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Metaphor Tree Poems | Metaphor Poems About Tree

These Metaphor Tree poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Tree. These are the best examples of Metaphor Tree poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

A Tree

A Tree

I’m a tree lining a country road
Along with hundreds of other
Trees in the direction of a verdant
Forest—full of scenic wonder and 
Teaming with life.

All of us stand tall and firm with
Such majestic beauty and geometric
Symmetry and precision which is
Evident from the angles and curves
Of each tree and the fact we all
Practically line up in a straight line.

The simplicity and beauty we display
To the human eye disguises the actual
Complexity beneath the surface of our
Existence which could even be likened
To some form of a thought-provoking
Algebraic equation. 

We all represent the wizardry of Mother 
Nature and the divine thought of God and
Have been an integral part of this Earth
Far longer than Mankind—and do we have
Some stories that we could share with you! 

As a tree I’m nurtured daily by our Earth,
But as I take, I also give back and help to 
Bring balance to Earth’s daily Carbon 
Dioxide output in the greater scheme of
The worldwide environment.

And so, as a Tree, my life and function
As a living organism and an entity here 
On Earth is a testament to the wonder of 
Creation, and both the marvel and mystery
Of the Universe, and the omnipotence and
Divine power of God.

Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman 
– A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(May 12, 2015) (Narrative)

*Originally written on February 15, 2015 for my new book.

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Ottava rima | |

The Morning Mist

The morning's mists
mix with the
woodland's scent
To fill me with such
wondrous happiness;
I see her wet but
gentle hands are
And reaching out to
touch with
The trees, and fills
my heart with
At how her fingers
curl with
To stroke the ragged
faces of the rocks,
Or run her dewy
fingers through the

{Written by Isaiah
Zerbst for the
poetry contest
"Through the Mist"
on the 20th of
August, 2014.}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst

Details | Free verse | |

What Is It To Be A Tree

What is it to be a Tree?
Do trees ever mind being so close intertwined ?
Do they ever long for space as I do? 
Do they prefer to be so meshed…branches touching branches
 all the time or do they like me long 
............................................................for autonomy

Do their branches reach for another’s touch? 
….................stretching to find it?
Do they cling and pine when isolated …as we do sometimes?

When a tree falls does another one grieve?

Do they sometimes wish to be free?
To be as free 
as he does....... from me?

Does life always include such serious stuff? 
Or do trees simply shift in the breezes
of superfluous fluff?

Do they ever 
to find
the sea?
To fly 
to fly?
like me?
What on earth is it like be?
to be a standing…a standing only ...are they lonely? 
beloved tree?
What is it?
to be a tree?

Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift

Details | Ballad | |

Ode to a Cherry Tree

Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view, In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew. Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck, By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck! By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played, Million blossoms wide open one February day. This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels, Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals. From those all around laying dormant in state, Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake. And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash, Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash. But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense, In the short time required for fresh java to dispense. Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass, The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass. Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II! 1) user name: wedge 2) choice of motif: nature

Copyright © Michael Wegman

Details | Tanka | |

Natures Umbrella


  a weeping willow

    never really shedding tears

      nature's umbrella

        branches trailing to the ground

          green leaves sparkling in the wind

Copyright © Sharon Ruebel

Details | Verse | |


Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB

Copyright © kj force

Details | Free verse | |

The Autumn Affect

There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench 
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy 
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home

Copyright © Jesse James Forster

Details | Rhyme | |

The Twilight Moor

Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.

Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.

Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass

Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws

Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.

Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout

Details | Free verse | |


a slight breeze and loosely packed snow on yonder branch comes tumbling down in myriads of tiny snowflakes each flake becomes a miracle glistening in the streetlight like a diamond

Copyright © john beharry

Details | Free verse | |

I'm A Mighty Oak Tree

I am a mighty oak tree.

Yes, that is me!

I am tired of being blown around as though I am a weeping willow.

I am strong and independent and it’s gonna take more than a blustery wind

To try and bend my branches.

Unaffected by the gale force winds of the enemy.

Unaffected by the robins that come to make their homes upon my branches.
I am an oak and I decide my own destiny, not the elements around me.

Oaks don’t go with the wind current.

They set their own precedent. 

They dictate what type of existence they are gonna have.

They take charge and lead others to take root 

And stand against difficult circumstances.

Come and take a seed and plant your own oak tree.

Perhaps you can come and plant yourself right beside me.

I’m a mighty oak tree for all eternity!

