A Crayon Box of Trees

there
in the cut
human-handmade
marking the boundaries
of the gap we make for our
day-to-day nice necessities to travel
from here to there and beyond – utilitarian
utilities and poles to hold and bear
them – there – in that space
place the flying saws
make are the
trees
left and
left behind
soldiers in form
formation attention
no at ease for these watchers
who watch only each other and wait
for nothing – perfect in their
one-sided symmetry
a crayon box of
trees

Poetry by Heart

Let’s do it!  Let’s boldly copy the UK and Canada and Ireland before them, and have a Poetry by Heart event in our schools.  Admit it – most of our television is copied directly from BBC*.  So why shouldn’t we steal this really great idea and reintroduce our children to poetry?

When I was a minister student intern in Scotland, one of the things I remember fondly is Halloween.  The kids dress up as here, but the ‘trick or treat’ phase is a bit different: kids have to recite a poem or tell a joke or story to get their candy.  It was great fun to hear what they came up with (with a little help from mom and dad, of course).

I still remember (well at least part of) the poem I had to memorize in 6th grade, Joyce Kilmer’s Trees:  I think that I shall never see . . . a poem lovely as a tree . . . a tree whose hungry mouth is pressed . . . against the earth’s sweet-flowing breast . . . Poems are made by fools like me . . . but only God can make a tree.  I always like the last couplet best – maybe preacher-lady was my destiny all along.

But I digress: kids are already memorizing poetry (they call it music); so let’s give them some good stuff to latch onto.




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*Really, England, the best you could give us was Wife Swap?  Really?  And when you chose the reverse (to copy us instead), your first choice was The Apprentice?  Does your shame know no bounds?  Confused.com

Nowhere Bridges & Felled Trees

Friend Liz has a wonderful post (Journalling) – Mary’s yes.

In the wee hours, I am thinking, may Mary’s yes be ours as well.

And I am struck by her visual – a bridge of steps over a fallen tree.

Because, you see, fallen trees must be navigated.

Navigation, depending upon the imagination, does not require destruction.

And so the tree lies and the step-bridge accommodates and all is well.

I love nowhere bridges, don’t you?

So today I vow to navigate the fallen trees along the path

I vow to give the fallen trees their place on my path

even as they yield a place along their path to me

Peace – my yes to the importance of trees felled and paths shared

The Trees in the Woods Are Speaking to Me

The trees in the woods are speaking to me
One whispers look this way, its branches    
pointing to the still waters below

Ayr Gorge - Peden's Cove

another’s branches growing out at
an awkward right angle offer the image
of gentle embrace and comfort merely by presence

yet another shouts
behold all things are made new
with its uplifted branches

Grounds of Culzean Castle
at sunset

at the margins, a stand with branches all
turned leeward from the constant and
never-changing winds
remind me to notice, to read,
the signs of the times with humility
while deep in the woods
one lone tree fallen at the waters’ edge
arms outstretched towards the source
of all life would have me see anew
The Sacrifice . . . and its cost –

Ayr Gorge

whether the tree that falls alone
in the forest is heard by human ears
does not matter so much
for I am given to know
that the Divine Ears hear
every tree . . .
every branch . . .
every twig that falls . . .
hear and weep . . .
hear and rejoice . . .
for the life that was
the life that could have been
and, as solid wood melts into
the loam of the forest floor
food for the sapling
to rise yet again,
every life that will be
from every life that was

The trees in the woods
are speaking to me and
it is well with my soul