Grave

Still green,
The singing tree
Does not yet know
He is severed.

Lean into his body,
Feel his pulse
Slow,
Cloud-cast shadows

Snake
Through bark
From upturned root
To prone branch.

Light plays in
Fingertips yet to release
What will never
Be replaced.

All ’round,
The verdant clearing
Where he
Held court,

Long-legged
Sons and daughters
Sway and moan,
Leafy lament.

Prompted by Claudia’s post on Impressionistic writing.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

7 responses to “Grave”

  1. brian miller says :

    oh wow…you get much out of that severed tree…not yet knowing it is dead…and it makes a wonderful metaphor as well…really opening this up…and a nice depth of feeling…also having the sons and daughters moaning in the end…nice…

  2. Emily says :

    Thank you, Brian. I sat on the old fella for a while today to write this. And then it rained a beautiful rain. And it all just seemed to fit for a second.

  3. Daydreamertoo says :

    Always makes me feel sad when a tree is cut down, especially really old trees that have stood the test of time and, I’ve often wondered as they too are alive, if they feel pain when they’re cut into, somehow this agrees somewhat with my thoughts. Very nice write.
    I’m guessing you are the same Emily who visited my blog as you also mention knitting in your about info.

  4. Emily says :

    Thanks for reading, Daydreamer. I believe I am that same wooly Emily. Cheers!

  5. yoga-adan says :

    the first stanza,

    “Still green,
    The singing tree
    Does not yet know
    He is severed”

    sets up the nice flow into that commanding last lines!

    kinda sad, but so nicely done!

    thank you emily

  6. ds says :

    “Still green/the singing tree”–beautiful. A sad and lovely poem. Thank you.

  7. Claudia says :

    love the images you use…the leaning into and feeling the pulse of the tree…and where you take us then..leafy lament is great as well

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