Gwendolen Rix

Copyright © Gwendolen Rix

Details | Free verse | |

The Willow Tree

I am
The willow tree
I am joy and I am sorrow
I am unmoving but free
I am what everyone is
But what few people can be

I have lived through many days and many years
And I have gained much wisdom and peace just by listening
I have witnessed much laughter and heartbreak
In the flat, flowering field that I stand in
I have had many children swing and tug on my vines
And have felt love and joy as if they were mine

But just because I am wise and old
Does not mean I am not strong
For many years I have withstood raging rains and wicked winds
Like a concrete wall
With my love of life to help me along

So when my time comes to an end
When my curtain is starting to close
I will be tired and spent
But peaceful and content
With the great knowledge that:

I was
The willow tree
I was joy and I was sorrow
I was unmoving but free
I was what everyone is
But what few people can be
I was alive.

Copyright © Campbell Speedy

Details | Free verse | |

Free Reign

Wild grains of ice
blow, swirl,
form flurried frosty fantastic clouds,
evaporating as space floats up
to form a soft steel sky,
bleak backdrop behind
swaying naked trees conducting
winter's full-blowing opera.

Some approach
briefly sway
bouncing isolative moments,
absorbed into white water wind,
incarnate grace of laced exquisite space.

Bands and billows
tornado up
sweep down blanket roofs
around and past,
greet this eternally dramatic day,
then move on
coincidental adventive play,
compassion mating breath and blood beat.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Details | Free verse | |


whose bony fingers
stretched above gloved branches,
you danced in the sunlight,
elegantly bowing
for scampering squirrels
and gifts of birdhouse rings.

whose springtime blossoms
scattered petals
for make-believe weddings,
you caught up children
and hugged them tightly
in games of hide and seek.

I run my fingers
along your weeping scars
where Earth’s fury tore
your hand from mine.
Splintered memories,
I have less air to breath.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple

My Wishes are Simple

My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.

My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.

My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation

The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation

The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.

The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Monorhyme | |

Beckoning Beckoning is The Night

Beckoning … beckoning is the night
In its ice blue grey and snow gold light

Beckoning … beckoning is the night

The swallow has long since whispered away 
the cardinal and so too …blue jay

have strayed but now in the beckoning light
the beckoning …beckoning of the night 

comes the sweeping and keeping 
comes sweeping and keeping 
in the night

The sky is still ….but wild edged with light 
Bluish... high... tight ...grey 
but the branches swirl and deeply breigh  

beckoning…. they are beckoning 
the night into night

Come wild and courageous into fading light
Tis just the beckoning beckoning…. of night

the sky dark blue does and does not ....betray 
the coming… coming of end of day

and still it comes the end of day
with the beckoning ...comes beckoning 

the…beckoning of night
The light is waning and so day’s might 

beckoning as we bridge to night 

the wild things move on stealthy flight 
beckoning beckoning into night

The beckoning beckoning of the light
wild things shudder and take quick flight

The beckoning beckoning of the night 
the wild things move and take to flight

When tomorrow's dawn will cast 

first light!

@Ingrid Showalter Swift

Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift

Details | Free verse | |

Winter Winds

Winter winds blow all around. 
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps. 
All of this should never stop. 
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound. 
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today. 
You should see the angels pray. 
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want. 
But time has changed, yes so have children… 
Santa seems as if a villain. 
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying. 
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.” 
But that’s the product we provided. 
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for. 
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here. 
He gets ready to take it all back…. 
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away. 
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day? 
He turns around, not time for war. 
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect. 
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic. 
She just wanted one small thing… 
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day. 
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair. 
She’s so weak, and all alone. 
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways. 
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”. 
So she has lights to see. 
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea. 
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree. 
She needs a new heart extra bad. 
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad. 
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent, 
He’s saving Christmas today. 
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying. 
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life. 
He waits for her to wake up. 
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.” 
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land. 
Christmas is still a special day. 
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful. 
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.

Copyright © Deanna Schaub

Details | Free verse | |

A Tree

I am a tree
Sitting contently
Atop this hill
Flourishing beautifully
In the springtime
Turning my foliage
Lush and green
Until Autumn 
When my leaves drift away
Surviving the cold winter
Bare and fragile
And the cycle continues
Looking out over the world
Yet childish
Yet weak
I am strong
I am a tree

Copyright © Sophie Leggett

Details | Free verse | |

The Night of a Dead Tree and Its Last Leaf

—The sun in confined to a bed being seized with jaundice—

Although the neighbors and siblings were gone,
you and I most hold onto father’s arm for the sake of 
a deformed child’s fatality that couldn’t come and go as wish.

