands of years.
How absolutely delightful!! Having been raised as a Catholic, I am ver well acquainted with the notion of Purgatory. It always scared me the way the nuns described it. Had I thought of different types of purgatory to atone for different types of infractions, I think a load of fear might have been lifted. Great story.
Thank you so much, Linda! I agree with you. The notion terrified me as a child, but now it makes me wonder about all the possibilities. And the writer in me can’t help but say, “What if…”
I appreciate you reading and commenting! 🙏