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| Image courtesy of gardentreeslandscape |
Slumber Leaves
There is a tree on my front lawn
where all the mourning doves are drawn.
They caw, they woot and even peep.
What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.
Some gusts whip branches high atop
this tree, now banging without stop.
Between the doves and branches … *bleep*!
What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.
And just when I might think, ‘That’s it,’
cicadas in my tree transmit
‘cicada song.’ I want
to leap.
What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.
At last, I doze, but not for long.
Woodpeckers?! Buzzing
bees?! Wind gong?!
They join the noisefest as I weep.
What’s in my tree won’t let me sleep.
###
Metaphorest
“You can’t sit in your
corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.” ~Winnie
the Pooh
A canopy of leaves may arc
above my head. Tree
limbs and bark
may give me shelter, but I know
my friends are waiting.
Gotta go.
That old bear understood the need
which says, ‘Once anchored, then proceed
to branch out. Life
is waiting.’ So…
my friends are waiting.
Gotta go.
A forest corner’s safe…secure,
but only briefly. Trees
obscure
the view until their leaves will blow.
My friends are waiting.
Gotta go.
A metaphor can only state
the obvious, so let’s translate:
I’ve got my roots; now I must grow.
My friends are waiting.
Gotta go.
###
Notes: Poetic Asides' PAD Challenge sported a two-fer today: trees and forests. Both of my poems, are you might have already figured out, are Kyrielles.
