& the beautiful boys
Love the beautiful girls with
Fragile hearts
& delicate bodys
Who dont seem to notice they're lovely
& that's why they dont love me
I'm not that kind of beautiful
My heart is as strong as wood
But wood can still break
I'm a single tree in a field of flowers
Watching all the beautiful boys
Pluck them all one by one
& dont you know that
Picking flowers makes them wither away?
What a tragedy
It seems that the only kind that visit me
Are the kind that want to rip the leaves
To leave me naked & weak
I wait for a storm to come along
& take me down
If a tree falls all alone
Does it still make a sound?

Storing up the blessing of sky;
Dry arid season is here,
A drought of love; nature's harshest,
5,000 years of stories,
Silhouette of a rural African experience,
you cover the vastness of her land.

"Tree of life"
Whereas the breath of man was origin,
Folklore; stories of our elders and tomorrow's wisdom,
We are all children of the sun,
Bright skinned under the cooling shade of time,
Time as long as a tree has lived, and lives on.

Lest we be wise to store up our stories,
What will our generations remember of us,
Baobab trunk; store up the provisions, love, stories,
Time, blessings, and fruits of our labour at heart.

Baobab tree; blowing the wind,
A symbol of life in harshest of times,
We adapt to our environment; people all to thrive.

It is our nature.

Mmmm....

The oak is strong; as it must be from cutting words,
Tough skin and brave,
Calm handed and determined,
Bright smile and focused,
Wise eyes and ownership; life does require this.

You are strong—but not like gods,
You are strong—but not like machines,
You are strong—but not like currencies,
You are stronger when you choose to...

Grow in the winds, rooted in time,
And fruitful of a cooling love under shade.

I am a Great oak.

Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.

April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.

New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.

Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.

More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!

Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.

Plant
a seed
In the soil,
the seed
will grow
to have a
thousand
leaves,
once
you give a
little gift,
you never
know how
your gift
can plant
a tree
within
someone's
heart

On the hill Golgotha
there, planted, was a tree,
Soaking up a Man's life blood
The blood that made us free.

It was planted by the Man
In the hill, a wooden stake
He had to drag it halfway up
His life it would then take.

A horror to be witnessed
By a roaring crowd
Round "The Skull" they cursed the man
Their hatred was his shroud.

But the man said nothing
Though everything He heard.
He heard all the cursing
But he said not a word.

He laid down his arms and legs
Quietly on the cross
He fully knew all pain He'd feel
Aware of the full cost.

A crown of thorns upon His head
Blood and sweat were in His eyes
He drank vinegar and gall
While he heard the cursing cries.

There were two other men on trees
Who went to die up there
One met the Man in Paradise
The other met despair.

The Man beat Satan on that day
Beat him at his game!
He tore the Veil twixt us and God
Jesus was His name.

Christ died that you and I might live
Yes, He died for you and me!
He laid down his life that day
On "The Skull" and the tree.


SoulSurvivor
Write of Passage
2022