It’s difficult to trust the trees,
the way they whisper each to each
in sibilant conspiracies
that almost verge on human speech.
Their daedal, implicated crooks
appear to watch us as we pass,
poised to catch us as we look
for roots that slither in the grass.
“We’ll be back,” they seem to say,
slipping gaudy colors on;
but man progresses day by day:
with any luck they’ll soon be gone.
6 comments:
oh but I love those tree secrets...
I just posted about Progress and Trees today. Very interesting simultaneous event, yes?
The poetry is brilliant. The photo effect very interesting.
Yeah, Pauline, you just have to pretend you're not listening. Don't want to make them self-conscious. Then you can find things out...
Leslie, thank you. I just read your post on hippies and all I can say is Right on, Sister. The first time I got called a dirty hippy was in 1963 or 4. The atmosphere back then wasn't much different from now--overwhelmingly society was on--or just coming off--an acquisitive, corporate, conformist binge and and none of the Jonses wanted anything to do with anything or anyone who was the least bit different. The hostility was fear, that's all--of change, of the possibility that they'd been seeing things wrongly, basing their lives on bullshit. Or evil. Like now. But that awakening came, and it moved things, however little, toward progress, or the idea of progress. It can happen again, I know it in my gut. So don't give an inch. Keep on keepin on.
Being born in the sixties must have leached something into my soul. I have often been accused of being 'New Age' - never quite sure about that one, but I think it means I care.
My coming of age era was punk, no cheesecloth, but a rage against the machine nonetheless
Thank you, John.
You are right about the fear of change...been seeing things wrongly.
I see the 'big divide' today as the same thing.
People are beginning to 'get it', though I think they knew it all along.
Nice to hear you!
Just love your writing. It is my pleasure to stop by over here.
They hold our secrets the trees and we, stupidly, think we hold theirs.
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