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10 Poems about Trees

Updated on November 28, 2015
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Andrew has been writing for decades, publishing articles online and in print. His many interests include literature, the arts, and nature.

Top of Seckar Wood, West Yorkshire, England. Small oaks and saplings.
Top of Seckar Wood, West Yorkshire, England. Small oaks and saplings. | Source

A Tree is a Poem : Introduction


A tree is a poem, a gift, an offering from the earth. When I come across a sapling that's fresh out of the seed I light up because it's a gift and in pristine condition. Oak tree saplings give me a particular buzz because I grew up with big oaks and to see a tiny specimen reaching for the sun and air is to see a giant in a few hundred years time, awesome yet humble.

A tree takes everything thrown at it and comes back for more. Their ability to withstand the foulest storms, weeks of baking sun and the odd deluge or two is inspiring.

To top it all they allow birds to build nests in their branches and twigs, up where the light filters through packed leaves or in a fork angled to hold the messiest of nests.

Without the vast forests breathing out oxygen there would be no beautiful planet.The Tree of Life is a true symbol! These poems are created from and dedicated to all sorts of trees.

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

Walt Whitman


——————————————


Ancient beech, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, UK
Ancient beech, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, UK | Source


With A Beech


You can feel its generosity,

contentment and relief

as the wind comes questioning

all its ever been.


You know why it stretches

striving for the light

biding its time now like a giant

rewarded with a secret.


You decide to push against

the skin on which lovers might

declare their names. What

are you hoping for today?



_________________________________________________________


Ash, near Buxton, Derbyshire, UK
Ash, near Buxton, Derbyshire, UK | Source


Tree


There was mist thick enough


to get lost in, dry stone wall


swallowed up in grey.


The breeze revealed the tree


that turned the field green


then veiled it again


as though we’d never seen.

______________________________________________________________


Oak, near Apley Head, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, UK
Oak, near Apley Head, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, UK | Source




Old Oak at Apley Head


Scars, scratch marks on rough bark, a thick limb


lost, grounded like a ruin. I walk around its fat bole


over bulging roots that clench field sides, the invisible


life feeding all quercus sees: power lines, spires, cloud,


a watery flow of traffic glinting like small fish.


The quiet girth of a king, shadowy textured skin,


the past on show, the future hidden inside yet here


now, devoid of trivia, season after season a love


of the profound comes up out of ordinary ground.

______________________________________________________________


Alder at side of Owler Beck, Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK
Alder at side of Owler Beck, Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK | Source


Gothic Alder


This silhouette, gestures

tapering away to part angry cloud

is a totem of twilight.

The broken toothed

fat man walks his muzzled dog, a Hitchcock extra

when bats appear, and spits untruths into the night.


Magpies have done the blackbird in

and clacker the news from shady sycamore

that they'll do it again.

The beck rushes on, a dark panic of blood,

its nutrient garbage a gurgling throat constructed

and constant under an ancient stone bridge, collapsing

into machine dredged sand.

Run the gauntlet of shadows in

the haunt of drunks

and the lord of Kettlethorpe Hall, feeding phantom hounds.

_________________________________________________________

Click thumbnail to view full-size
Birch, Wakefield, UK
Birch, Wakefield, UK
Birch, Wakefield, UK | Source



Birch Under Grey Cloud



On a red brick wall bonsai fashion, roots


feeling through to the other side


where a yard collects junk, dozing dogs and shadows


already here from tomorrow’s sun.



A satellite of ray and rain, its transmitted story of green


listened to by damp doves come down from dripping pine


to walk the city wall. What shall we do? Inform


this little tree, unreal as the man singing arias upstairs


that forests may fall and we never hear?

______________________________________________________________


Click thumbnail to view full-size
Birch posing as bonsai, Wakefield, UK
Birch posing as bonsai, Wakefield, UK
Birch posing as bonsai, Wakefield, UK | Source
Near Seckar Wood, remnant of medieval wood, Wakefield,UK
Near Seckar Wood, remnant of medieval wood, Wakefield,UK | Source




Near Seckar Woods


These trees want to draw me in.

Their dreamed up routes might stretch

forever onto a plateau

of gorse, broom and woody heather,

the varying lives we sometimes crave.


It’s the wood end succulence, the suntrap's

skin that holds hierarchies, archangels,

burdock, campion and a troupe of dancing gnats


in and out of light like flaming bits of love.

Height of summer and birds are learning

by the hour what works to perfection

we reach when we die.


They caught God’s particle today the day

each thing had its happening just before and

after I knew me, him and the answering trees.

______________________________________________________________


In Glen Nevis, near Ben Nevis, highest mountain in the UK.
In Glen Nevis, near Ben Nevis, highest mountain in the UK. | Source


Two Highland Trees



In a snowmelt dawn

only water and rock

and two following.

I am there now

or was, in a glen

of our making

crossed by ravens

who spoke gaelic.

It’s romantic

far from Achintree,

or was,

even now thinking

of the crazy Scot,

weeping from wood smoke.

You want the two trees

in a song, or dancing

arms held high


music flowing

like a stream, even now.

_____________________________________________________________



Beech, Catalonian Pyrenees, Spain
Beech, Catalonian Pyrenees, Spain | Source

Haiku


Why can't we decide?

One young tree has flame enough

to light a mountain!

______________________________________________________________

Trees, Catalonian Pyrenees, Spain
Trees, Catalonian Pyrenees, Spain | Source



Catalonian Mountain With Trees



That blue


the vultures spiral


is a life of the voice


and orangey rock


holds you


clueless


on a slope of whispers.


Scented pine


you enter, emerging


with a dozen words


echoing solitude


a figure


someone views


and calls


as the weight


of the mountain frees you up.

_______________________________________________________________


Click thumbnail to view full-size
Approaching Seckar Wood, Wakefield, UK
Approaching Seckar Wood, Wakefield, UK
Approaching Seckar Wood, Wakefield, UK | Source




Distant Wood


Over in the cool deep green leaves breathing


the mad world’s air. The pig farm floats in mist


and rain has made a river of the day. Swallows


preen inside like neglected tourists.



Ask yourself why you don’t walk out


of this compound you’ve built to sit on roots


a big beech extends into sand and stone,


trapped in freedoms of light and mind.


And later crows folding the fields under black wings


will roost in relieved trees. Repeated bliss.

_____________________________________________________________

This Classic Story Will Inspire You

Copyright chef-de-jour@Hubpages

Help stop plagiarism. Please contact the author if you suspect this original article has been stolen.

© 2012 Andrew Spacey

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