Who Listens to Flowers? They grow like little comets, blazing through the blackened soil, singing long-forgotten songs - songs of death's demise, of life's bright distillation lighting the very core of time. But who has ears to hear? Who sits among the stalks listening to the creak of growth, the crystallization of each new cell, enraptured, convinced that life conquers all? They stream into our eyes pouring ambrosial essence, lean light, pure and natural passion. They nurse the soul of this belaboured age, singing a silent song - once heard, they sweep the sky's wide towers heaving lakes with ease into the blue, filling children's eyes with stars, and breathing joy's pearled kiss into each welcoming ear. Who listens to flowers? Flowers listen to flowers, as do trees, laughing clouds, rivers, lakes, and all the glowing world unseen within poet's hearts, within those who simply take the time to listen. The Wise Old Tree Within the forest dark and deep, rooted firmly in the clay and sand, lives an immense gnarled wonder, a wise old tree... standing steep with voluminous trunk and many bands therein to tell of his years; of all he has seen and heard. With branch-arms outstretched to the sky, "I am the voice for the rest" he cried. So many don't consider us really alive, but we hurt and we cry just like you, inside. We fear the storms of nature and life; we rejoice and are reborn. Come listen to the forests' tales, as do the winged birds soaring overhead. Hear the magical wailing whistle of the wind as it tousles my headdress, see the dark dense storm clouds sailing past, tune into the coyote's cry. Come sit underneath me -- feel my rootedness. Draw from me ancient knowledge amidst the whispers of the earth, and the supreme wisdom of the skies, I will tell you no lies, for I am, and you are, and we are worth... and I am just what you see, a wise old tree. Take that comfort with you when you have to go. Carry my strength back with you to the forest of cement, and lament no more!. Remember me adorned in tiny spring leaf buds, think of me in autumn's brilliant hues, and picture me with snow glistening atop my arms outstretched to you when feeling cold and alone. Envision me with face in full dress of green inside of summer's heat providing shelter from what can be a merciless sun. I will be one with you, I am nature's embrace... I am all seasons, I am season less, I am saving grace; a fortress solid and strong who, like you, was indeed once also a sapling, before that a seed.
Wowzers this is definitely a favorite of the three poems that you've posted in other threads! Here your voice is clearly defined and I hear you, nothing forced, nothing put on, very genuine. I adored -Who Listens to Flowers?- its message is carried by such wonderful imagery, it's balming. I think NATURE is your perfect forte...and The Wise Old Tree proves that even further. Your use of personafication truely effective and captivating. Thanks for these two gems!
Yeah!!!! Love the idea that nature is the constant. It's like civilzation and everything manmade is just a tiny scratch in an lp.
Thank you for your comments. I think nature is more forte too. I write a lot of nature poems but sometimes I like to try new things out too.
I got so into it in the first poem that I was the one listening to the stalks creak. I have had a very stressful day and that wise old tree brought me real comfort. Thanks for giving me some peace in my day
nice...i love the energy of nature. taking it all in. you made me want to go outside for awhile and commune. thanks mist