At the present, however, even the father, 
who I have once trusted, lost his crown of adolescence,
and blinks his hopeless eyes with his shaking limbs and body 
that has grown thinner and undergoes a trial of heavy silence 
being deprived of expressing a self.

It’ll be a white snowstorm soon
for the black wind is growing violent…
though abandoned, here is no oblivion,
for it is constrained abandonment.

Loneliness, therefore, approaches nearer
flapping its huge and dark wings.  Hence, 
all the more yearn for a tales of old days…

LI PO…li po…
LAFORGUE, JULES…laforgue, jules…

The echo in the middle of the air struck against the moon
and became an appeal of frozen stiff Leica that sounds hollow 
and painful, and to return to the tightly closed bosom of the earth
because the moon has thrown her thickened hypocritical veil.

However, even a laurel tree only grows in the moon
withered and dead by a curse called the twentieth century.
Even Jupiter seems deadly brown on this evening
as though the last leaf is hanging onto its dead limb.

Copyright © Su Ben

Details | Haiku | |


Tinged with a green haze
a tender 5 o'clock shadow
Burst from swollen buds

Copyright © Tim Peterson

Details | Rhyme | |

track 18

thanks for the tea, heres something about me
nothing beats poetry, sitting underneath a tree
thankin' my family for a strong identity
people watching cause its free, beauty in the scene
has me staring with a cheese, a smile at what i see
possibly a dream,  caught up mentally 
imagining a few things, with this human being
who has the sweetest energy, soulfood like collard greens
all fools falling means I'm really dumber than I seem
being intelligent isn't just from memory
its handling impermanence light and sensibly
and lady I'm feeling your sultry melodies
we'd be crowded if its three, sit and be my company
must be a chemistry major cause the reactions meant to be
the love we can achieve, is safe from any thieves
 hold em from my queen, hearts tucked into my sleeve

Copyright © Davin Payne

Details | Rhyme | |

The tree and the Wind

I stand here strong this mighty oak, watching my leaves sway as the wind blows.

It starts just like a normal day until I decide to test my strength.





All of a sudden the wind unleashes it's wrath and this oak tree is right in it's path.  

This mighty tree begins to sway and all it's leaves just blow away

The tree laughs and screams again  " IS THAT ALL YOU GOT"?

The wind gathers strength and in one big gust this mighty oak begins to thrust.

This grand old oak begins to fall for the wind has lifted it roots and all.

It lays on the ground to wither away for another so called giant just got slayed. 


Copyright © Carmen Castro

Details | Free verse | |


In one corner of my room,
That is shaped like a tomb,
There is a window, where I sit
And see my world through it.

I see the rising sun,
I see the melting dew,
I see the blooming flowers,
I see the sky’s changing hues.

Through it
I embrace the fading sun,
I live the joyous rains,
I feel the flowery fragrance,
I walk those lonely ways.

Through it
I float with the summer clouds,
I breathe the winter breeze,
I touch the autumn leaves,
I celebrate the cuckoo’s springtime songs.

Through the window,
I see my world.
Neither the autumn leaves,
Nor the springtime songs;
Neither the winter sunshine,
Nor the summer rains;
Would have been great
Had it not been through my window rails.

Through my window,
I see the world.
In the window, lies the entire bliss;
Beyond the window is only an illusion.

Suyash Saxena

Copyright © Suyash Saxena

Details | Free verse | |

Tree Houses and Trigger Fingers

I wish I could take this noose from my tongue.
It doesn’t seem to work against the honesty of silver anyway. 
I wish I could hang it over the neck of my thoughts and pull it tighter every time they try to choke me with guilt or pessimism.

Well versed in the words it takes to build things up. My lips and sounds paint pictures and build grand cities where the price would be too high but, people would still pay to live there.

Better versed am I in the words that call for demolition. I need not even speak them before, I set all the beauty ablaze and cast those cities to rubble. All the people paying too much can flee or stay but, as the founder and captain I am charged with going down with my ship.

If I could just speak a balance.
Articulate a safe place. 
A perfectly leveled tree house with room for one or two.

Lately though, my words and thoughts shake and stutter. 
Trip over themselves like my hands reaching for a pen or a pill bottle.
At least that bottle is half way full, I guess.

In love with the thought of the very idea.
I see now, with no lenses, softening my harsh reality.
I must once more, try to focus on myself. 
Love myself and prove it. 
Reach for the things I need with conviction and not the unsure hands of a child, I've been sporting so well.

