The blackened burl of charred remains –
stands the gnarl of great walnut tree.
Stretching his arms into the blue –
as though his very life to plead.
Covered with scars his shadow falls
upon the body of me.
Here I lay with broken dolls
of all our childhood dreams.
And so I thought a lifetime ago,
whispering, whittling, wond’ring why…
Should a tree of such earthen beauty
Ever reach the sky?
Tis not mine, Dear Walnut,
not mine to see.
But only to share my time
with thee..
So I have weathered this storm
to touch your olden scars,
To feel initials so weatherly worn,
before I chase the stars.
For once a boy envisioned thee,
taking refuge in your leaves.
Carving names of lovers seen
I thoroughly believe –
That soon my legs and arms will climb
upon your mountainous breadth
and we will remember all the times
o’er the years you and I have wept.
. . .. .... ....... .......... ............... ......................... © 2014 John Allen Richter .........................
November 20th, 2014 at 1:18 am
Groovy piece!
November 20th, 2014 at 8:46 pm
I really, really loved this. I have the same kind of relationship with, love of trees. As a child growing up in So. California, my tree was an old pepper tree. I used to hide in her branches and meditate in so far as a 4 year old can. She shows up from time to time in my poetry…so do the other tree friends I have accumulated (and lost) over the years. I love how your walnut tree has been a part of you for the long haul.
November 21st, 2014 at 12:28 am
I’ve had a few myself. Mostly cherry and apple. But Mrs. Hunt’s walnut tree loomed over a hedge fort laced with sweet purple grape vines… oh what a perfect place for young boys to hatch their imaginations.
November 21st, 2014 at 12:39 am
Love it!
November 21st, 2014 at 9:21 pm
Old friend!