this is a rough draft of a poem I did for my poetry class. we had to write a poem on ten important trees in our lifetime.
10 trees:
Oh the sting of childhood bites cold as the wind brushes against the tree marked three with the hands of a youth.
Beneath the sturdy arm of the mammoth tree; attached is a black tire its inside full of brackish water and the rings of the tree sighing with age.
The dogwood died before the age of five; rotted and keeled over burying itself into the cool earth that bought it life and sold it death.
Reaching towards the sky the trees arms were chopped and burned, the heat warming the inside of cool house and chasing the stars away.
The trees grow to be swept underneath the hard wooden doorframe and through the room to be placed in front of the window where they will watch themselves die.
The tree stands tallest, its branches holding the sky and its roots feeding the earth, shading dusk and dawn as we embrace.
In the dark the tree stands, lone in the dark black expanse called night with the car driving and driving right into the heart only to turn scared by its stature and boasting of its arms.
The tree looms devious and devilish its deepest intents to cause its own death year by year but takes another life along the road instead.
The sandbox occupies the child shielded from the sun by wooden roof next to the wooden tree in the backyard of his home.
The tree of life stands in Eden, its fruit feeding the earth and its branches holding up the sky.
This is translation of the poem "ode to a nightengale" by keats. This is my own interpretation:
I hurt and sleep knocks on my consciousness from the love drug taken
in and I
not in jealousy sing of the happiness that has fled my barracks,
to taste the sweet tinge of the drink of the dawn of desire,
to drown in the drink and the leave the world for naught together;
I will greet you on the backs of the cherubim but though the
moon is full and the stars at attention no light breaks through the black of night,
except the glow of heaven:
In this garden my feet hide in the vines and the dark masks
my vision yet I sense the botanicals hanging ever so sweet atop the canopy;
my ears perk and I hear nothing and
long to die quietly here among the lillies but it is not the first
time we’ve spoken and now it seems the fairest time to greet him and embrace;
but you, you’ve seen the world and lived in jubilance as I long to hear your voice ringing through the hollows;
But my despair lingers through time and generations
know and through their weariness endure the peril called love;
a young girl called Juliet standing on the balcony alone in the rain
along with every other broken heart;
But I am brought back to my lone self and
the adulteress is no longer hidden but her soft song
fades across the scarred landscape and I ask myself:
was it real or just a dream?
