Thy curve hath taught
the rosewood how to sing
and my fingers
long roughened by cedar
grow gentle upon thy hips
returning unto the edge of thy ebony
Through forty harvests
rain hath polished
snow hath kept
the sun made sweet the grain
Lo, the wood thrush calleth
from the bough
where once this timber
drank the morning
Thrice I say unto thee
I love thee—
And another ring
God closeth
in the heartwood
=======
I am happy you carried the burden
to the quiet bench at dawn,
and for the few worth saving,
you opened your hands like morning petals.
You have climbed your silent mountains,
held your values to the sun—
I did not know the way,
but you did.
I lived only by the mercy of hope,
by the small, trembling light
you coaxed to stay.
Blessed is the head of the law,
steady as a lantern in wind,
and blessed are those
who do not bar your path.
All the trees in the forest bow—
save one that stands stout with knowing,
its bark a testament,
its heartwood strong.
Around it, leather-bound books breathe quietly,
healthy, wise,
waiting at your command,
rising like warm breath
from your lips.
A cracked, lone brown leaf
Spiralling quickly downwards
Knows only the ground;
But in that motion exalts
As if a plunging falcon.
-------------------------------------
Fallen, wind-blown leaves
Huddling against grey kerbstones
In abject neglect.
Already parks quieter...
Their iron railings more stark.
-------------------------------------
The thick sap retreats
When gnarled bark tightens its grip
On inner heartwood;
Summer faded into nights...
Autumn, failing, covered all.
Vouves Olive Tree.
(The olive tree of Vouves estimated to be over 3000 years old. Still producing delicious olives on the isle of Crete in Greece. The exact age of the tree can not be determined because the heartwood has already rotted away).
the Vouves olive tree
it is producing olives
her age three thousands
Merry is the way you spin me around, its no hard sell
Just you and I enjoying time on a two-person carousel
I heard no sound when that heartwood tree fell
Focused only on your sweet scents to which I smell
You're proof that pennies are worth wishing to a well
Your lips touching mine, till our next fond farewell
The redwoods’ fairy ring, wall in a family secret
Only, not all roots dig as deep…
Parched, some shrivel, loosening the circlet
Shush….the tallest ones whisper steep
Elegance alas, the needy ones, have lost…
Chafed, bitter barks scatter cones they can’t keep
Raging fires sear heartwood of dearest cost
Enduring burns gape trunk-wide scars…
The remnant wall shrinks tauter, visible as vapored frost
(10/2/20: '87 Tiara 3600 Convertible; DMS)
This world we inhabit, a giver of life
That on the surface is so rife,
Akin to a tree’s cross-section,
A thin cambium bound by natural selection.
The atmosphere the outer bark that protects
Life below in all respects;
Each animal breath dependent on the discard
Of photosynthesis thrown out without regard.
Water the other oddity of this planet
Parted by continents made mostly of granite.
Life and water deeply connected
Akin to sapwood keeping roots and leaves interconnected.
The moving rocky interior the strong heartwood
Of a Sequoia many ages withstood,
Supporting life on the outside
That is so diversified.
We are like the larvae of beetles
Girdling the trunk of the planet with too many peoples,
Leaving life no room
Sealing our and the Earth's doom.
The Tree
Frank Halliwell
This ancient leafy giant
that's endured three hundred years
Seems to tremble as the chainsaw.
through it's heartwood rips and tears.
It stood tall when the 'Endeavour'
plied these golden coasts of old,
And gazed down as Bourke and Wills passed by
on expeditions bold.
But now it lies, a shattered thing,
among the forest litter.
A sacrifice to ancient lust for
things that gleam and glitter.
***
As each fatigued day culls my nature
Mine mind does Judas thee
And tinker pon the waves of hope
Muted Banshee
My blighted roots once writhed hitherto
Severed from earths comely breast
Mother natures contempt of me
Fair mumsy, she knows best
(Stark)
I adorn no vibrant leaves
Laird, wooden beast
Plucked till I stood bare
No blightsome shade for sibling seed
From summers wretched glare
(Raving)
With chestnut blight, my ashen crown
Looms remorsefully
And you my wretched parasite
Prefer to pick at me
Not with axe, nor barbarous force
Unjust chipping at my belief
Till I am lost and swathing
In painfilled cumbersome grief
(Mad!)
So whilst the heartwood settles near
And whilst I shed my final tear
Am crushed, lopped rooted out
Be ever headful, covet doubt
That even pon the vilest slope
Within Woolgather
Hush lullaby
Hope x
Small things were
witness to genes
of freak mutation.
Tooth in eye
becoming boat in blindness.
Witch hazel
fails to stop leakage.
Thumb with beads of lymph
stung high in stillness,
wants to peel off
the concept of injury.
A brace
stops the smile.
Blue-chips have nothing to offer.
A king had hemophilia.
Timbers drip the blood
from heartwood
drop by drop.
SATISH VERMA
Small things were
witness to genes
of freak mutation.
Tooth in eye
becoming boat in blindness.
Witch hazel
fails to stop leakage.
Thumb with beads of lymph
stung high in stillness,
wants to peel off
the concept of injury.
A brace
stops the smile.
Blue-chips have nothing to offer.
A king had hemophilia.
Timbers drip the blood
from heartwood
drop by drop.
SATISH VERMA
Watch the rapt musician's hand
Draw the bow across the strings.
Hear the ancient violin,
Oh, the melody it sings!
Is the magic of its voice
From the fiddle's maple heart?
Is the secret in its shape?
Does its varnish play a part?
Its voice can lift a sagging soul,
Or bring a haughty heart to tears.
The sweetest music ever known
To fall upon the human ear.
Crafted by a master's hand,
From the heartwood of a tree,
How many heartstrings has it played,
In a hundred years times three?
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