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chestnut hair in loose
us    puffs and waves on thetop of her head, and fastened a single spray of starry white jasmineflowers at the side. Some of the same sweet, ...
St Chestnut
25/M/Australia    Hello readers, My name is Chestnut Street. I normally make poems based on my current experiences in life. My rhymes would probably be awkward, but ...


From bristly foliage
you fell
complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,
as perfect
as a violin newly
born of the treetops,
that falling
offers its sealed-in gifts,
the hidden sweetness
that grew in secret
amid birds and leaves,
a model of form,
kin to wood and flour,
an oval instrument
that holds within it
intact delight, an edible rose.
In the heights you abandoned
the sea-urchin burr
that parted its spines
in the light of the chestnut tree;
through that slit
you glimpsed the world,
bursting with syllables,
the heads of boys
and girls,
grasses stirring restlessly,
smoke rising, rising.
You made your decision,
chestnut, and leaped to earth,
burnished and ready,
firm and smooth
as the small *******
of the islands of America.
You fell,
you struck
the ground,
nothing happened,
the grass
still stirred, the old
chestnut sighed with the mouths
of a forest of trees,
a red leaf of autumn fell,
resolutely, the hours marched on
across the earth.
Because you are
a seed,
chestnut tree, autumn, earth,
water, heights, silence
prepared the germ,
the floury density,
the maternal eyelids
that buried will again
open toward the heights
the simple majesty of foliage,
the dark damp plan
of new roots,
the ancient but new dimensions
of another chestnut tree in the earth.
Raj Arumugam Jul 2012
The Mother’s Song

under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade
with my little darling
are the loveliest moments
Laugh aloud
sweet angel
Wave those arms
like you’d fly like a bee
in the open
Darling of my life
this moment
will always be in my mind
like a coin closed tight
in a pauper’s palm

The Child, now an adult, remembers the Mother’s Song**

there were days
those were the days
when my mum held me in her arms
under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade
and there she sang me her songs
and whispered me her gentle words
and held me close to her radiant face
Those were the days,
that the time,
when my mother’s voice
filled the space
and my being
under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade
*Poem based on :"Under the Horse Chestnut Tree" by Mary Cassatt, drypoint and aquatint print, 1898

*Also see "Just do it" by Victoria: