Last night the Alder so deeply rooted in the hedgerow
was shot through by a bolt of climatic vulnerability.
I heard the smoking gun,
heard the clangorous salvo, the snap and break,
heard the unflexed crook of it pivot and shear,
timber dislocate, break, and crumble.
There was a fibrous unclasping,
then the unfolding thunder of impact.
This morning, thigh deep in its wreckage,
maneuvering through the downed foliage,
the strew of crumbled catkins,
I listen to its death throes
of leafage curling into whorl and lacuna,
the rustling whispers of a dwindling aftershock.
Splinters and twigs tremble, lumber creaks on
as a sotto voce rattle of demise
as if the tree was still collapsing beneath its fall,
as if this murmuring requiem
were a way to explain what the moment did.
THE WILLOW, THE ALDER (& We)
The Willow and the Alder choose to stay
By river bank and margin of the lake
Their roots, content, submersed, will thus defray
A thirst, to take libation and to slake
The Alder and companion the Willow
Endure when others suffer, drown or wither
In time of drought or when the waters billow
Embrace each challenge, full, no flinch nor quiver
Thus life will self adapt, on many roads
To satisfy imperative: Survive!
Whilst we take other paths, in different modes
And change: not selves, but world in which we strive
In brotherhood: with nature’s adaptation
Our God within decrees divine creation
I heard the clangorous salvo,
heard its joints pivot and shear,
the hips of thick branches crumble
as it folded into the night.
There was a fibrous unclasping.
The ground flew up
over its rebounding shadow.
This morning thigh deep
in foliage and catkins, I listen.
There are death throes, a green surf ripples,
rustling whispers.
Leafy mouths tremble. Bark lips
rattle and curl.
Vowels drum in burnt cavities.
It seems the suddenness of death takes time,
It needs a Requiem Mass of murmurs
to explain what the moment did.
Alders sway in the wind
Like dawn of immortality destiny has grinned
Towards the unknown echoes mind has shinned
By the self connected destiny soul and expanse are twinned
Everything created has seeds of its own destruction within
That is where mistakes come from so do vices and sin
Then what is perfect philosophy and what does it mean
How can the spirit win?
The self connected destiny idea of freedom to soul is entrance
Like spring with sun has romance
The answer to meaning of life has a chance
When we look what are beyond religion with the thought disconnected from expanse
Clyde was shocked when he looked in the mirror
His plight he noted clearer and clearer
He was growing balder
Like a leafless alder
He would have no more need for a shearer
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Secret Identity, covered face
and my thoughts begin to drain
I wander who the real Batman is
Is his name really Bruce Wayne?
His real ID kept secret
So we should recieve
All possibilities of who he could be,
Including ones we don't perceive
So now we have a Mystery
Let's put Batman on a brim
Bruce Wayne is his "secret secret" ID
Batman, for real, is Alder Rim
~*Miranda Lambert*~
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.