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broken tree
by Glenn Currierlook at that broken tree
such a shame
once a flourishing red bud
its spring limbs broadcasting life
and pink promises
of seasons to come
it seemed all but dead
its flowering years
cracked off in a wind storm
then spring arrived
coaxing from the jagged stump
small limbs full of wildness
laughing green medallions
payment for fortitude
in the face of tragedy
unseen below this drama
decades of juvenescence
a history of droughts and dread
suffering floods
loving seasons of soft rain
the roots of redbud author
these books of jade
and summers shade
when the final autumn falls
on this stage of wax and wane
all that remains
is what is
the source
the light 07/26/2005 Author's Note: I wrote this poem after awakening from a nightmare that left me feeling lonely and afraid of death, mine and my wife's. After I journaled about it I looked up and saw this old broken tree in our backyard and then the tree became a metaphor for me.
Posted on 07/26/2005
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 07/26/05 at 05:08 PM Well, the basic instinct of all living beings is WILL TO SURVIVAl.Have you ever noticed that tree throw more branches when chopped or broken in their struggle for life driven by this urge for survival? There's a lesson in this. We ought to battle with death and life is just an arena where this battle takes place. |
| Posted by H.M Stevens on 07/26/05 at 07:04 PM Glenn, this poem is enjoyable because you write so nicely on a timeless subject. And it is true, trees do tell a story... but instead of making this one somber you bring it alive..."pink promises" and how nature grows into and out of itself. awesome. |
| Posted by David R Spellman on 07/27/05 at 02:16 AM Such a strange and beautiful tree, the red bud! You've got some really great lines in this Glenn. Really liked "laughing green medallions/payment for fortitude/in the face of tragedy." Nicely done.
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| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 07/27/05 at 12:40 PM once more Glenn, you paint and bridge the void with the philospher's light, much like Whitman's noiseless patient spider, your soul marks how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 08/03/05 at 04:05 AM Your poem is food for thought Glen. Very well
done....Charlie |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 08/15/05 at 04:24 PM I suppose that time is life and death walking hand in hand and it would seem on the surface that our fear of the one will bring us closer to the other. Yet I think even with this will to survive instinct fighting for life is much different than the fear of death which cannot make one's life more meaningful or more full but on the contrary enables the death to overshadow any living. The metaphor is excellent and so too is the image of that tree, the colorful and the colorless. In the end it is the Light, the Source alone which remains and in its wake 'life' and 'death' is a mechanism necessary for the bigger picture whatever that is...it's up to the individual to refine his life and stop chasing his death. Well that's what I got from this, thanks for getting my gears to churn just a bit :-)
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