The black lace tree,
like some seductive lover,
caresses the gray sky
running its fingers through the softness.

The sky first holds its breath
in surprise, then
heaves a passionate sigh
as the tree trembles with joy.

I have a small framed
Branching tree made
Of mother's shiny buttons
On the wall hanging
In my room of long dreams

Made by one sister with love
Similar one given to another
Hung as reminders
That life can live on
As an unforgotten tree

Different makes and hues
Varied shapes and sizes
All laced intertwined to a
Strong main trunk
By colored slim threads

Each button someone
I can always quickly name
Someone with some
Of my given red hot blood
In their pulsing veins

I never hope the days
When each button
Begins fading away
With the shine gone now
To grace heaven's dreams


©  2017 Jim Davis

There is a forest near to me
Be it a wooded way within my heart
Which I often wish that you could see
And stand beside me here beneath
These ancient trees
That way no photo I would need
To share its likeness in such a way
As to create certain a memory
And even then if you’re not within
Such a settling scene
I would make it still
Because you simply have to see
The way these ancient roots run deep
And dig into the empty earth
The way that there is a sea of green
Perched just above the best of me
Like a consortium of ill doomed leaves
Which will fall without fail after every summer
And perhaps this year
They will land upon us both for once
As we stand beside here amongst the leaves
Just you and me
Beneath the trees

Delightfull as the tree,
Delighted is the bee,
as the buzzing becomes a dance,
the bee thanks the tree
for its flowers nectar
gave him honey.

Buzzy bee's collect the nectar
so they can make their honey.

Bee kind to your neighbor,
for you never know
when you will run out of nectar.

**© By Amanda D Shelton

These trees are older than myself
And only half of them see the sun
As it sets beyond the distant ground
They're taller than me and I am tall
They've been reaching for the sky for far too long
Long before I could even crawl
My only brother's are these trees
And yet I've never acknowledge them as they are
As tall and faithful
As my slowly falling family
The kind of trees which stand to be
Such are these looming trees to me

I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves

And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees

Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet

But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground

So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see

Within the leaves
Beneath the trees

A bridge created with dried leaves
and an ancient tree,
shaped from a life
of woe is me.
This tree, he wanted something more
convinced his life
was a treacherous bore.
A constant covet of
the other side of the moat,
fearful he'd reach it
in the mutilated form
of a boat.
It was time,
he knew,
when he felt a stormy breeze,
for this was the opportunity
he had to seize.
The gust grew stronger
and with a lightning struck heave
he became the natural bridge
between want and achieve.