NEW ::: POETRY Apr. 2015 | Page 66

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