5/23/21
The look of a tree in winter.
Starkly beautiful, a
Delicate limb encrusted
In diamonds and pearls
Dripping white tulle
To the floor below
As it dances in the wind
Of the music playing
See; she flies
On an iceclad wing
To the melted depths
Of an early spring
--
The look of a tree in winter
So rarely decorated in green
Look at her, the
Snowbound sheen
Of ice driven
From the skies
Onto her branches
See how they rise
Into the sunset
Keeping pace
With the glacial
Movement of earth's race
To save itself from
Us, and all we transgress
Still, sometimes it can
Remember to bless
Us, with beautiful
Untold wonders
Until we, like it
Get torn asunder
Mind over matter
Money over both
And no one suffers
Quite like the most
Delicate of us
Little things
That live beside
And with us
In this awful facsimile
Of what we created
With the rise of greed
And the end of matter
--
Wintertime trees
Remind me of
That sad sack
Charlie Brown.
I feel sorry for the kid, but
Dude's got to get some agency.
Never go for the football.
Lucy's advice is bunk.
Peppermint Patty is probably
The first butch you'll meet.
Marcy is her sub, which,
Okay by me. But
at the same time,
Ya girl gotta corral calling
everyone "Sir."
Linus is your friend
And innocent to boot.
Just stop and think
Of what needs doing, kid,
Instead of carrying that
Blue blanket everywhere.
I forget the other characters.
I'm sorry but it's true.
This show was never for me,
And I don't know if I can stand
Singing
"Oh Christmas Tree."
they tell me that it isn't dead,
that this is just like sleeping,
this gaunt, grey ghoul
of a thin-limbed shambler
rearing up from
snow littered fields,
dusted in white,
gnarled like knuckles.
this is just what happens
in the winter, and
come the spring, i'll
see it wake and stretch
fair green boughs
up to the sun.
i want to believe it, I do.
but what do i know, a
fool like me who
has never seen
the snow fall or heard
this solemn silence,
who has never
seen the land die.
every day, mid-afternoon, the rain
comes, in my memories.
the heart beat heat
waxes and wanes
in a yearly rhythm that
does not bring this
bitter ice and death. and
our trees need not sleep.
but. yes.
this is
so beautiful.
i hope the
old man
wakes,
and sees blue skies again.