Friend of a Tree

 Recently I wrote a series of poems about a tree I watched outside the window throughout the changing of seasons from summer to autumn to winter.  After reading back through these works, I decided I wanted to share them.  The tree has become a friend for me, something neutral in my life that greets me every morning and is present when I end the day.  I hope that these poems potentially help you find a friend in nature, or another source. 


Yellow
Hello, yellow leaves greeted me
Sun peeking shyly through to see
My eyes, with morn entering, blink
I dance inside, orange dawn in sync
Meanwhile those leaves they giggled
As veiny hands a light breeze tickled
Still in spotlight of warm mother sun
My motionless morning dance continues on

Autumn Tree
Blazing flames noiselessly roar
Yet branches embracing them 
Burn not
Fail to be engulfed
Remain solidly reaching out
Never raining upon the earth
In hopeless shower of ash.
Fiery red radiating
Shades breathtaking
Crackle not, yet intensity
Stopping us in our tracks.
Flames blowing about 
Twirling, colliding, shaking
At times motionless statue
A hundred burning eyes
Waiting, ever watching...
For what?

Authenticity
My companion outside the glass wall
Looked sad to my eye, yet
Even without sunny spotlight
Caressing her golden skirts
She knows peace, rests
In contentment, for
Now without her gold
She stretches out her arms
Despite their vulnerability
So they might know the freedom
Of unembellished authenticity


Somehow Presently Hidden
Hidden in a cloak of darkness
Amidst night's folds, lost to me
Need now I
Bid a friend goodbye?
Loss suffocates my heart
With talons violently rips apart
Trust, who flees so in its spot
Walls erected, keeping love out.
Despite my presuming acts
The friend never even left
She waits patiently, fully present
Her love reaching, never spent.
Love left not
Rather, I forgot
Loneliness accompanies amidst bodies seen.
Support surrounds though no beam
Highlights its presence; Here,
She's here.  Faith! No fear.

Frosty Arms
Waiting, waiting
For beautiful folds
Of winter skirts
Elegant to behold.
Waiting, waiting
No attire of such
Wraps around these
Boughs, cold to touch.
Waiting, waiting
Or maybe not 
Adored in thin slip
Missing no spot.
Now covered, covered
In fabric unexpected 
But glittering gently
Like children excited.

Rising Colors
Brown eyes
Brown as soil
Blink, blink
Never recoil.
Rising come arms
With fingers a-million
In background of
Red, yellow and orange.
Waking elegantly,
Bravely; under the sun
As if stood ready
Since history's begun.


Framed
Today pitifully bare
No slips or skirts to wear
Somehow skirting sadness
By framing rising, glorious
Sun.

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