Tag Archives: trees

Uncategorized

EarthTribe’s Resonant Tree

I heard from our Tree today.

He and She were both

barely speaking to me

forgetting Her root system

all tangled up with Historied trunk of convexly hierarchical

branches of photosynthetic production,

rather than sharing Her permaculturing compost

more naturally and economically balanced.

 

I watched our Tree today

while fading memories of shared Him-Her nutrients,

breathing together,

following our full color spectrum

from light through double-bound dark

absence of presence

springing up summer

and falling down winter,

shared days and seasons and informating species,

riding times’ energetic gravitating wu wei surf edge,

tipping point between past practice of warm v. cold memories

and future’s predicted GoldenLocks intent,

“just right” Earth Day

growing lovely forest dreams

of mutual forbearance and organic porridge sustenance,

and synergetic gratitude,

not so much growling at one another

barking out Golden Rules’ bicamerolling spiral head,

core ring of TaoNowLogistics.

 

Tree therapy for weak-rooted imbalanced ecopathology,

breathing in Him

then breathing out Her EcoLogos wisdom

unweaving binomially out again

embracing His Easter recreation.

 

Standard
Uncategorized

Sibling Tree

What will happen next?

she said.

And why.

he asked,

and so it went all day.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“And why?” he said.

 

Let’s climb a tree and learn it home;

safe place to grow a branch for flight

to fly through night and dream all day.

To pretend at work,

not work to play.

 

Why screw around?

Is flight not real?

And working play feels play-full

when trees are true

and branches balance birdnests

floating toward this stringish green-field Earth.

 

I fear what will happen next

she asks.

And why

he says.

and so it goes through life.

“What’s next?” she fears.

“And why?” he fails to reassure.

 

Let’s build a house high as the sky.

We’ll play on clouds and they on us

til vegeburgers rain like cars

too fast to find us

high above this tangled weedish plot.

 

Clouds feel good for rest

but not for forts.

The sun burns clouds like cars burn trees.

Let’s fall beneath a flower pot

and kiss her rooted tendrils

to grow full measured

good and true and real and wondrous

shade trees gracing fertile plots.

 

What will happen next?

she asks.

And why? he asks again.

And so it goes.

What’s next…

Why?…

 

Dedication: To Kerry

7/13/2014

Standard
Uncategorized

Summer’s Stormy Move

It started the 8th of June

moving away from too familiar

into too alien,

finding no sane oasis between.

 

Vibrant greens relentlessly fade

to wilting monochromatic drought.

Brown patches emerge with dulled loss

of what might have been a family

an ecological home

a pasture for aging bones,

hinky synapses flaring tornadoes

of heated defeat.

 

Boxes realign themselves

incomprehensibly hiding any value

in their move

from what could have been here

if not left there

where fading memories survive

my loss of presence.

 

Bags batter

bursting malignant neglect.

Chairs no longer fit

for seating hot tempers

of displaced despair.

Dust defecates destiny.

 

A house that should be home

to those grateful for its care;

downsizes redemptive purgation

into shrinking violence,

invisible,

screaming silent strangling sensory strings

slipping

sparkling vents glaring

glacially through stagnant July.

 

Then,

early evening spills thick black.

Tall elder treetops sway

with hope of cathartic wildness,

drama of release

from petulant

radiant

hot.

 

Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls

and back again in falling grace drops.

Transition storms

through pilgrim soul’s discontented purgatory

in space without place

house without home

faith without hope

place with cavernous time,

mindful without passion.

 

Earth’s sky roars dark wet flashy passion.

Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated culture’s skin,

bleaching dark passions from dry-cracked crevices.

 

“Abatement is not removal!”

wild Wicked cackles demented delight.

“If transitions were regenetic

then nomads would rule,

pilgrims would land in paradise estates

with coincidental karmic confidence.”

 

The storm abates,

drought removed.

Thunder claps farewell.

Brief time

now

search evening’s rainbow

before hazing horizon

rolls over light’s last gasp.

As night promises peace,

Thunder cracks and shakes one last reminder.

Serenity is not always sanity.

 

Promise smiles teardrops

on hot tin roofs.

 

 

 

 

Standard