I can find a meadow.
No path required.
I will not rest there, I promise but, I may take in the scenery along the way. 
I need no hand to hold my own in respective appreciation.
I can see the wonder painted even brighter when it burns with a pang of solidarity.

I will work my words,
My tired feet,
My heavy lungs,
My heart with dented armor.
I will train my hands steady.

And this time when I put something in my sights, I won’t have to hesitate before I pull the trigger, painting the walls and ground with my red victory. 

A flower may yet hold promise,
Even in the wrong climate but first, the seed must be planted. Will it bloom?
We are getting ahead of ourselves.

Clear the board and start again.

Copyright © Alexander Schwartz

Details | I do not know? | |

Judgement Tree

All my friends I've counted there's three
How strange that they never talk to me
A road I travel down is all to familiar to be
I need a place so that my mind can truly flee
Will you old friends of mine come to me
So concern and care in your eyes I can see
Don't you shut me out and stop talking to me
Don't going judging me and let me be so free
Don't you ignore me when we arrive at the judgement tree
How weird would it be as we stand so tall cut off at the knee
A rope of our sins lingering from a limb
Fitted tight against our throats to the brim
The executioner the one we both crossed 
That time a shame when those rocks we tossed 
Shattering a mirror with our reflection 
The glass spreading the worse infection 
Lying through teeth who was the real sinner 
In the end it never mattered no one is a winner 
And that's how our true stories last pages were written 
For you can't stop the old itch once you have been bitten

Copyright © Michael Scribner

Details | Free verse | |

The Apple Of A Tree

The Apple Of A Tree

To put things in prosperity I hold this dear to my heart

Why do waiting on the right one take so long


Ideas evolve once a child now a man do we hold every answer


To keep second guessing will we revolted back to childless ways


To take from all meaning I feel is to evolve into the person intended


All I can tell one that would ask me the lesson I endure never make a assumption is 

to guess,


As a tree branch become of life as seeds come from sprouts nurtures of the essence


A branch of

The Apple Of A Tree.

Copyright © Louis Borgo

Details | Free verse | |

Autumn is Fallen Leaves

Autumn is fallen leaves, 
the shoots push out from a gap of rocks that still covered 
with yester-year’s snow, by a brook runs carrying melting ice;
it grows to a tree struggling though long and wearisome summer days 
beaten by fierce heat all the day and the night.

And in that way, when the summer’s long days move to west
shoved by the west wind and dye a corner of the sky to red,
the leaves also become red and move to the west following 
the waning sun.

And when the tree becomes not able
holding the weight of the west wind that comes hurriedly 
pushing the weakening sun rays aside and violently shakes 
the limbs the leaves fall to the ground and men, because 
the leaves fall, I suppose, call it autumn.

The leaves breaking to pieces under feet,
rolling on the ground pushed by the wind
and drifting along on the water are dead leaves 
and humming with the decaying season watching 
those autumn leaves is a touching requiem.

Copyright © Su Ben

Details | Free verse | |

A Woodpecker's Day

a woodpecker pecking the past from a tree little by little  
to breed the ‘future’—the eggs, the woodpecker will lay in it; 
what will the tree do? a tree has roots it has no womb to conceive life

the woodpecker keeps pecking the tree not even considering 
the tree’s position; the blood oozing out from the tree’s wound
becomes limbs, branches, leaves and autumn, as some blood dries 
and lumps before reaching to wet the roots

in the piles of time, the ‘future’ hatched from the eggs that were
laid in the tree’s deep wound, now flies in the air carrying ‘today’  
on his back; a falling autumnal leaf hanging on a wing of the new generation woodpecker, struggling to stuff the pieces of sky into its hole the woodpecker 
one generation before pecked, gasping for breath
the wind after wandering in the air aimlessly
not knowing where to go, calls the cloud drifting across 
the sky and goes without knowing the story behind the cloud, 
as they become raindrops and fall to the earth

the woodpecker sits on a tombstone,
which never had sobbed or wailed loudly, 
she pecks the stone with her deformed, cracked beak 
wet in the rain; she scribbles a name of someone dumped 
after so many years of abuse               

Copyright © Su Ben

Details | Dodoitsu | |

A Winter Dodoitsu

Ice and snow will come creeping,
nudging the sparse elder tree
and the dark creature of night,
normally watchful.




Contest - Winter Dodoitsu

Sponsor - Heather Ober


3rd place win

Copyright © Julia Ward