a tease of a tree
wych elm with your popcorn blooms
lima bean hue
I saw the Elm trees
Standing tall in the cold winter
The freezing wind has withered their dense leaves
Blowing up alike fireflies
Their tough branches hit the hurricane
I heard the wind hissing in pain
The baptism of the wind
Revealing the resilience of the trees
When the hope of spring has been quietly arriving
A person's life is like four seasons
Cold and warm, prosperity and decline will always come
Resolutely facing the bitter rain and desolate wind
The God of Hope will meet you soon
The silhouette of sails sailing remotely away
Fearless of turbulent winds and waves sailing in
One can touch the dawn of the other shore
Any coldness calls only for your passion
Once cross the desert of winter
We shall meet the lush greenery of spring
In the warm spring breeze,
Raindrops are softly swaying
The delicate leaves are gently dancing
Only trees experienced wind and rain
They will be qualified to compare highness with the heaven
Only the sword light sharpened by adversity
Then can we create a rainbow in the sky
Only those who have experienced hardships
Then, it can depict the magnificence of life
And cultivate the beauty of life
That evening,
we sat under the old elm, its bark
flaking like dead scales from a fish.
You pointed to the sky,
but the stars did not come out—
only the moon, swollen
like a bruise above the rooftops.
You whispered about the farmer,
how he placed his scythe beneath his pillow,
dreaming of storms.
I listened, but saw only
your shadow stretching across the grass,
twisting with the branches.
In that moment,
you became the moon.
Your hands—small enough to cup it—
trembled as you talked about constellations,
the fisherman’s hook snagging a fragment of the horizon’s sigh..
I wanted to laugh,
but the night kept swallowing the sound.
The wind rolled across the empty streets,
gathering the scent of rain
and some unseen flower blooming at midnight.
And when I reached out,
only your shadow touched me.
The sky opened
and I could swear I heard the stars
laughing at us,
or maybe it was just the elm,
cracking under the weight of too many moons.
I had a cat, a large one
I thought I loved the cat
The cat thought he loved me too!
Then, one day,
They took the cat away
The cat, with the bassinet, the little furry presence
And Sameeha’s science club chapstick
And I thought I was kissing scientific a book cover
Where he is artistic in a beauty in the other way, rare.
It was a cat. After all, it was just a cat
It had the nicest jacket ,
with hoodies on,
the cat used to sit on time,
the cat
And it had the fish, tummy time, happy face, and everything first time
For I never yearn to come back! For there, to chime!
It is just a known type of pain that I knew for far too long!
On a question paper, pm time, departmental too
Dealey Plaza, are you keeping right on the still unresolved Elm street?
Heavenly God , do you play around heavenly to utter Godsay, is your slip
Where you do not know usually after or before the strait the gate
You never knew Jack Ruby and you never knew Oswald
So you never knew other than too much other than, Please, other tall!
Rooted on a moss-banked hill,
its branches spread far and wide.
By Summer's end, leaves veined gold and crimson.
Then, Autumn’s hand brushed them with russet paint.
Twas the time of year the elm tree despised.
Wind ruffled in their last days,
leaves danced as if burning flames,
until gales sent them tumbling to the ground.
Barren, as though in malaise, the elm stood.
Blame was cast upon harsh Winter weather.
Weeping for its naked limbs,
on a moss-banked hill it grieved.
For the change of season, it held loathing
and contempt for Nature's wrongful doing.
For surrounding its roots with drifts of snow
But on cusp of Spring's advent
tiny buddings will appear.
Branches will be clothed in fulgent raiment,
an umbrella agape, providing shade
for trilling songbirds in need of perching.
Reigning from atop the hill,
Ancient elm, regally frocked.
