Poetry – The Tree

Posted on by Opher

The Tree

Rooted firmly in the ground,

Anchored by a network of great cables

That fan out

Through soil and rock

Clutching,

Wedging,

Holding.

It’s trunk solid, stout and gnarled,

Solid as column of granite

                Resolute,

Strong,

Grand and defiant,

Unbending in the wind,

Stout against the elements;

A pillar of Hercules;

Defiant against the universe,

Thrusting up into the sky.

Its branches radiating

As strong arms

Reaching to the heavens,

Dividing again and again,

Bisecting,

Radiating,

Into a filigree

Of fine twigs,

A delicate latticework,

An umbrella of artwork,

On which the myriad emerald green leaves,

Each one a work of art,

A joy,

Are supported in the air,

Bathing in the sunlight,

Rusting on the breeze.

A noble living giant?

A work of art?

A compendium?

Syncitium?

Mystical – a complex wonder to behold!

A tree.

A leviathan of flora,

                A monster of complexity,

                                Repository of wonder.

A tree.

Opher – 9.8.2021

I find there is something spiritual, divine, magical and resplendent in the majesty of mighty trees.

They transcend.

Poetry – The Tree

Posted on by Opher

The Tree

It stood grand with a million leaves,

In all its finery.

Every one reaching for the sun

And contributing

To the majesty of its girth.

Each leaf a thing of beauty;

Together standing tall,

With all the might

Of a wondrous

Enterprise.

Through many centuries

The tree has stood

Draped in its coat

Of many colours,

Unshakeable.

Then the cruel wind blew

Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat rat-a-tat

And the magnificent leaves

Were blown asunder

To rot in the soil.

Opher – 10.11.2018

I wrote this in anticipation of Rembrance Day.

I had this image of a nation being a mighty tree and the leaves being its people.

The cruel wind was the machine guns that so easily blew them away.

All that potential, all that grandeur, left to rot in the ground.

So sad, so unnecessary, so tragic, so thoughtless, so meaningless, so indescribably cruel.

What is this persistent ritual of war all about? Why are we forced to repeat it so often?

So many leaves fall. So many autumns. And endless cycle of young death.