A Fallen Tree

 

 

I wrote this poem immediately upom my return home after taking a long walk with my daughters dog Louis in Binstead Woods in Arundel a couple of years ago. 

Fallen Tree

 

A full-grown tree

Downed by the storms of late

Lays like an unconscious giant

Not so much uprooted

As is more common

When trees are felled by a tempest,

But viscously torn apart

As if by massive teeth,

Ripped asunder

Toward the base.

What force,

Completely smashed

This once lovely tree.

Clean exposed core wood

The colour of desert sand

Faces out and upward

Among huge splinters

That themselves give evidence

To the monstrous destruction.

Close to the sodden ground,

The torso, the corpse,

The recently sound trunk,

Has itself committed

An almost equal crime;

As it fell,

The sheer weight of the big tree

Brought about life’s finale

For two younger, weaker trees

That now involuntarily support it,

Slightly off the ground

Like the worlds strongest man

Lifting the Olympic medal winning weight.

Ivy still clings to the great mass

Stretched like a bow string over the

Decimated woodland giant

That has stood handsomely there

In the middle of a tight,

Closely tree-ed wood

Showing off the beauty of its

Abundant foliage for decades,

Now it lies, mangled, mutilated,

Humbled and beaten

Beyond any hope of repair,

Still sucking the last drops of sap

From the minute strands

Still attached with weakening sinew’s

To the stricken base,

And by that to the life-giving roots

Still firmly implanted in the ground.

No miracle surgery can save

The life of the broken tree.

The time it has left….

Is only in wait for the saw and axe.

 

 

Gathering

"She may very well pass for 43 in dusk with the light behind her". W.S. Gilbert

Recently we made, what was in these times, was a rare social visit to wish a happy day to one of the sweetest women we know, who should have been celebrating her birthday. We had been to see her on other birthday’s, in more pleasant days; like the delightful garden party for her fiftieth birthday when there was a happy gathering on the lawn, of friends’ family and neighbours.

 

We have been very careful during the Covid blighted time, and this lovely couple are in fact the one of the few households, that we know of in our circles, who have taken this deadly period as seriously as we have. So, we did feel safe in going to visit them, knowing that they have not left their home at all but bearing in mind that they have much more space in their home and the luxury of a large garden. However, we have tried very hard to be sensible

and have made a real effort and it has been a struggle in a small cottage with a postage stamp garden. So it is nice to know that a few others have made the same sacrifices for the sake of ourselves and the community.

 

It would be difficult to find a woman more touchy-feely person than me normally and it has been a true hardship for me keeping a safe distance from my family and friends. It might not be so bad, if it were not for the fact that making a phone call and having a chat has gone right out of fashion. The modern way is to Text or What’s App, or send a message. Face Book and Instagram too are very useful but all so impersonal. It is contact, but it lacks warmth and love. I miss the sound of my family laughing and even my friends making fun of me with their jokes. I miss the odd Mmmmwwah! of a kiss on my cheek and a good hug seems like a dream from the long distant past. I hope that I am not the only person feeling like this. We can’t even shake hands without there being a rush for an anti-bacterial hand cleansing gel. I pray that there will be an end to all this, but I fear that it will not come soon all the while the mind set seems to be veering toward ignoring the whole thing, as if it is just a story made up by the government, that is an experiment to see just how much control can be tolerated before we all go bang! Anarchy awaits; but not for long.

 

Think nice thoughts folk; watch something beautiful, as Steve and I did last night. Streamed from the Royal Opera House. ‘Dances at a Gathering’ that even the title was so poignant it seemed, young men and girls just dancing and smiling and flirting, as if there were not a care in the world. Well worth watching, no story, just beauty and dancing to the of music of Chopin. Bliss. 

 

 

 

 

Vistation

 

 

Sibling Spirit

 

My brother’s image called by last night,

calm and peaceful to see him there.

He was all attired in his cricket white

a sweater that I once hand knitted might

get bigger and longer with each wear.

 

And I was happy but tears pricked my eye

with the sheer joy at this, yet I took stock;

What brought him to me was the biggest why?

Both young again, what does that imply?

His sun-bleached dirty blonde falling lock.

 

Awry smile on his summer tanned face

the half wink tick of his eye still there,

joking as always about the old place,

a cricket player with such easy grace

sweet fleeting vision of a sibling pair.