Grow

Things grow slow
In the shadow of the tree
Even when its leaves
Have finally dropped

 

Resting Place

Weathered tree high aloft
Lonely, barren mountain top
Not fit for bird or even shade
It marks where my body’s laid

 

Forest Fire

Was I ever living?
Asked the tree of himself
Thinking back over the years
Watching the wildlife pass by
Only now aware, engulfed in flame
Hoping to give birth
To a legacy

 

Birch Tree

Sorry “the ladies.”

Sorry that the skin on my legs and feet is peeling off in sheets like the bark from a fucking birch tree. I got this sun burn for you. Workin’ my moves out on the beach. Salty sea air blowin’ my hairs like I’m that hunky guy on the cover of the romance novel. But the hair in which I speak are on my six-foot-three legs – not the guy-orgeous curls that fall from my skull.

Don’t worry “the ladies,” you didn’t want none of this anyways.

*I really don’t talk like an idiot. Most of the time. I swear.

 

Mighty Tree

At night a storm builds
A mighty tree stands
Silhouetted atop the hill
White light erupts
Yet the tree is proud
Slowly taken by the flame
A lonely, intimate finish
In a world gone dark

 

Weathered Tree

Why should the weathered tree
Receive special treatment
Leaves struggle to grow at all
It no longer offer fruit to eat
The shadow cast is very narrow
And hardly noticed by anyone
Except the very small
The tree is not yet dead
But ponders its own longevity
Why should it be left to stand
When mightier will fall

 

 

 

 

Night Journey

Young moon bounces
Behind silhouetted trees
A smile on its face