Saturday, 21 March 2020

The Story of Trees

As I approach a milestone date, with several good friends who go back a long way, I wrote a poem about trees.

The Story of Trees

Born of different seeds
Spliced grafted
Planted by chance, by the swirl of the wind
Or the planter's design, growing in proximity
Under the same sun, fed through the same water, filtered up through different roots
Scorched and sodden by season
Pollinated and fruitful in maturity,
Now gnarled and scarred in places
Still growing in the pattern of each species
Each with a reach and a depth
Rooted and anchored for shelter and strength,
For shade, wider than their silhouette
The north wind bends one and the east wind shakes another
pushes us together and pulls us apart
underground talons grip
and ropes and cords and threads criss-cross tightly, holding firm
under shadows overlapping in ever-changing patterns as the sun arcs
and still our stories grow - the axe still seems a long way off.

Friday, 6 March 2020


The whole room reflected in the outside, with me looking in
surroundings superimposed and overlaid, in and out

I saw a version of me, just shadows and highlights
Looking back asking the same question

The glass a double painting, two silent songs sung over each other,
one of the trees and the passing day,
the other of me inside this box, broken by the reflection of the open sky

Another looked from outside, seeing himself in my room, unseen by me
And a bird swooped overhead, over his head, and to him over mine, and his as well
Then a bus, heedlessly, drove straight through me,
but which was the ghost, the man in the world of reflections, or the bus reflected there

Houselights in the trees, a ceiling of sky, and me looking for answers
How did I get there, what happened on the way ?