In Celebration
of Forest
Sycamore is our memory tree, shedding
its bark for new skin, its winter silhouette
a ghostly skeleton, reminding me of old
London’s Plane-shaded streets.
Mother trees surround us, the very
few left over from original forest we
long paved over, old rotten stumps
that settlers burnt to clear their land.
Trees know their season, their reason for
being. How each tree reaches out to become World Tree. We have so much to
learn from not living on but with our place.
We who live in a Forest City must ensure
a name never replaces the reality of canopy.
Long may our trees flourish for we can only
prosper with our elder brothers, our mothers
down the long lineage of those gone before.
Penn Kemp
Here’s to trees that celebrate soul!
We celebrate their verve.
Here’s to tree as memory holder,
tribute to their power of ongoing presence.
Trees we have known are trees we
can meet by species. Once connected,
always familiar, old friends to greet
on any city street or in deep woods
if we can slow down long enough to
salute the Tree of Life in each. Light
candelabra of Catalpa, Horse Chestnut,
Pine, Balsam Fir, Juniper or Cedar cone.
Sing a litany of names that belong here
like lacey Walnut or Honey Locust,
whose canopies carry us off to African
plains: Acacia giraffes might browse
or Le Douanier paint above his lion.
My Untethered Horse
Beloveds
I want to tell you
A dream I had
In the darkest part of night
A dream so vivid
I have to believe
It was no dream
But real
I am riding on the back
Of an untethered horse
I too untethered
No saddle no stirrups
No reins
Come between us
As my hands hold to her mane
My knees pressed against
The shine of the hair
On her sides
WENDY WOLLF BLUMBERG
Poem inspired by the book, The
Untethered Soul, by Michael Singer
Oh... I would ride free
Forever
I call to the wind
On t