It stood like a sentinel
at the world’s bleak last shore,
its gnarled branches clawing at
a churning grey November sky,
above a thin and narrowing
yellow band of waning light
auguring the coming night.
Rattling seed pods faintly clicked—
(playing hollow, spectral tunes)
like a wind-chime built for wraiths.
Brittle voices rose and fell
in the cold breath of the sea,
not quite a song, nor quite unknown—
a whispered hush of lives unsown.
It seemed no tree at all that day,
but something older, something whole—
a guardian at the end of time,
the ancient, waiting Tree of Souls.
Its roots ran deep through rock and soil,
its shadow stretched beyond the known,
a threshold carved in bark and bone.
And still they wait beyond our sight,
in silent chambers yet unborn,
their moments measured out in stars,
their names like whispers on the storm.
The tree will stand as ages fall,
its branches cradling birth and death,
a constant hush of waiting breath.
Categories:
catalpa, myth, nature, tree,
Form: Rhyme
I …
am provenience …
the heel of my father’s foot -
the damp of his brow
and his burgeon …
I am my mother’s bloom
sown in the soil of her intentions
seeded with wonder
and promise …
but some petals unfurl only in
the dead of night -
haunted gardens tended by
half-wished ghosts
phantoms …
frozen to their duties by the
mists of recollection -
icy arbors of regret and time, passing …
if I could but daub that lintel
with my blood -
force the reaper’s honed, desultory edge to
pass over those most dear
but …
too many I’ve walked homeward, in hand
too well he’s learned my face
too deep and numbered I’ve plunged
that oily, arrogant eye
and far too many times I’ve cursed
that endlessly esurient appetite …
I’ll find no pity, those deep pockets, his
nor a nip of banal bearing
it’s too late for tears -
the winds, far too wet for weeping
but I know him too
and he shan’t catch me dawdling
no - he’ll have to swing wide for this vine
else I greet him running and
wrap him snug -
strangling, like kudzu on catalpa …
for my roots reach deep
and are family-firm,
tended …
with love.
Copyright © September 3, 2024 Gregory Richard Barden
Categories:
catalpa, analogy, introspection,
Form: Free verse
She missed out on music lessons as a child.
Her parents taught her piano, which was so mild.
For years, she worked poorly and was lackluster.
And quit piano as a preteen as she couldn't muster.
She preferred Brian May over Freddie Mercury.
Elton John fan, she felt the piano music was a nursery.
She should have taught the guitar, yet she didn't.
She believes pianos lead to libido and dint.
Smokey voice, tactile lyrics, and superb piano skills.
Hart's 13 albums since 1993 will bestow you thrills.
Her violin fingers and pretty tone sing in harmony.
Her hands master the piano, guitar, and drums perfectly.
Beth Hart battled, as did catalpa trees and hackberry.
However, as a wild Sequoia, it maintained its worry.
Dismal feelings of pain, rage, shame, and exasperation.
What if these factors led to her artistic inception?
Several War in My Mind tunes left fans breathless.
Stones, blocks, rough slopes, and hills are breakless.
L.A. Song shows how to shun inner pain via denial.
Beth's Crown ranks among the finest lyrics trial.
Written: May 08, 2023
Beth Hart Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Categories:
catalpa, analogy, appreciation, inspirational,
Form: Rhyme
While Cataloguing Catacombs
in ancient Kathmandu
he chanced upon a Catamaran
from nineteen sixty-two.
He Categorized Caterpillars
in an old Catalpa tree
he grabbed a limb that wasn't there
it was a real Catastrophe.
At night his Cat would Caterwaul
out back behind the house
but he Categorically denied
that he smoked Catnip with the mouse.
He had Cattle on his acreage
and Catfish in the lake
he knew a mighty Catamount
who went by the name of Jake.
He retired to Catalonia
where he grew Catawba grapes
but Cataplexy did him in
from which there's no escape.
With a Catafalque for his coffin
inside the Cathedral tall
they Catered in a dinner
and mourned him one and all.
Categories:
catalpa, cat,
Form: Rhyme
White flowy flowers
Long bean pods
Huge heart shaped leaves
Limbs twisted in knots
Sitting in the shade
Of the fifty-foot high
Fifty years old
Reaching up to the sky
Daddy climbed the same
Way before me
When he too was a boy
And within it I see
Where he used to sit
As I sit now
Looking down at the ground
At the soft pile of sand
He placed at the foot
For my feet to land
From up here I see
The world around me
Active ants at work
Peony bushes of red
And some of white
And cows in the field
What a glorious sight
The catalpa tree blooms
In the month of June
On a warm sunny day
After the strawberry moon
Categories:
catalpa, june, tree,
Form: Rhyme
Mourning the holes in my canopy
Three Catalpa now
The Maple next door
My own Cedars
And the Pine that brought the Crossbills
But then there's the little Elm on my block
It's spine entwined with the iron fence
The house burnt down last year
The big old Maple brought down
I was warmed to see the little Elm survived
His burnt bits delicately removed
I think the arborist felt so too
Categories:
catalpa, appreciation, bereavement, tree,
Form: Narrative
catalpa -
fronds as grand green spades...
orchid strands
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Haiku - Trees" Poetry Contest, Mick Talbot, Sponsor.
Categories:
catalpa, beauty, nature, tree,
Form: Haiku
Muscadine grape vine
entwine...smell of bovine
forest edge
sedge
briars growing down the line.
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree
Watermelon field
hi yield...Alpaca deal
stocked lakes
drakes
the red barn I want to build
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree.
Catalpa worm tree
honeybee...works free
rain drops
crops
I love the country in me.
June 17, 2012
Categories:
catalpa, people, old, love, old,
Form: Free verse
In East Texas, the Catalpa tree thrives
A parasite eats its leaves to survive
A Catalpa worm is black striped on green
In the summer, they often strip the tree clean
It’s a caterpillar when eating leaves
It pupates in the ground I do believe
When it emerges from where it did sink
It’s a moth know as a “Catalpa Sphinx”
Growing up, I called it “Catawba” worm
Put one on a hook and just watch it squirm
It’s known to be a “super” fishing bait
I’ve used them and found they do work great
They infest the tree several times a year
But just Catalpa trees, let’s make that clear
So prized for bait that people plant the trees
As bait in winter, they’re OK to freeze
Many times we used them on a trot line
And for catching big catfish they worked fine
They stay on the hook as their skins are tough
And for catching pan fish they’re the right stuff
If you’re a fisherman should try them
And if they’re not local, still get the gem
Check out the Internet they are “For Sale”
Order them “live” or “frozen” through the mail
Categories:
catalpa, nature, tree, tree,
Form: Quatrain
Muscadine grape vine
entwine...smell of bovine
forest edge
sedge
briars growing down the line.
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree
Watermelon field
hi yield...Alpaca deal
stocked lakes
drakes
the red barn I want to build
I love the country
The country loves me
I’m as rock solid planted
As my hundred year old tree.
Catalpa worm tree
honeybee...works free
rain drops
crops
I love the country in me.
© Mar 19 2010 Charles Henderson
Categories:
catalpa, devotionold, love, old,
Form: Rhyme
Wind
rustles
through the yard-
the catalpa
chimes.
Categories:
catalpa, nature, seasons,
Form: Imagism