Short Arboreal Poems

Down the topless tree house
Off our arboreal minds 
Up the elevator...

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arboreal bird
seeks out the dead....
lightning killed great oak     ...

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pine boughs whispering
blanket of snow filters in
softer than a kiss

verdant wands of pine
wave in arboreal air
sense of renewal
...

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Amidst the woods, there existed exquisite birds,
Warbling melodiously upon trees with rhythms that charm,
Their vibrant hues reminiscent of a festive evergreen,
Meticulously adorned within the forest's arboreal realm, akin to celebration adornments....

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Gray arteries 
are laid bare
An altar
is beset
by hands 
of crones
begging alms 
in pulses
of arboreal blood
grasping 
at drab vestments
of indifferent sky


1st Place
Early June Standard Contest
Sponsor:  Brian Strand
Submitted:  6/6/17...

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Rustling leaves I see
Echoing behind me
Twisted branches in a frenzy
Shiver my spine instantly.
Is that a mysterious face
Hiding inside an arboreal place?
Do I stay or do I flee?
Is that something I fear in the tree?
Will it follow or will it watch intently?
I am still with curiosity....

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an arboreal 
green anole flashes red....
spring afternoon    


arboreal -adj.- living in trees, relating to trees

anole -noun- a small mainly arboreal American lizard with a throat fan that (in the males) is typically brightly colored. Somewhat of a chameleon....

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Endless Arboreal Hills
Crisp Oak Leafs
Here are the prints
I am the Tireless Tracker

Dunes On Fire
Rolling Burning Sandstorms
Here are the signs
I am the Tireless Tracker 

Dirty Cobblestone Streets
Broken Homes Abound 
Here are the marks
I am the Tireless Tracker

There It Is.
I've found it.
Here are my desires.
I am the Tireless tracker....

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This,
was the matter of non-matter,
permeating in every pore, cell,
thought. An elusive,
connection to unknown.

You,
want to create a Grail
to receive the blood, of heaven
to imbue,
the dark space.

A chilling,
belief to confer,
a glorified name to astigmatism
without the consent
of the eye.

Arboreal,
the naked soul 
renunciates all the fruits
and departs for
another sky.


Satish Verma...

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Autumn expires In its own fires
simmering the fallen with flaring tints.
Leaves crepitate and crackle
skived to crisp skins.
Hedgerows turn to vacant
crypts, twigs to wooden teeth. 
Arboreal embers swirl
between barelegged winds.
The groundhogs have forsaken 
dawns scant larders
they seek deeper shelters
where moss-beds lay unseared
by smoldering remnants.
Halloween will be late this year,
the dead are still dying....

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The woods have been gathering here
for long generations,
they have their own arboreal language,
a nocturnal patois
ground out by layers of ligneous skins.
The language is arcane,
it arrives from deep ancestral roots
incantations that turn slowly
into the kernels of long seeded words.

Deep into the night I listen,
then listen yet more
to the garrulous gossiping
of a creaky wooden bed
chatting to a talky timbered floor....

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Night filters sight and sound
into separate caves of awareness,
Owls and nightjar's duet
in different tunnels of time.

For generations
the forest has gathered here,
it has its own language,
one rooted through layers
of nocturnal sentience.

In the harkening cabin 
sounds interface,
lull mind and ears,
into imaginary auditoriums.

Subliminal arboreal words
read me to sleep -
thoughts rustle like
whispering leaves.
...

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A bird is a wonder
    flying in the air
    hopping on the ground
    or warbling a song
  Pure entertainment all day long

  A bird is a curiosity
    cocking his head this way and that
    sucking a worm from the ground
    so juicy, so fat
  An aerial and arboreal acrobat

  A bird is a parent too
    in the grand scheme of things
    building a nest for babies
    until they take wing
Gently nurturing, fiercely protecting...

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Only this;
And a joyousness
Remembering many beautiful, matriarch models
And so you came gently in forgiveness;
Forgiving, allowing the arboreal atonement


I threw my resort upon the heart;
Of my cold unloving mind;
Back into my memories accommodating
That uttermost - that uttermost; 
And the savior was classifying;
The arboreal atonement allowing 




4/10/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©...

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This wooded throng of ancient trees,
this green palisade of arboreal memories
bid me dream with them,
as I pass among there overarching spreads.

If a mindful muse, were imagined,
under a green canopy such as these,
from my thoughts, all manner
of myths and legends would flourish,

and none would seem unreal,
but just the natural outgrowth of a wisdom
that these green and forested giants
impart to the roots of being....

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Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have columns and porticos,
piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot. curl and jut outward
as the limbs of a still treeing houses.

Once in a house like this,
I recalled the broadleaf woods of my childhood,
a memory that rocked me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I came to know that depth of my life,
its internal architecture
one room grown from another -
the many mansions....

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Why is it that when we decline and we are dying there is no beauty in our bodies

though there may be nobility in our natures and in our souls, yet when trees in 

arboreal arabesque let fly their leaves floating to earth giving all creatures colourful 

hope, but we are at our worst in deathly pale and black croaking at the end the  

hope of eternity in different many ways, as the leaves do bunker compost go, 

                                  or the autumn fires so?...

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