The earth speaks to the soul
Whispering peace, reflections of hope
Singing grace through the heart
The trees, oak – birch and pine
Laugh at the wind, dancing elegantly
Like silhouettes of miracles
The flowers, roses blushing light
Shimmering beneath dewdrops
Sun revealing silent shouts of praise
The birds, butterflies and dragonflies
In hues of azure, sapphire, emerald
Glide over the meadow, through the leaves
The rabbits, raccoons and deer
Trample over hidden paths
Leaving footprints, reminders of secrets
The hands trace the liquid droplet
Dew embracing, a promise
Rustling branches, sighing, breathless
The earth preaches its lessons
Light sighs, then blesses
Praying for His gifts of nature
Who put Lubella in the wych elm?
Wrangled roots and writhing barks,
Little blue shoes and fine black strands.
Was it the witch or the wych?
A flash of red, simmering musks,
An era of tragedy thriving.
A flesh tinged with a subtle darkness,
Hardened with resolve.
Blackened tongues convey sickened truths.
Convenient stretches of white lace
draped across a tarnished stone statue.
Which statue?
Bella is stuck in the wych’s elm,
A broken connection coated in useless filth.
A promise given to none who truly want it,
Yet gifted freely to those undeserving.
Fragile gloves and mangled dresses,
Crystal skies reflecting grey plumes.
Who’s tattered hearts inflicted a wych’s misery?
Fate’s subtle creaks or Mother’s wicked tears;
A concentration of grief or a dispersal of faith?
How did Bella end up in the Wych’s Elm?
Who put Lubella in the Wych’s elm?
Well-wishers in the form of oak leaves dribbled down trunks.
They landed in a pile of happy sentiments and sweet thoughts
The brownies and faeries of the forest felt their generosity
They had sacrificed themselves to help bring winter forward.
Like kamikaze pilots, they leapt to their death, to entice Jack Frost
A selfless act, unappreciated by many, but the woods understood.
Twinkle faeries, make a wish quickly, the oaks and elms suggested.
Well-wishers winked and blinked, giving wishes as fast as they could.
The mighty Elm said to the Vine,
“On me you may climb, to reach out for the sun.”
Ivy was not shy, for she had her reasons why,
So replied to the Elm, “only if you don’t mind?”
The Elm being proud, looked Ivy in the eye,
“I see no reason why we both cannot survive?”
So Ivy held on tight and prospered in the light.
So much so she could not let go.
After many happy years, the Elm began to creak,
Ivy had grown and grown,
So much so the Elm was barely known.
Finally the Elm did die, suffocated from the sky,
With Ivy still around, it stood no longer in the ground.
Bringing Ivy right along, now both had finally gone.
Falling Leaves Specific to the Elm
Long before Fall, Elm trees thin their leaves,
And Elm trees are the ones we have plenty of.
Tiny little ovals turn tan and gold and green and drifting,
Riding on hair and clothes to fall off on just gleaming floors.
Not a surprise they cling to the mouth, on your little pet's fur,
They seem to dance a graceful waltz with joy a kick and a swirl.
Then at twilight, sweet breezes usually lie,
And wait to be stirred tomorrow,
When householders sweep with repetitive dismay,
But wouldn't have it another way.
Sweeping, sweeping, into gold and green piles,
Where home from school, little children play.
Where heaven is to wallow.
her elm leaves float up
a little side to side dance
honoring the wind
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
Thoughts of an Old Elm Tree
I am tired, oh, so tired,
My dried brown leaves are falling,
I am losing my looks before my time,
In the hot dry unnatural heat’s
Appalling late summertime, and so
I dream of last year’s emerald lush,
Of intermittent sweet raindrops,
Even fall’s first cold blush, even so
Was gentle in its bearing me into winter’s sleep.
My dear leaves crumble and crackle around
Thick hard veins like an old man’s hands,
And in my waving reverie, I wonder of winter,
Will I sleep the the sleep of the old in September and
Miss the colors of fall and Christmas time?
I am tired, oh, so tired.
cows lounging
gathered in the shade
elm canopy
posted on August 8, 2018
Elm Tree Haiku
rotting elm
diseased of beetle-
left to die
Written 28.4.18
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