Poetry Blog by Jill Ashforth (Trees)

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Tribute to John Muir

I sat in the shade of the Giant Sequoia 

and it seemed as if I'd been transported to a summer's day.

Only the snowdrops reminded me it was still winter.

Tears filled my eyes as I embraced the soft, burnt umber bark.

I breathed in its life force as I lay my soft pink flesh on its woody flesh.

Time stood still

and I felt blessed.

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blessingEdinburgh Botanical GardensGiant SequoiaJohn Muirlife forceTrees

The Bus Stop

entry picture

A woman at the bus stop wears a candy striped skirt. 
It billows around her a la Marilyn Munroe

and puts me in mind of pink candy floss and a fun fair.

Soft, silver silhouettes sway gently against the whiskery wood.

Sharp railing spikes look ready to pierce any shadows with their fierce arrow heads.

And then they are gone behind a cloud.

Ginger, lime and gold lollipops hang from th...

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Bus stopleavesMarilyn Monroemodern buildingsold buildingsshadowstrees

Autumn Smokers

The crisp, golden colours of autumn foliage

set a backdrop of warm russets and oranges along the side street.

They glow as the bold shapes of the street lights cut through them,

angular and steely, petrol blue in the twilight.

Dusty, dark bark against the flutter of soft, yet crumpled orange leaves.

So delicate, so beautiful and so impermanent like the heady days of a butterfly.

...

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Autumnleavessmokerstreestwilight

Inverleith Avenue

Inverleith Avenue

watery, winter sun,

liquid gold.

suddenly shoots a

fuzzy spotlight on me.

Dazzled,

estatic.

Slow burn,

inner warmth.

Cold electric blue sky,

serried ranks of trees

standing to attention,

stripped bare in their

winter skeletons.

Gnarled,

hoary,

but beautiful.

Stripped of the frivolous

garnishing of summer,

growing old gracef...

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AvenueTreeswaitingwinterwise protectors

Blaikie Wood

The traffic fumes and roars, deafening my thoughts.

Bark glistens in wrinkled folds with charcoal accents, smudged.

An electric blue flashes cool and a flood of beauty washes over me

as dark, emerald burrs softly quiver.

A wall of trees shields and deadens all sounds.

Silence beckons me.

 

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beautysilencetraffictreeswood

Norwegian Wood

I walk amongst the trees but who is there to hear?

I whisper and let my voice rustle the leaves until their tremors cease.

Hoarse and weary, not heard, not seen, I wonder if I have ever been. 

A Norwegian hillside, a Norwegian wood, I sing your song.

Hear me.

There is much talking but who is there ever to hear?

In life, I roar silently as people pass, unseeing.

Soundless, I mo...

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Norwegiannot listeningsilencetreeswood

Sunrises

Pink tendrils trail

the sky, gathering

in a salmon cloud

of dusky smoke.

Dark brush strokes

of lilac sweep the

skyline, getting lost

in the tangle of

inky branches

silhouetting the sky.

A morass of interwoven 

trunks, like a spider's web

gone wild and

overgrown.

So delicate, so

soon lost,

evaporated, nothing but

a memory in

the heart and soul.

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memoriessunrisetrees

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