Tall Oaks
What defines a tree is its wounds
twists and gyrations come after a knot
Surrounding the knot are fluid spins
Out sticks the old rotting limb
not quite gone
But even if it falls off
the scar is there — the knot
The rest of the tree’s years are defined by
the dead parts
All the future growth deals with this knot
The tree moves on, straining forward
But aways adopting and reacting to
its knots, its past scars and wounds
A tree’s wounds are what gives it character
Some wounds are so severe the tree must die
Or… out of the stump a shoot appears
And it grows and becomes a new tree
But there is the history at its base being
Most trees move ahead
not in spite of their knots
but with their knots
Others come to live in the wounds
borrowers of the tree’s sorrows
readers of its tale
They find a home in its wound
Some are healers chewing out the death
Others are demons, cute and fuzzy deceivers
And the demons take up residence and
peer out with scared eyes, hiding
None the less, the wounds define
the future of the tree
This is true of all trees
A Poem: Tall Oaks
Ancient silent dancing rhythm
pushing against a stony knot
grow arms of life
from this jutting bulbous prison
a blithe a blight
Tell us what you think of people:
“Silence fools! It is who you are!”
this tender wound
reach skyward, erect your steeple
a holy hole
not whole
I’m Donne