#tree poetry

[woodlandtrust]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

[the-hearth-and-the-wild]

"Kinship" by Ursula K. Le Guin

Very slowly burning, the big forest tree stands in the slight hollow of the snow melted around it by the mild, long heat of its being and its will to be root, trunk, branch, leaf, and know earth dark, sun light, wind touch, bird song.

Rootless and restless and warmblooded, we blaze in the flare that blinds us to that slow, tall, fraternal fire of life as strong now as in the seedling two centuries ago.

[bxdtime-ceai]

the trees are spirits speaking with tranquility even to those who cannot hear them even to us the trees are nourished by the spirits of the deceased where one passes, a tree will grow you've tried to take them all away you've tried to cut them down and steal their babies just like you do with your own and yet the trees grow maybe displaced maybe rightly placed nourished by loss the loss that was necessary to build your empire the loss you were willing to risk and did risk and caused because it wasn't you but the trees have ears and the trees have eyes they see and hear and understand you and all your wicked ways and they remember and soon you too will understand what it means to be sacrificed only this time it won't be for empire it will be for life

[sarvamentu]

I need to dwell in the forest immerse into the crisp air a hue of misty green and blue so that I can lay my mind to rest while the tiny pitter-patters of small creatures assemble and echo all around inside the walls of our trees - a falcon screams. ~ L.B. | “tree walls” | 24 Jan. 2022

[likealonelysparrow]

In my mind I found myself walking, as I often do, in the forest and amongst the trees, imagining all manner of creatures thin and stout, and being saddened, that although in my mind I see these things I will never experience them as characters in a book do, but I am shielded from the worst of it, the pain and fear, I can experience the beauty of wendigos, dragons, dryads and fair folk, whilst only really worrying about bears and my own sense of direction.

[creature-song]

MonstrousMay day 6 - Monster in the woods

Not so monstrous this time, but a few references to some monsters. but mostly just nonsense poetry.

***

Walk into the woods. Go on. It’s easy. See the path? (two roads diverge) Not here they don’t. jut the one path, see how it winds. Follow it, deep into the light, and feel the wind under your feet. Keep going, the trees are growing smaller, see how they rise above you. Things move in the light, these shadows are filled with warmth, don’t you see the path? You have stumbled astray, and the path is steady underfoot. There are monsters in these woods, and the aspens are falling, felled and felled they stand tall around you. Stumble forward, your feet are steady. Don’t trip you will float away. There was once a road through the woods, don’t you see it? Why don’t you see it, why don’t you see it, it’s under your feet, can’t you see the road?

[aelfhild-astraedottir]

Winter Madrone

Here in the heart of a mild gray winter

When the lingering night

Haunts us from the louring gray clouds

There is color yet,

More tangible than the hues of sunset

Too vivacious for sepia

Russet to umber through amber, the hues brighten

Cinnamon with a hint of chartreuse,

A sinuous beauty posing on sea cliffs

Evergreen leaves borne aloft

On boughs that dally with the sea winds

Smooth boughs of the madrone.

Poem © Ælfhild Astrædottir 2024

Photograph © Ælfhild Astrædottir 2023

[metamorphesque]

—  Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

чем больше узнаю людей – тем больше люблю деревья!

[kimbazee]

Evening Poetry, November 4

This post contains Amazon affiliate links. If you click through and make a purchase, I will receive a small compensation at no extra cost to you. This helps keep my blog ad-free. Autumn beech trees, Sefton Park by Tom Pennington is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0 Beeches by David St. John The forest is its own thanksgiving Walking a mile or so from the road Past the lake & ancient post office I…

[intersectionalpraxis]

[thenextdoormatilda]

Gaza, Palestine.

[woodlandtrust]

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

[mothprincess]

Sylvia Plath, from “The Moon and the Yew Tree,” Ariel

[flowerytale]

Frank O'Hara, from "Meditations in an Emergency"; The Collected Poems

[zegalba]

Chul Soo Lee: Things That Will Be Shaken 흔들릴 것들 다 (2013)

[burningvelvet]

Percy Shelley doodling while helping his wife edit the draft of her first novel, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818):

The idea for the story was devised in mid-June 1816. The draft shown here was written between August and December 1816, and it was revised until April 1817. The book was published January 1st 1818 when Mary was 20-years-old. She was only 18 when she conceived the story, as her 19th birthday was on August 30th 1816.

Source: The Shelley-Godwin Archive online