deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to Trees
Black boots leave a bus
as I watch it trundle off
into English dust
I pass through a kissing gate
walk past the orchard full
of Beltane blossom
up a dirt track towards
a meadow full of buttercups
and red clover.
There she stands
Bella, my oak tree
on her own in the midst
of a lone field
she who stands with ribbons
tied into her spindles
markers of every prayer
every thought
every wish ever uttered.
I sit here sometimes
crouching to reach a crawl-space
formed between dry ground
and her branches
a hidden nest where I light incense,
read cloth-covered books
full of ancient knowledge
calling out to all I know of this land
and I write
and craft
and whittle
taking nothing without permission,
making nothing without care.
When I am desperate, I seek out Bella
my shelter, my holy place
because this world is full of temples
built of gold and stone
but so few are made of leaves
so few anchor us to the purity
of placing one foot in front of another
hearing the audible grind of that iron gate
and finding refuge from the grind
in some silent universe
some sentient form
Published 23rd Apr 2024
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
23/30
23/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6
reading list entries 4
comments 2
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
23rd Apr 2024 11:11pm
I loved this write . . .nature poems grab my attention alot I think it brings out the hippy in me, I love how you write with such a descriptive way that throughout the poem these images just flash in front of me, another into the RL for later coo'ing lol your writing is awesome :)
24th Apr 2024 1:19am
Bella sounds lovely... what a gorgeous write this is, full of intimate details and respect. I also have a tree I visit - a white pine - except I climb (with permission of course) and settle in my comfy spot (temple) in the branches to think. Trees are important. Thanks for sharing the story of yours.
❤k
❤k
