To climb a tree

Is a tree meant to be climbed?
Silly me
Is a verse meant to be rhymed?
Could it be
It's how or when it's all timed?
In the span of a moment or lifetime

A grade-school boy up in a tree
Maybe ten
Chastised by a father who wanted it be
Grounded then
He said those trees were meant to be free
Let them grow so they reach to the sky

Young boy now at his father's age
Days now past
Years gone by like the turning of a page
Way too fast
Too old to climb trees - Oh the Rage!
Let them grow 'til the shade hides the sun

Yes, that was me being in trouble for climbing in a pair of hard maple trees as a youngster. Even though I was small, I could have damaged the young trees at the time. I realize this now that my climbing days are over (or are they?)

I drove by the old homestead a few weeks ago, I hadn't been there for a long time. A flood changed the town forever years ago but one of the maples that Dad planted remain. I need to get seeds before it's lost to memories.

Just a few of the walnut trees waiting for spring (much too young to climb)

 Posted at Poets and Storytellers United:  Weekly Scribblings #63: Trees

 

Red-headed beauty

Red-headed beauty somewhat six degrees
on through life doing what she please
took a chance to sail the seven seas
some time ago in her dreams

Danced with peasants, popes and kings
erasing hearts every time she sings
she had time for all sorts of things
of the moments in her dreams

Dancing now in her purgatory
someday maybe we could hear her story
of her fall from grace and her glory
as she lost all of her dreams

In my sleep but only late at night
I saw the her dance in blue moonlight
only to drift softly out of sight
never again in my dreams

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #63: I Say and You Say…

Fog on the road

 

The path is not always clear

Why is the biggest hurdle in the mind?
that quiet voice that casts shadows of doubt
thriving in the fog of uncertainty
hiding the road we must travel upon

Will the battle rage forever?
as I take up arms against this foe
this manufactured mire of my creation
the lost faith of the beginning

Did I hear that whispered voice?
those words that said, "forge on"
the sunrise crests the top of the hill
promises one day closer home 

Even in rain, the sun may shine

Spring 2021 holds some promise but offers frustration. In other words, a typical year.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry 61: It's Been a Year