I wrote and read this poem especially for the
last Thursday. Of course I wrote it only a couple hours before the event (when will I ever learn?) and from the crotch of a tree.
The Writing Tree
I found this poem in a tree today,
Sitting under cloudy sky.
The tree blanketed with lichen,
Watched me with its nose... and one large eye.
"Put me in the holiday mood" I said, "jingle all the way..."
"Sorry, there is no holiday mood here."
And I looked at him, but he looked away.
"But the ladies at the Women's Social
are going to be hoping for a lot of FUN!
I need your help, I'm running out of time...
I must hurry and get this done!"
SILENCE - was the tree's response, as clouds pushed around cold air.
SILENCE - was the poet's response, with hunched shoulders and solemn glare.
"So you write poems in trees do you?" - Said a human who happened to walk by.
"NO I DON'T" I said, ------ with a long foreboding sigh!
Now, I don't want to waste your time, with mistletoe and all that fluff.
I could say it without feeling, but I might leave you, feeling... like it was less than enough.
I guess it doesn't matter so much, about tinsel and large glass bells, it doesn't matter about cider, and the way the holiday smells...
What does matter is... how we get to bring notebooks up a tree, watch the storm clouds gather, and let our real hearts be.
Hold each other's...
And not worry about gift-wrap sales,
Or making a cocktail-party blunder.
Now I will leave you with a whisper,
of what the tree finally passed to me:
Don't expect the tree to 'give you' just because you come sit near, but know it will always listen, to what you want it to hear. And maybe if you're quiet, for long enough you'll see - what the tree is really giving, is the experience of being free!
May your evenings be filled with...
YOUR HOLI - DAY
is every place you are,
everything you seeand the mountains of love - you let yourself be!