I miss your soul sitting behind my bench,
I miss your legs accidentally brushing against my anklets.
I didn't know if I was ever made to be with you,
But then God would have lost, what a pity He would have felt through.
Your voice and face are like the morning dew,
They are like a fading memory I thought I would cling on to.
You never really gave any sense to my existence,
But what a fool am i , I see you as my entire existence,
I hope one day I will probably remove every part of you from my memories,
But what will be the value of others when they will burn with my mortal body.
I thought you would be mine for once in my lifetime,
But then I realised, was I just a willow tree that you saw while you were enjoying your life?
polysemy
protrudes, prodding power
letting chiasma
churn and curdle
ply poet-marriage:
an anankean lockless key—a dower
set upon a
dorseless tower
I eat my crow,
drowned in chowder
time sealed in
the wicking willow wood
—CODA—
I don’t want to
be solved
I want to be
inhabited
working in
dream-logic
surrealist
disjunctive fissures
places where
contradictions coexist
that is—
precisely
pointless
=======
Written: August 3rd, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Line Gauthier
****************
Sapphire rays glimmer beneath willow trees;
Emerald awnings, swirling in sweet breeze.
A ledge of leaves—penumbral shadows play,
Each kin-bound heart is rooted all the way.
We meet as one, a sole breed growing whole—
Sunlight furrows the branches of one soul.
The willow weeps for me, they say
They play that willow song
What if a willow laughs per se
And we just got it wrong
We misperceive its hanging sleeves
The rustle that we hear
Could be a joke told by the breeze
“Look at that fool, my dear”
The willow dies of laughter, though
We still believe it weeps
The other day I had a go
To listen to the leaves
But it was so serene around
That even birds didn’t sing
Two leaves were slowly spinning down
I couldn’t hear anything..
gentle breeze willow dances
Written: June 30th, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
Underneath a veil of midnight choke,
A peaceful recluse is drifting loose.
Hungry roots in ghostly boots,
As blood-red clay morphs to gray
The winter cries from weeping skies,
Heavy prayers distilled tears.
A gleam in moonlight, a dream in sight,
The stars have bled where breath is dead.
Its sinewed trunk is deeply sunk,
Through ruined soil where shadows coil.
Raw winds can snap a broken jaw,
As trees run deep to hide a sleep.
Most sorrow a faded ghost now,
Reach out and touch a dead shore.
Underneath this clay of black decay,
Lost bones will scream and sigh.
A dying pulse makes night convulse,
Where fading sparks collapse to dark.
A requiem blows low with icy glow,
As blood seeping scars mock the stars.
Confess your sins where spoil begins,
For wood can hold the bitter cold.
Its trapped voice leaves no choice,
When winter’s wind proclaims it sinned.
Oh, peaceful sentinel of green,
With sweeping boughs and leafy screen!
Most trees provide a tranquil shade,
For picnickers in any glade
But you, O Willow, choose to smite,
And pummel passersby all night!
While common willows gently weep,
You cause the very bones to leap!
With one swift swish, you wreck a car,
And launch a Ford into a star.
You care not for a bird or bee,
An equal-opportunity brute tree.
You guard a dark and secret door,
Where furry friends pace on the floor.
A gentle poke upon your bark
Will freeze you silent in the dark,
A magic trick of wood and limb,
To keep your temper rather trim!
So hail the violent, twisted wood!
Misunderstood, yet understood.
The only tree, we must agree,
That strikes right back at botany!
Written: June 24, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Joanna Daniel
Checked by HMS.COM / 8 syllables per line
*****************
Where daffodils in springtime bloom,
As finches trill with joyful sight—
And dragonflies in sunlight loom.
The June breeze whispers soft and low,
Through willow branches, silver-white—
While lilies drift in pond below.
Beneath the summer's golden gaze,
Swallows follow their southern flight—
As the leaves shimmer in the haze.
Then winter winds begin their flow,
And bare trees stand in frost-bound site—
While streams are locked in frost's cold show.
Frost-laden branches bend and gleam,
Shimmering in winter's cold light—
Whilst the town's awakening dreams.
Blame CayCay for giving me the idea for this - lol
Alligator, 'neith the weeping willow,
what makes you want to cry?
May I offer you a pillow?
You are so sad. Please, tell me why!
"Twas then I found they were croc tears -
when he ate up my head,
after removing both my ears,
which heard, "I'm sad because you're dead".
The weeping willow tosses in the wind
its seeds fall in a haphazard way,
landing in all nooks and crannies.
Sprouting buds break the earth
in no particular order for this birth.
A tree begins to grow
and a connection is made with another.
The two trees intertwine both limbs and roots,
bringing a union of a sort.
They are coupled in all ways
sharing rain drops and sunshine
as they hover over one another.
Then their growth takes a different path,
branches straight across twisted ones,
roots running shallow over deeper ones,
sun and rain that no longer feed.
The entangled inseparableness that gave them such strength,
now at its core would only bring angst.
The binding bond that had been their crucial crest,
now symbolic of a misguided quest.
To tear apart their growth together,
may seem damaging forever.
But without this desperate separation,
leaves and flowers will have trouble creating.
Amid silence filled
with tranquil fervor,
the Weeper stands
blotting the earth
green and yellow keen
against the echoes
of artillery and
dead men
damned to the
muddy wounds of war
I see the hanging silhouette of the willow tree.
The eerie shadow of this tree
is something I know all too well.
Roots deep in soil,
voluminous leaves,
brown... hanging.
You see, my people are like the trees.
Wise, brown,
standing tall, with many beautiful roots and leaves.
Suddenly,
Sethe got roots on her back,
Emmett wading in the water,
and all I see
is strange fruit hanging.
These trees feel different now...
Once so green and full,
now drooping lifelessly.
So, maybe I see a willow tree,
or maybe it's a brother with his dreads
lying on the street.
Something about this feels so deep.
How we all come from and return to
the willow tree.
The willow bends in the storm without breaking, its drooping branches, willow canopy which almost always stretches toward water, symbolizing a "thirsty soul" reaching for the divine, despite your appearance of sadness, my willow is resilient, often re-rooting even if cut down, symbolizing the hope of renewal.
Silvery underbellies of leaves, long slender branches dipping into water, swaying in the breeze, for I know you are listening too my soul, whom longs for Gods love..
Oh weeping willow, with roots that go deep... in your embrace, strength and solace are found."
"Tears take over like waves in the sea, just like her branches and leaves drooping forward, this grieving tree."
"Do not mistake my weeping for weakness; it is the rain that softens the earth, allowing my roots to grow ever deeper."
“ The willow weeps, but the roots hold as longing for grief but looks for strength in faith.
It’s a snapshot of disaster
Love, our willow is no more
Seems my time is running faster
So much faster than before
What’s the reason? There’s no reason
Never listen what they say
A contrived job for the season
Comers do to get their pay
It’s united bloody nations
High concern about my peace
To distribute some frustrations
To cut down for me some trees
That old willow was a wonder
Silver-green leaves used to rustle
I was coming here to ponder
Just to rest awhile from hustle
But I have it on the photo
(And I think I took a few)
When it was a place to go to
Little place to share with you.
artist
canvas is blank
sits on stool virtuous
willows kinky at oak easel
jazzy
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