I recently wrote a poem about the loss of an old oak for the sake of a new road. We discussed my poem in the Inklings writing group on Sunday. Molly texted this photo to the group. “I thought of our conversation when I was walking in a nearby town and discovered they’d cut down tons of trees as they repair the sidewalks. It made me so sad. Someone had placed these small cloth notes on the remains.”
I was considering a butterfly photo for today, but when she sent this, it hit me in my gut. We have to use poetry to resist. This itself is poetry of resistance.
The roots are sewing
messages of sorrow–
saying goodbye to their masters,
the trunk and branches
they served for years.
Underground, the roots
hold hands in solidarity
grieving and wishing
the world would understand.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments paying homage to the trees. Remember to respond with encouragement to other writers.
This Spring I Pulled Up Hundreds of Oak Seedlings in My Yard and Garden and Though Each One Broke My Heart I Did Not Stop Until the Last One Was Gone
To be human is to make choices.
We choose to kill what is in our way,
or what is inconvenient…to us.
We kill and kill without much thought.
We choose to kill what is in our way
until few or none are left.
We kill and kill without much thought —
such a wretched legacy.
Few or none are left,
and only now we feel regret.
Such a wretched legacy:
unbalance and catastrophe.
Mary Lee, such a strong response. Remind me of which form this is. “We choose to kill what’s in our way.” Such a powerful line!
It wants to be a pantoum, I think, though with rhyme only where it is convenient. Lines 2 and 4 in each stanza become lines 1 and three in the next.
I have such a complicated relationship with destruction, mourning when it happens to a place I’ve loved and nurtured and yet repeating the act in the name of gardening.
A powerful message and response, Mary Lee.
So apt, so painful.
Mary Lee, so powerful a call to observe, ponder and act. We are here for such a short while. Why not do good? Why not love? Why not consider that what we sow, we will reap.
Oh, Margaret and Mary Lee, your poems have me mourning the loss of the trees and more the loss of children in war. “the roots / hold hands in solidarity / grieving and wishing…” Mary Lee, your multiple use of the word “kill” is haunting. It is “such a wretched legacy.” Here’s to resistance.
All that remains
Of the rings of thriving
Is the child’s hope
That there may be a
Future without killing
A child’s hope rings in my ears as I watch my grandchildren who give their love to everything in nature. I want this future for them.
This poem, Denise Somehow if you could get this published, I think it is powerful. Maybe a title would be enough to “center the topic”….. Your last line…hits like it should. Brilliant. /rings of thriving/ love that line, too.
The child’s hope…
Without that, what future is there?
Yes to “the child’s hope!” May we all relearn how to hope and believe as children do.
“a future without killing” – such a heartfelt hope.
I swept the sky
I offered shade
I was home
for birds
squirrels
insects
I stood up
My roots ran deep
My sap flowed
I blossomed
My leaves filtered sunlight
Glowed green
Or golden
Replenished the soil
These were a few
Of my attributes…
How about you?
— Karen Eastlund, draft
From the I voice, we see the perspective of the gifts of a tree. This one gave its whole life.
Exactly. What kind of beings are we? The tree has every right to ask, and we need to look hard inside for our answers.
It’s as if the tree were responding to Mary Oliver’s question – what will you do with your wild and precious life (I may be misquoting a bit)
Love the tree’s challenge to humans…
Old Friend
Janet Clare F. draft
You.
Tall, strong, handsome.
Protective arms grant us solace
shade, cover, space.
Time to ponder, read,
imagine a world of glory.
If Autumn comes, you dance.
Earth’s brilliance abounds,
we delight in your silent story.
Winds whip, you strain and sway,
stay sturdy and sure for another day.
Wait for winter’s frozen tears
to lift you back to life.
And mourn you when your
work is done, old friend.
The you voice next to Karen’s I voice echoes the purpose of trees. “Your work is done.”
We mourn, and yet we were the ones to end that life, to decide that its work was done…
Yes for the poor tree in the picture. However, I took a quick look at the picture and went back to envisioning the tree that stood in our front yard. I often get just a glimmer of an inspiration from the photo and don’t write “to the photo” Anyhow our tree was an “old friend” in that it provided so much shade to our house, and when our road, one long black that is a well-used natural kind of “loop around the village road” was closed while it had major road work done, it provided a lunch respite for all the wonderful workers. Older men, many of them who would eat in their cars or sit on the ground. So I set up chairs and tables for them. Everyone was happy. The tree gave them a covered spot. Then in the fall it split, 1trunk up to my chest maybe, then two huge boughs. It was like a swamp type maple from long ago. We had had it trimmed and inspected. But didn’t wire it, but were watching it. We thought it was ok. A neighbor walking by who is on the village tree committee hurriedly told us it had split far down the trunk and was in danger of falling all over, yard, street, house and we needed to get it down immediately and we did. I was heartbroken. I don’t know if we ever got a photo of our picnickers, but we were noted by the village board for being kind and the company thanked everyone on our street for being as flexible as needed. Street was a mess for about 6 months. Nice sidewalks, but no tree. We are replanting for a new one soon. PS it was the best free entertainment for the grandkids ages maybe almost 3 and 5. Those huge vehicles and the action. They sat under the tree a lot that summer. Sad.
Remembering what the tree has provided is important in recognizing that the time to mourn has come.
Beautiful homage, Janet. The trees’ life journeys stay with us, so powerfully.
Posting for Francisco:
I love how sad we are
and how happy we are about those details of life
After all
Our dream is the dream of the trees
And the flight of the wind
Oh Francisco, I love the caring in your poem. /Our dream is the dream of the trees/ reminding us of its goodness and gifts and mourning the loss of something so special in this world. They take a long time to get strong and tall. And your last line /the flight of the wind/ so vivid and true. It’s the way we know the wind is there sometimes (unless huge storms), but in every day life. The breeze when we need it to cool us. Feed us. Delight us. Thank you, Francisco for your poem. It gave me “food for thought.”
Thank you, Francisco. Your wisdom means everything to me.
Recognizing the importance of trees makes us sad to say goodbye, but also honors the trees’ work. Thank you.
Beautiful, Margaret…the last two lines touched so deeply.
Thanks for this poem & topic, Margaret, and the photo, Molly.
Dear Tree,
You took root and grew
Stalwart and faithful
Stood here in this place
Giving us refreshing shade
Whispering secrets of life
As breezes rustled your leaves
And yet some among us
Failed to understand
And now you are gone
Those who hold you in our hearts
Leave our love in this spot
Grateful for all you gave
Always, The Tree Huggers
Those last two lines — YES!
Honoring with love and remembrance. Beautiful.
I love tree huggers. They are so wise about trees. We should all learn to listen to the trees.
Lovely…
It’s so hard to let go sometimes. Our neighbor recently took down a very large tree. I choose to believe that as it became unsteady, the removal was in the name of safety, although it still broke my heart. The notes left for the tree in the photo are a testament to its importance.
even mighty trees
thankful for a life well lived
remain in our hearts
A small and heartfelt message.
So true, Rose…
[…] wasn’t going to post this poem I wrote yesterday in response to This Photo Wants to be a Poem, but Margaret posted her poem “Road Construction,” so here I am in […]
This is beautiful…the notes, the poem and the resistance. We sure will miss those trees.